Rulers of Veistanlu

Unusual Events

"Perfect!" Onyx exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the vast social gap between them. This was a golden opportunity: he could glean some knowledge from a noble, a perspective far removed from his own. After all, nobles were notorious for hoarding information, not money, as they rarely spared a glance at the struggles of the lower classes.

Yet, this man was surprisingly open, even inviting him for tea. What a rare chance indeed.

But how thrilling this invitation was, Onyx felt more obliged—more of he had to go. Despite his lack of formal schooling, even he understood the deference owed to nobility. The social hierarchy was clear, and a commoner like him wouldn't dare defy someone of such high standing.

Onyx stuck to the black-clad man's shadow, their steps leading them out of the commoner district.

"Onyx, is it not?" The man asked softly.

"Yes!" Onyx enthusiastically said. His fingers trailed his raven hair and asked, "How did you know?"

"I heard a lot from you," the black-clad man said, his footsteps slowing. Onyx noticed, and he also slowed his pace. The black-clad man then stopped walking. Onyx stopped, too.

His tired eyes fell on Onyx's green ones. He asked, "Do you not wish to walk alongside me?"

Onyx, caught off guard by the question, felt a familiar spark of pride ignite. A grin stretched across his face. "Well, if you'd prefer my close company, sir, then just say so! Though, a name would be nice..."

The man turned away slowly, his voice low. "Don't speak my name in public. Do call me Floris."

They soon arrived at the gates of the borders of nobility. Unlike the walls in the commoner area, the rocks used here have crystals. The walls would gleam at sunrise and sunset, and the significant luck of the people who live inside, along with their future children, showed. How more beautiful was it inside?

The joyous symphony of trumpets in Onyx's head screeched to a halt as a knight's stern voice boomed, "Hold!" A group of knights materialized around Floris, their menacing spears forming a barricade at his midsection. "Inform us immediately, madam, to which house you belong?"

"Madam?" Onyx muttered to himself, then he flicked his glaze at Floris—well, his eyes only as there's nothing else to see—and continued muttering, "He must be quite beautiful to be mistaken as a woman, on par with me at least."

Floris answered, "Under House Mejia, his subordinate."

Surprised by a man's gentle tone, the knights stammered apologies. The leader blurted, "Forgive us, sir! We meant no disrespect."

"It does not matter. However, I only accept apologies when one fulfills my request," As if on cue, the menacing spears vanished. However, they reappeared the moment it was Onyx's turn to enter.

Panic surged through Onyx. "You can't just leave me here! Sir Flo—" He caught himself, remembering the need for secrecy. "Ahem, that gentleman wishes for my company!"

"A peasant like you? Please!" The knights had their short-lived laughter before Floris declared, "See yourselves displaced by this evening."

The knights' jeers died in their throats at Floris' soft yet icy pronouncement.

"I told you," Onyx teased the anxious knights, winking after.

The fancy district was a far cry from the commoner areas. Everything was meticulously crafted and gleaming, with an art nouveau flair. Even the shops were built to last, made from concrete and steel and painted in lovely pastel colors. The whole place had an air of paradise.

Onyx was surrounded by opulence. Every person he saw was adorned with a dazzling array of jewels, their clothing crafted from the most exquisite silks imaginable. The colors were unlike anything he'd ever encountered, dyes so vibrant they seemed impossible. The way everyone carried themselves, chins held high, suggesting a constant awareness of being observed, an unspoken competition in extravagance.

Floris, noticing Onyx's expression of wonder, inquired, "Presumably, this is your initial visit to this location?"

"Indeed, sir," Onyx replied in a hushed tone, subtly curbing his enthusiasm as he was unsure of the proper etiquette in this environment.

The pieces began to fall into place. The effortless grace that permeated Floris' movements, even in hurried moments with the earlier chivalry chase, the enigmatic name, the captivating glimpse of eyes, and the lingering, expensive fragrance—all clicked for Onyx. This wasn't just Floris' birthplace; it was where he truly belonged. Seeing him back in the commoner's area felt so wrong.

So this was how the Prince lived, too. A bitter taste filled his mouth.

Floris spotted Onyx's change of face, so he asked, "Are you alright?"

When Onyx turned his head back to the noble, he noticed the weariness had vanished from Floris' eyes, replaced by concern. Onyx's face, etched with disappointment moments ago, softened into a reassuring smile. "A man like me can always bounce back. Where to next? Lead the way!"

Floris untied the ribbons that held the ankle-length robe in place. He then held the garment out to a bewildered Onyx. Without hesitation, Onyx slipped into the robe, but unlike Floris, it only reached his mid-calves, highlighting the significant height difference.

The fabric cascaded down his arms like cool water, an unbelievable contrast to his own tunic's rough, scratchy material. Onyx couldn't help but grin as he wrapped the luxurious robe around himself. It felt like a glimpse into another world of unimaginable comfort and opulence just from clothes. What would a full attire from a noble's closet feel like?

The blue-eyed noble asked, "Do you feel more comfortable?"

"Ah, I see," Onyx muttered, understanding why the robes were handed to him. Though, with an ego as big as Onyx's, he wouldn't mind looking like the black sheep in the flock; the faith other people give to their gods, he gave to his looks. "My tunic would be fine, but I appreciate the thought."

They passed through multiple shops, the first and only establishments built near the walls of nobility. Exquisite boutiques brimmed with shimmering fabrics and intricate jewelry, each vying for attention with ornate displays. The air hung heavy with the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked pastries and food he had yet to know about. Onyx couldn't help but compare these to his district's single, generic bakery. Every footstep echoed differently on the smooth cobblestones. Even the setting sunlight seemed to cast a warmer glow on these streets. Everything was different.

Onyx couldn't decide if it was a good or bad different though. All were unfamiliar.

An intoxicating and familiar aroma, almost tangible on his tongue, snagged his senses. It wanted to beckon him forward. Luckily, Floris was leading him in the same direction. The only scent he knew—meat.

Seeing the elaborately arranged utensils flanking his steak sent a jolt through Onyx. "Honestly, setting foot in a place like this never even crossed my mind," he admitted, a tremor in his voice betraying his usual calm. Even back in the commoner district, he rarely felt anxiety gnaw at him. Today, though, his heart had been a runaway carriage, leaping into his throat for unexpected reasons.

Kila's outburst, a night spent with a noble, and the social minefield of using the correct fork while battling the primal desire to devour a steak with his bare hands—these unusual events all at once would send Onyx into a stroke if he wasn't at his strongest.

Floris offered, "Enjoy it however you like. I picked a secluded table for this reason," as he took a bite of his own, the same dish as Onyx's but noticeably smaller, from under his mask. His gloved left hand held a small knife delicately.

"I would," Onyx finally figured out what fork the noble picked up. "But I want to be on par with your beauty."

Just as Onyx prepared to raise a forkful to his lips, a jolt escaped Floris. His knife clattered against the plate, shattering the momentary peace.

Onyx immediately asked, "Are you fine? Is it something I said?"

"No," Floris answered, picking up the knife as if nothing happened.

Just as another question bubbled to his lips, an even more pressing concern rose from within him—a loud rumble from his stomach. His attempt at noble decorum was crumbling minutes before even entering the restaurant. The tantalizing aroma and the promise of a delicious meal were simply too much to resist. Etiquette took a backseat as his fork eagerly attacked the plate.

However, while his stomach was getting full, his heart sank—how he wished his fellow peasants would experience this, too. All the resources were here; all the things that the poor could ask for were abundant here. It ate Onyx's heart, preventing him from thoroughly enjoying this place.

When his food was wiped off his plate, Onyx looked back to the noble, who stared at him. He wasn't sure if Floris' eyes flickered with exhaustion, anger, or confusion. Perhaps sorrowful.

"I should have matched your pace, shouldn't I?" Onyx said, immediately fixing his posture and getting the napkin laid by his legs to wipe his mouth. He sent out a nervous laugh that made his tongue feel his fangs.

"Fangs?" Onyx whispered to himself, his tongue swirling to his fangs once more, feeling a difference. Sharper, longer.

Oh no.

Floris glanced back at his barely touched plate and offered, "Please, excuse my lack of decorum."

The noble continued eating while Onyx sent his silent prayer to whoever might be listening that night, hoping Floris hadn't noticed his unnaturally sharp fangs glinted by the chandelier above them. His nerves were shaking twice more than finding a good fork. He probably saw when he stuffed his face like a barbarian, mouth agape for all the world to see!

"I," Onyx stuttered, "I hope I did not look too hideous while eating. I never had that wonderful food."

"Appearance is of little consequence," Floris replied, dabbing his mouth with a napkin beneath his mask. Onyx's worries about his fangs seemed to melt away under Floris' oblivious response. "I am pleased you found it enjoyable. Rest assured, you are welcome to partake in further meals of this nature as long as we remain companions."

Onyx wrestled with a question gnawing at him throughout the entire fancy experience. It felt risky, a potential faux pas that might portray him as demanding. Yet, the memory of the succulent meal lingered, and he couldn't resist any longer. Floris observed the peasant's struggle, lips pursed for a moment before a nervous chuckle escaped them.

"Don't hesitate," Floris said kindly. "Speak your mind freely."

Onyx blurted out, "So... does this mean I could have, like, a hundred more of these meals... right now?"