Alaric Virelyn

It was tough to be the most famous and desirable man on the planet. Truly, it was. Everywhere he went, the room tilted toward him. Smiles lasted longer. Laughter got louder. People remembered to breathe prettier, walk smoother, and stand straighter when he passed.

It was exhausting, really.

And by exhausting, he meant addictive.

He basked in it like sunlight—because it was his sunlight. Born into it, trained for it, perfected through years of watching how power settled into a person’s bones.

He wasn’t his mother. He wasn’t cold elegance carved from selective breeding.

He was a storm in a tropical climate. He was the weapon that smiled when sheathed. But even he could feel it now at his family’s annual gala.

Truly, it was tough to be him.

Alaric Virelyn stepped off the dais like it was built to lower him into the world.

He didn’t walk. He descended—controlled, effortless, deliberate. The ballroom shimmered around him, layered light illusions still flickering from his mother’s speech, the floor practically humming with ceremonial mana. Everyone was watching.

Of course they were. He was the Crown Prince, and he looked the part.

Crimson-lined robes. Phoenix-thread embroidery coiling around his sleeves like fire in repose. High collar, loose hair, no armor or weapon. Just confidence and dashing good looks.

Confidence sharper than most blades.

He didn’t need to speak. Not yet. His presence said enough. But even so, the moment bored him. The ceremony had been perfect, the applause well-timed, the bows deep enough to satisfy protocol.

But it was all too tight, too safe, too polite, and completely boring.

His mother—divine and untouchable—had held the room’s attention like she controlled gravity. Control was enough for her. But Alaric needed something else.

He needed a reaction. Fire. Connection. Something to challenge or endure.

His gaze scanned the ballroom and landed on exactly the right man to provoke.

Nathan Li.

He stood among his family at the Li Pavilion, laughing with one of his idiot cousins and dressed like a festival brawler trapped in court clothes.

Alaric grinned and altered course.

Nathan was a dangerous man. Fast, flexible, and undeniably talented. He was also dumber than a box of rocks and fiercely loyal to family and friends. He was Alaric’s greatest rival—the sort of swordsman who never backed down, mostly because he’d never had to.

Alaric admired that. And though he would never tell him, he admired Nathan.

But more than admiration, Alaric liked watching people try to hide sharp edges behind laughter. He liked it even more when they failed.

Alaric arrived without announcement. Just stepped into Nathan’s space and smiled wide enough to draw attention.

“Well, well,” Alaric said, letting his voice carry. “If it isn’t the unclaimed terror of House Li.”

Nathan glanced sideways, already smirking. “Your Highness. What brings you to the land of the laughing and underdressed?”

Alaric gestured to the drink Nathan wasn’t holding. “I came to borrow your wine. But apparently you’re sober tonight. Tragic.”

“Tragic would be trying to drink with you,” Nathan shot back. “You’d call it a contest, poison the bottle, and declare yourself god-emperor halfway through.”

A few nearby nobles chuckled nervously. Alaric hid his grin and didn’t break stride.

“You wound me,” he said with false modesty. “But only slightly. You’ll have to do better than words, Nathan.”

Nathan leaned back against the balustrade, arms crossed. “Is that an invitation?”

“To conversation,” Alaric said. “The rest? We’ll save for the tournament.”

Nathan’s smile widened. “If you make it past the first round.”

“Oh, I’ll make it. You’re the one who might trip over your own ego.”

Another ripple of laughter. Louder this time.

Alaric basked in it.

This was what he liked—the banter of edged words, fiery comebacks, and the friction of potential violence. He craved the game of masks, the undertones laced with the possibility of blood.

Then Nathan’s tone shifted—slightly.

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“Though speaking of bruised pride,” Nathan said. “Have you looked at my fight stats lately? I’ve had quite a few matches in the last few months.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You mean the ones where you crushed the twins from the Ang family and sent the heirs of both Wok and Gi home limping?”

Nathan’s grin turned sly. “Please, those were child’s play. Did you see the one I lost? It wasn't offically a match, but I added it to my stats sheet. I think it counts. ”

That made Alaric pause. “Lost? You? Wait. When? To who?”

Nathan nodded to the tall handsome man standing not too far from Nathan's other silbings.. “Ethan Zhou.”

Alaric blinked once. Ethan Zhou? He wasn’t on the circuit. He had never even heard that name before that he could recall. Who the hell is that?

He thought about it. The Ice Woman. Nathan’s terrifying older sister, Vivian. She was married to a Zhou. He tried not to think about Vivian—not since they were fifteen and she hit him with an ice wave so potent it put him in bed for a week.

Just because he touched her lower back. Uh, no, thank you.

But she married a guy who beat her brother in a duel? That was insane.

Nathan nodded again. “No mana. No casting. No weapons. Just hands and control.”

Alaric frowned. “He beat you?”

“I beat him when mana and the sword were involved. But when it was just foot and fist, he won. Flat out,” Nathan said. “I blinked, and he buried me.”

That silenced the laughter.

Alaric looked over his shoulder, toward the far edge of the Li contingent. There he was. Ethan Zhou—tall, still, unspectacular in every way except for the fact that he radiated zero effort.

Passable looks. Nothing like Alaric’s radiance.

But interesting.

Ethan simply stood calm, giving nothing away. Like the gala was a play he didn’t need to be part of—but could rewrite if he chose.

Ethan and Alaric made eye contact. Ethan gave him a smile and a bow. Perfectly polite. Perfectly courtly.

Interesting.

“My brother-in-law is also like a crazy genius. Don’t understand half the stuff he says. Your sister would love him.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow. If Ethan was that smart, maybe so. She always liked the weak scholar type.

But according to Nathan, Ethan wasn’t weak.

Alaric grinned, and he almost regretted coming tonight.

“I’m starting to think I’ve misjudged that one,” Alaric said with a glance at Ethan.

Nathan shrugged. “I know I did.”

Alaric filed that away. He didn’t feel threatened, but he made a mental note: Ethan Zhou was not a placeholder. Not a silent consort. He was something else. Something planted too deeply to uproot without a cost.

And that was when the ballroom shifted.

Not musically. Not by illusion.

Socially.

The temperature changed.

A ripple passed through the crowd, low and slow—like recognition wrapped in envy.

She had arrived.

Alaric turned in time to see the ballroom part like silk being drawn back.

Shen Minhua. Daughter of the Peacock Sect. One of the Four Great Beauties of the Empire. And entirely self-aware of it. She glided rather than walked—her gown of pure enchanted silk fading from sea-glass green into ethereal gold, mana-threads highlighting her curvy, lethal figure.

But none of that was why people stared.

Okay, that was a lie. It was at least part of why people stared.

Still, it wasn’t the whole reason.

For Minhua, it was her presence. Radiant, yes—but her eyes? Her eyes knew the worth of her name, her body, her mind. And she intended to wield all three with elegance and precision.

Alaric’s grin twitched. Once upon a time, the Peacock Clan had offered a marriage. Three years ago, maybe.

He had been too busy then. And Minhua had still been underripe. Now? Now was a different story. Maybe he should revisit the arrangement. Make her a concubine just to irritate her. That might be fun.

Alaric watched her walk, already formulating his response to the questions she was sure to ask. She did this at every gathering he attended—peppered him with flirtation and questions. It was inevitable.

Wait. Where was she going?

He expected her to stop near the center ring—where the Tower scholars and upper court heirs were clustered—and then make her way to him, as she always had.

But no.

She went straight for Ethan Zhou.

Nathan let out a quiet whistle. “Oh. I hope my sister isn’t watching. Or this is going to get messy.”

Alaric said nothing.

He watched.

Minhua approached Ethan with elegance most women weaponized only at weddings or executions.

Ethan turned, appearing neither startled nor flattered. He gave her a warm smile—distant, politely engaged.

They exchanged a few words.

Alaric couldn’t hear, but he saw Minhua gesture toward the mage-academic tier and then speak again with animation.

Ethan responded calmly and measuredly—something few men, aside from Alaric himself, could manage when talking to someone like Minhua. Most would be falling over themselves.

Minhua herself seemed confused by his composure. She tilted her head while he spoke, clearly intrigued.

She’s recruiting, Alaric thought. He and Nathan, almost unconsciously, stepped closer.

Minhua’s voice carried now—just enough. He was right. She wasn’t flirting. She was recruiting.

“We’re hosting a mana-tech symposium next cycle. High elevation. Research tier access. Theoretical debates only. I would very much like for you to attend.”

A few nobles gasped. Two things were clear: people were noticing, and she was making a move. What kind of move wasn’t obvious yet. Minhua was calculating, but she was staking some sort of claim to the Li family’s son-in-law.

It wasn’t just about the invitation. It was who she had addressed, and where. Publicly. In front of Pathicons and bystanders.

Minhua was personally and publicly giving Ethan Zhou an invitation. Not inappropriate, but far from subtle.

Alaric wondered if she was trying to get a rise out of Vivian Li. More likely, Minhua wasn’t actually interested in Ethan. She loved to stir the pot.

Drama, drama, drama. The whole thing made Alaric smile.

He studied the reactions around him. The Li family. The other bystanders. Su Lin looked like she’d tasted vinegar. Gavin Li looked bored but not surprised. Lucas and his terrifying wife Ren Yaling looked amused. The General was nowhere in sight.

Elsewhere, a Tower envoy whispered into a record crystal. The Adventurers’ Guild representative looked concerned, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Nathan just shook his head. “My brother-in-law is awesome.”

And Ethan? Ethan inclined his head like it was another day at the training hall. The man either had ice in his veins or he genuinely didn’t like women. Alaric watched him accept the invitation as casually as if he’d been expecting it.

Alaric felt something curl low in his chest.

This man doesn’t orbit power. He lets it walk to him.

Nathan elbowed him. “Looks like the genius might be spoken for.”

Alaric chuckled. “You keep saying that.”

Nathan nodded. “You’ll see.”

Alaric shook his head. “Minhua isn’t interested. She’s always had her eyes on the throne.”

The Crown Prince took a slow breath. He didn’t like surprises. But he respected them. He respected people who could adapt.

Ethan Zhou wasn’t a curiosity anymore.

He was a variable. And apparently, a genius. One that every faction in the room had just noticed. And the longer he remained quiet, the more dangerous he became.

Alaric took a step forward and smiled.

He once again locked eyes with Ethan and gave him a slight nod. Alaric didn’t have much use for scholars or theorists. Without action, they were practically useless.

But this Ethan…

Maybe he should get to know him. It couldn’t hurt to have more smart people in his life. At the very least, it would annoy Nathan.

Alaric considered the thought as he realized the game had changed.

And so had the pieces.