The Art of Worthlessness

Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.

— Sun Tzu, The Art of War

———

The next evening arrived like an executioner's appointment—inevitable and unwelcome. I stood before my wardrobe, selecting clothes that would reinforce tonight's performance. Not the fine silk tunics that might suggest competence, but a simple grey doublet that hung slightly loose on my frame. The kind of outfit that whispered disappointment without saying a word. I deliberately chose trousers with a loose thread at the hem—a subtle detail that suggested neglect and carelessness.

Welcome to the Kaelen Leone Method Acting Academy, where the only graduation requirement is surviving your own humiliation.

The dining hall felt like a tribunal when I entered. Lord Aldric sat at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the candlelight, his weathered face carved from stone and disappointment. Deep lines etched around his mouth suggested decades of frowning. Lady Vivienne occupied her usual seat to his right, her auburn hair twisted into an elaborate style that probably cost more than most servants earned in a year. Her emerald dress complemented the cold intelligence in her green eyes, which barely registered my presence as I shuffled into the room.

Lucius lounged in his chair across from where I would sit, his golden hair falling in perfect waves that somehow never looked disheveled. At eighteen, he possessed the kind of effortless confidence that came from never doubting your place in the world. His blue eyes tracked my movement with the lazy interest of a cat watching a wounded mouse. His fingers drummed a casual rhythm against the polished mahogany table.

The perfect family portrait: patriarch, trophy wife, golden child, and... whatever I'm supposed to be.

"Father," I began, my voice pitched slightly higher than normal, carrying just enough tremor to suggest nervousness. I made sure to fidget with the cuff of my sleeve, a nervous habit the original Kaelen had developed years ago. "Might I... might I have a word? About the academy?"

Lord Aldric's grey eyes—so similar to my own, yet carrying decades more authority—fixed on me. He set down his wine glass with deliberate care, the crystal making a soft clink against the table that somehow sounded like disapproval.

"Speak."

That single word carried the weight of judgment. Not 'what is it, son?' or 'of course.' Just speak, as if I were a petitioner in his court rather than his child. The room seemed to grow colder in the wake of that command.

I wrung my hands, a gesture I'd perfected over weeks of practice. "The invitation came yesterday. The Royal Awakening Ceremony is... it's in two days, and I..." I let my voice trail off, swallowing hard as if struggling to find words. I allowed my gaze to drop to the intricate pattern of the tablecloth, counting the woven designs as if they might provide me courage.

"And?" Lady Vivienne's fan snapped open, a sharp sound that made me flinch—not entirely theatrically. The jewels on her fingers caught the light as she waved the fan impatiently. "Do speak up, Kaelen. We haven't all evening. Some of us have actual obligations to attend to."

"I'm frightened," I admitted, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I made my lower lip quiver slightly—a theatrical touch, perhaps, but effective. "The academy is so large, and there will be so many people, and I... I don't think I can manage. Not alone."

Lucius leaned forward, a predatory smile spreading across his handsome features. The candlelight cast shadows that made his expression seem almost demonic. "Frightened? Of what, exactly? Books? Lessons? Other students who might look at you sideways? Or perhaps you're afraid they'll discover what we already know—that you're utterly worthless?"

"Everything," I whispered, and the shame I felt at saying it wasn't entirely feigned. My fingers curled into the fabric of my trousers beneath the table. "I can't even remember to eat meals without being reminded. How am I supposed to navigate academy politics? What if I embarrass our family name further? What if I fail again, in front of everyone?"

"You've managed that quite well without leaving the estate," Lucius observed, his tone carrying the casual cruelty that came so naturally to him. He reached for his wine, taking a slow, deliberate sip before continuing. "Remember the Thornfield incident? Or perhaps your spectacular failure at the entrance examinations? Or that time you fainted during swordplay training? The list of your embarrassments is quite extensive, brother."

Lady Vivienne's fan fluttered, a delicate movement that somehow conveyed profound disdain. Her lips pursed as if she'd tasted something particularly sour. "Really, Kaelen. This dramatic display is quite beneath even your usual standards. The academy admission is a formality for noble sons—even ones as... challenged as yourself."

Perfect. They're taking the bait exactly as expected. Now for the hook.

I turned toward my father, my grey eyes wide and pleading in a way that made my stomach churn. "I was hoping... perhaps... if I could take a personal attendant? Someone to help me remember things, to ensure I don't miss meals or important appointments?"

The silence that followed felt heavier than a tombstone. Lord Aldric's expression shifted from irritation to something colder—the look of a man calculating costs and benefits.

"A personal attendant." His voice carried no inflection, which somehow made it more terrifying than shouting. "You're requesting that House Leone provide you with a nursemaid."

"Not a nursemaid," I said quickly, then caught myself and added a stammer. "I mean... someone discreet. Someone who understands that I... that I need guidance. Structure."

Lucius threw back his head and laughed, a rich sound that would have been pleasant if it weren't so clearly mocking. "Oh, this is magnificent. Little brother wants someone to hold his hand through his first year of academy. What's next? A wet nurse? Perhaps someone to chew your food for you?"

"Lucius." Lord Aldric's single word cut through his son's laughter like a blade. "Enough."

My father stood, his imposing frame casting shadows across the table. He walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the estate grounds. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of political calculation.

"The request has merit."

Lady Vivienne's fan snapped shut. "Aldric, surely you're not seriously considering—"

"I am considering the reality of our situation." He turned back to face us, his grey eyes cold as winter steel. "Kaelen has already proven himself... unreliable... in social situations. The last thing House Leone needs is for him to create some fresh catastrophe at the Royal Academy."

There it is. The moment when paternal concern reveals itself as political pragmatism.