Rulers of Veistanlu

A Night with the Masked Noble

Onyx could almost hear "Know your place!" from Kila in the distance if he knew what just came out from his fellow peasant's mouth.

Undeterred by Onyx's unusual request, Floris summoned a waiter with a bell. Floris placed a large order: "One hundred servings of this exact dish, please. Pack them carefully to avoid any mishaps during transport."

Onyx jumped off his seat. "I-I wasn't serious…!"

The waiter's eyes widened, getting the pocketwatch underneath his black coat. "Preparation would take two and a half hours. Would that be okay for you, good Sir?"

"Not a problem," Floris said, his eyes remaining locked on Onyx's panicking face.

As the waiter reached to pull back the curtain, Onyx smoothly interjected, "Actually, hold on a moment. Let's rethink that order."

Floris, unfazed, continued savoring his steak. He said, "Don't worry about it. A promise is a promise. You can enjoy as much of this as you want while here with me."

"But it is not for me," Onyx admitted.

"I'm aware. You intend to give it around your area, correct?"

"Yes. There's no other correct answer."

"It's nice of you to do so. If you want a hundred more, request it." The noble took a bite of his steak, while Onyx's heart remained racing. It was too unusual, extremely even, for this to happen. This should definitely have a price.

Onyx gulped, fearing he led himself in a trap.

So he asked, "Given my skills, I'm sure you didn't bring me here for idle conversation. Tell me, what kind of help do you need from me?"

Floris closed his eyes. "I do not deny that I want something from you. But I'd like to save that answer before we part ways."

"No worries," Onyx forced a smile, the information burning a hole in his curiosity. But the request died on his tongue. He'd already pushed his luck, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

"Earlier, you seemed glad to be invited into tea, well, in this dinner instead. We can have tea another time," Floris started, grabbing the wine glass. "Ask any question. I'll answer the best I can until the order arrives."

This is it. This was the perfect chance! Countless questions swirled within him, the one planted by Kila's words taking the forefront for a fleeting moment. However, prudence held him back. It felt like venturing into dangerous territory. With a deep breath, he decided to prioritize a different question, one that had gnawed at him since the frantic chase.

“…”

Floris emptied his wine glass in one swift motion, a gesture that offered little insight into his thoughts. The silence stretched, thick and tense, as Onyx's apprehension grew.

Onyx adjusted his seating. "Apologies for my words back then. I've never encountered a 'thief' that came from nobility. Thankfully, it seems I was mistaken. After all, someone as undeniably beautiful as yourself simply wouldn't fit the mold of a common crook, would they?"

Floris refilled his wine glass with a swift, almost impulsive motion. "The flattery is a bit thick, wouldn't you say? Is there something you're after, or is being charming simply your default setting?"

"Well," Onyx started to feel more comfortable. "I give credit where credit's due."

"Ask the very first thing in your mind," Floris said, almost demanding. Onyx chuckled, for this man was intelligently seeing through him.

"Well," he began, keeping his eyes on Floris as he poured wine. With a cautious move, Onyx took the bottle from Floris and finished filling his own glass, offering a grateful smile. "A friend of mine recently discovered I've been doing free work around town. We worked together earlier, and this particular client stiffed him on payment. Now, apparently, the guy recognized me, which is how my friend found out about my situation."

Floris leaned forward, his entire posture conveying rapt attention. Onyx squirmed under the intensity of Floris's focus, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Alright, so," he stammered, "this friend mentioned my "good" deeds were actually hurting the other peasants. Honestly, I haven't a clue what he meant by that."

Floris's expression turned serious. "While the idea of free work seems noble, your friend makes a valid point. It actually hurts everyone involved. You gain nothing but fleeting recognition, and it sets a dangerous precedent. Those you work for free will come to expect the same from others, essentially devaluing the work of all workers."

Onyx let out a defeated sigh. "What can I do to fix this?"

"First, let's get a timeline," Floris said, leaning back in his chair. "How long have you been doing free work for people?"

Shamefaced, Onyx fiddled with his wine glass, suddenly aware that he was gripping it incorrectly. He stole a glance at his reflection in the wine's ruby depths, his own sadness reflected back. "My memory isn't the best," he admitted, "but it's definitely been a long time."

Floris's eyes narrowed. "And the consequences for such actions?"

"Punishment, I suppose," Onyx mumbled, "like a fine or even prison time. Though I am not sure of the process, nor if I can even file a complaint with my status."

Floris's gaze intensified with conviction. "Absolutely," he declared, "Anyone, regardless of social standing, deserves fair treatment." He then muttered something under his breath, and unbeknownst to him, his muffled words were crystal clear to the peasant. "Though, it seems the system might be flawed in its execution, again."

Again? Onyx raised a brow.

Floris continued, "List the name of the man and the others who swindled you, and I'll ensure they face the appropriate consequences. Don't hesitate to include any witnesses or victims you know of. This is to ensure they face the proper punishment, no matter who's backing them."

Overcome with gratitude, Onyx rose from his chair and dipped into a respectful bow. The unexpected gesture caught Floris off guard, prompting him to rise as well. Onyx spoke with heartfelt sincerity, "I can't thank you enough for this. I truly feared my mistake was beyond repair. The last thing I want is to make the lives of the poor even harder. They've already endured so much hardship."

Floris's curiosity piqued. "What initially drew you to providing free labor?"

Onyx paused, reflecting on his motivations. "I've always believed that the most noble act is to help others without expecting anything in return. But your explanation shed new light on the situation. I should have been more selective about who I offered my assistance to..."

"Your heart is in the right place, that I concur" Floris reassured, his voice gentle, even when it's thrice as loud for Onyx's ears. However, his guilt ran deep, and his heart wasn't willing to surrender just yet.

"I stand firm in my desire to do good," Onyx responded, his voice laced with a hint of despair. "But the sheer weight of my ignorance is overwhelming. I do not know where to begin, there seem to be endless problems to tackle, and all of it, I should give thorough study."

In a gesture of vulnerability, Onyx threw open his robe, revealing the worn tunic beneath. "And with my lowly status," he sighed, "my options are severely limited."

A somber silence descended upon them. Floris understood all too well. In their kingdom, the cries of the powerless fell on deaf ears, no matter how persistent. Power and status reigned supreme. No matter if one's heart was made of gold like Onyx's, a silver spoon-fed person of nobility would always win.

"A sentiment I share entirely," Floris finally admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "The privileged hold court, while the lower classes are relegated to the role of spectators."

Onyx's eyes gleamed with a desperate hope. "If only I possessed the Prince's privilege," he mused, "perhaps my voice would finally be heard, don't you think?"

Floris's expression remained a mask of composure, but a flicker of surprise danced in his chest, a fleeting moment invisible to anyone but Onyx. Beneath the stoic exterior, his heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs, a stark contrast to the stillness of his body. Only Onyx's extraordinary hearing could pierce the carefully constructed facade, revealing the true storm brewing within Floris.

The noble had incredible ironclad composure, but what had made him shocked? Perhaps what Onyx said was not true. Or it was something else.

The tense silence was shattered by the waiter's return. With a flourish, he announced the completion of their order and a waiting carriage outside. He presented a bill on a silver platter, a stark reminder of the extravagant feast Onyx had requested.

Floris, ever the enigma, drew back the curtain surrounding their table. He gestured with his gloved hand towards a distant figure—a man in a scarlet coat and distinctive round spectacles.

Confusion clouded the waiter's face. "Th-the Duke?" he stammered, barely above a whisper.

"Indeed," Floris confirmed as if it was not a big deal. "He shall handle the bill."

Onyx's jaw nearly hit the table. A duke—a ruler, as far as he knew—was about to settle his tab? The sheer absurdity of the situation was almost comical. Panic rising, he blurted, "Absolutely not! This is my responsibility! I'll wash dishes, anything!"

"Sir Onyx," Floris interrupted.

"Sir?!" Onyx jolted from the sudden formality, then paused. "Well, that sounded fitting for a man like me."

Floris, however, remained focused on the task at hand. "I am an attendant under the Duke's employ," he explained to the wide-eyed waiter. "Inform him of the situation."

A tense silence filled the air as the waiter approached the duke's table. Across from the lavishly dressed noble sat a figure clad in gleaming silver armor—the duke's personal knight, no doubt. Onyx, his bravado fading, stole a glance at Floris, unsure if the noble's intervention would have any real consequence. With a gesture towards their fancy table, the waiter awaited the duke's response. Onyx held his breath, fearing repercussions for his impulsive request.

To his surprise, the duke flashed a gentle smile towards Floris and offered a confirming nod. His gaze then shifted to Onyx. The initial amusement in his eyes morphed into a mischievous smirk. However, the reaction from the knight was a stark contrast. His face contorted in anger, a fierce glare aimed directly at Onyx.

The blue-eyed noble's unfinished steak went cold, and so did Onyx's hands.