Chapter 136: Chapter 136: The Dinner

The dining hall was elegant in a restrained, elven way—white stone walls veined with soft green lines, golden accents on the tall arched windows, and a polished silver chandelier above the long table. The air was calm, and the servants had already finished serving the food. There was no noise except for the occasional clinking of cutlery.

Everyone was seated.

Albrecht Thorne sat at the head of the table, as expected. To his right was Serina, and to his left, Lady Mirelle. On the sides closest to him sat Kael, Damon, Livia, and Sylvette.

Noel sat farther down the table, alone at the end. The distance wasn’t dramatic, but it was intentional—clearly arranged to maintain the image of inclusion while keeping him apart. It suited him just fine.

From where he sat, he could see the family engaging in polite conversation. They were smiling, laughing at minor jokes, talking like this was any other evening. Nothing had changed—and yet everything had.

Lady Mirelle turned her head toward her sons with an air of practiced elegance.

“So, Kael, Damon… how did the military academy treat you two?” she asked, her tone light, but genuinely curious. “Your letters were always so brief.”

Kael gave a short nod, keeping his posture straight.

“It was intense,” he admitted. “The training was… relentless.”

Damon let out a faint breath, his voice quieter. “More than we expected. Discipline, drills, no special treatment for nobility.”

Mirelle smiled, though a trace of concern passed through her features. “Well, I’m glad it shaped you into proper men.”

Noel, listening in silence, let his eyes drift down to the silverware.

’Military training wasn’t new to me. Pain, cold, and shouting… they’re universal, even on Earth.’

Kael glanced across the table, his expression softening slightly.

“To be honest,” he added, “the first few weeks were hell.”

Damon nodded, smirking faintly. “We thought about running more than once.”

That earned a few quiet chuckles from the others. Even Livia looked amused. Only Lord Albrecht remained impassive, staring down at his wine as if it might reveal the future.

Noel didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely.

’So the academy really did change them. Huh.’

Lady Mirelle set her wine glass down with a sly smile. “Now that you’re all together again, isn’t this the perfect time to compare how far each of you has come?”

Damon raised his eyebrows slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “From what I’ve heard… Noel’s actually doing quite well for himself lately.”

’Here it comes.’

Kael turned toward his younger brother—not mocking, just curious. “Is it true? That you’re ranked among the top students?”

Noel calmly dabbed his lips with his napkin, set it down on his lap, and replied without embellishment. “Nineteenth. In the overall ranking of the Imperial Academy.”

A moment of silence fell over the table.

“Nineteenth?” Kael echoed, as if needing to confirm it. Damon let out a low whistle.

“No one in our family ever reached that high,” he admitted with genuine surprise. “Not even the heirs.”

Lady Mirelle didn’t speak. Her smile froze.

Lord Albrecht didn’t even raise his eyes from his plate. “I see. Congratulations.”

There was no emotion in his voice. Just a dry acknowledgment, as if they were discussing the weather.

Noel didn’t flinch. ’As expected.’

Sylvette had been quiet until now, stirring the vegetables on her plate without touching them. Then, without lifting her gaze, she spoke.

“Father. Why was I never allowed to attend the Imperial Academy?”

The question dropped like a stone into still water.

Everyone at the table turned toward her.

Lord Albrecht finally looked up. His crimson eyes landed on his youngest daughter, expression unreadable.

“You’re eighteen,” he said. “If you were to join now, you’d be entering the final year. There’s no point.”

“I would have done well,” Sylvette replied, her tone sharper than usual. “Probably better than Noel.”

Noel didn’t even glance at her. He simply took another bite of his food, chewing slowly.

’Talk is cheap.’

Albrecht leaned back slightly. “And are your private instructors not enough for you?”

Sylvette crossed her arms. “They’re fine.”

The silence that followed was colder than the elven silverware.

The tension in the air lingered for a moment after Sylvette’s cold remark. Noel’s fork scraped softly against his plate as he sliced a piece of roasted meat, chewing slowly, unfazed by the passive aggression aimed his way. No one else dared speak—until Serina, seated to Albrecht’s right, let out a quiet, practiced laugh.

“Well,” she said, her voice melodic and calm, “since we are all here together, perhaps it’s best we turn to lighter topics.”

She gently reached for her wine glass, tilting it slightly as she looked toward her eldest daughter. “In two days, our dear Livia will be the center of attention. Isn’t that right?”

Livia, who had been silent up to this point, shifted slightly in her chair. “So it seems.”

“Come now, show a little excitement,” Serina chided playfully. “You’re marrying into one of the most prestigious elven families of Elarith. The House of Lestaria has served as a pillar of nobility for centuries. It’s an honor.”

Livia offered a cool smile, her voice measured. “I’m aware.”

Lady Mirelle joined in, her expression warm and more animated than usual. “The ceremony will take place in the Heartgrove Pavilion, correct? I heard it’s an architectural masterpiece—open sky, enchanted petals, even songbirds trained to fly during the vows.”

“Yes,” Serina nodded. “Lord Veyron’s family insisted on handling every detail. It seems they want to make an impression.”

Kael leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “The guest list must be ridiculous. I overheard someone say the entire upper court of the elven council will be there.”

“They will,” Serina confirmed. “And several nobles from Elarith.”

Damon gave a low whistle. “We’ll be surrounded by pointy ears and velvet cloaks for hours.”

“Behave yourself,” Mirelle said, raising an eyebrow.

Noel didn’t comment. He just kept eating, slowly, deliberately, while listening.

Sylvette stirred her drink and muttered under her breath, “At least one of us gets to leave this house.”

Everyone ignored the remark—except Livia, who cast her a warning glance.

Serina, unfazed, smiled again. “Regardless, I expect everyone to be at their best. The House of Thorne must look dignified. Noel,” she said, turning her attention to him for the first time that evening, “I assume you’ve brought proper formalwear?”

Noel looked up, eyes calm. “Of course.”

“Good. The tailor will arrive tomorrow morning for final fittings.”

“Understood.”

The conversation lingered a while longer on logistics—flowers, seating arrangements, ceremonial customs. But to Noel, it all blurred into background noise. He tuned out, gazing at the golden chandeliers and elven-crafted ornaments lining the walls.

’Two more days… then I’m out of here.’

The scene closes with the soft clinking of cutlery and glasses, laughter forced and hollow, and Noel watching it all with distant eyes.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep