Tales of Neglected ones

The Imperial Banquet Hall sparkled like a living jewel.

Golden chandeliers spilled warm light across polished marble floors. Tables lined the vast room, decorated with fine silverware, delicacies from distant provinces, and crystal goblets filled with shimmering wine. The banners of the Eight Great Houses hung proudly above, and the air buzzed with laughter, soft music, and the murmur of political small talk.

In the center of it all stood Seraphina Virellia.

She moved with quiet confidence, surrounded by nobles who bowed politely and offered compliments soaked in sugar-coated words. Her gown shimmered with soft blue silk that caught the light with every turn. Her long silver hair, braided with strands of midnight ribbon, was pinned in a formal style that emphasized the calm grace of her face.

Despite her youth, she held herself with the ease of someone raised to be watched, to be measured. She answered each noble's greeting with the same light smile and graceful tone, always precise, never cold.

A few steps behind her stood a figure who did not belong—not in the eyes of the gathered nobility.

Sylas.

His black hair fell naturally across his forehead, unstyled. He wore a simple high-collared tunic of dark gray and black, clean and proper but unadorned—no jewelry, no crest, no embroidery. His expression was quiet, unreadable. His eyes didn't scan the crowd with ambition or awe. He was simply… there.

Watching. Thinking.

His presence was easy to miss—and yet, Lucien Valeburne noticed.

The heir of House Valeburne moved with the subtle arrogance of someone who never had to try. Dressed in dark crimson trimmed with silver, his every gesture was calculated, polished, and elegant. His gaze swept across the hall, then narrowed the moment he saw Sylas standing there.

He began walking. Slowly. Deliberately.

Several nearby nobles, including a few younger sons and daughters of lesser houses, followed Lucien's line of sight and turned to look as well.

Lucien stopped just a step away from Sylas.

"I wasn't aware the palace was allowing attendants to take up space in the guest area."

His voice was mild, but carried clearly.

Sylas looked at him but said nothing.

Lucien's smile deepened slightly.

"Or perhaps you wandered in by mistake? It happens sometimes. The help forgets where the walls are."

A few nearby nobles chuckled—not cruelly, but curiously. Waiting to see what would happen.

Still, Sylas didn't answer.

Lucien's voice grew just a touch louder.

"Tell me—what does someone like you think, standing here in a hall meant for bloodlines and crowns? Do you imagine yourself part of this world?"

Sylas tilted his head slightly.

"Do you need me to answer that?"

Lucien's smile faltered. Just briefly.

"You think wit is enough to stand where you don't belong?" he asked, his voice gaining weight. "Do you think being tolerated makes you equal?"

At that, Sylas finally spoke.

"I don't think about you at all."

The words were spoken plainly—without challenge, without bite. But the stillness that followed made them feel louder than a shout.

The subtle music in the background seemed to soften. More nobles turned their heads now, sensing tension.

Lucien's jaw tightened.

"Careful, attendant," he said. "Mockery doesn't lift your station. It only makes your fall more noticeable."

And then, from just behind them—

"That's enough, Lucien."

Her voice was soft. Clear. And suddenly the entire conversation came to a halt.

Seraphina had stepped away from her conversation, walking calmly toward them. There was no urgency in her steps, no fire in her eyes—but something in the way she held herself made even the watching nobles go quiet.

She stopped beside Sylas, folding her hands in front of her as she faced Lucien.

"He is my attendant."

Her voice remained even, formal. "And he is here under my direction."

Lucien blinked once.

"Of course, Lady Seraphina," he said smoothly, trying to recover his composure. "But surely you understand how appearances—"

"I'm aware of appearances. I'm also aware of respect."

Lucien hesitated. The attention of the room was firmly on them now.

"He is not here on accident. He was not invited by mistake. He stands where I asked him to stand. That should be enough."

The way she spoke—calm, not proud—left no room for argument.

Lucien gave a faint bow.

"I meant no offense."

"But you gave it anyway."

There was no anger in her tone. Just truth.

Lucien straightened, gave Sylas one last look, and then turned and walked away, his exit quiet but not unnoticed.

The conversations slowly resumed around them.

Seraphina turned to Sylas. Her voice was softer now, more personal.

"Are you alright?"

Sylas nodded once.

"I've been through worse."

She gave the faintest smile.

"Still. You shouldn't have to endure it here."

He glanced at her.

"You didn't have to say anything."

"But I did."

She looked back toward the hall. "Because you're under my care. And because I don't think respect should be reserved for those born into it."

Sylas said nothing for a moment, then gave a small nod.

The two of them stood side by side as the music rose again, quieter than the rest, yet now noticed by more than a few pairs of curious eyes.

The girl with a name that mattered… and the boy without one.

End of chapter