Who Says I'm Pretending?

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.

— Oscar Wilde

———

"A dedicated keeper," he continued, "someone responsible for ensuring our family embarrassment doesn't compound itself, serves our interests. Better to appear overly cautious than negligent."

Lucius's smile faded slightly. "You're actually going to give him a handler."

"I'm going to give House Leone insurance against further humiliation." Lord Aldric returned to his seat, his movements carrying the finality of a judge delivering sentence. "The question is who."

I seized the opening, my voice still trembling but now with what I hoped sounded like desperate relief. "The Ashford girl, perhaps? Lyra? She's quiet, and she understands... discretion. After the incident with the Blackwood investigation, she's proven herself trustworthy."

Lady Vivienne's green eyes narrowed. "That girl? She's barely more than a scullery maid."

"Which makes her perfect," Lord Aldric said, and I felt a surge of triumph that I quickly buried beneath my mask of pathetic gratitude. "Someone forgettable. Someone who won't draw attention or gossip. The last thing we need is palace servants spreading tales about the Leone heir's... special needs."

Special needs. If only you knew how special, Father dear. The ability to see your precious narrative for the scripted farce it is might qualify as the most special need of all.

"But she's one of our more competent servants," Lady Vivienne protested, her fingers tapping impatiently against the polished mahogany table. "Losing her to this... this childish whim seems wasteful. The kitchen staff speaks highly of her efficiency."

"We can always train another kitchen maid," Lord Aldric replied dismissively, waving away her concern like an annoying insect. "We cannot easily repair our reputation if Kaelen creates another spectacle. The von Valerius incident was humiliating enough."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes studying me with renewed interest. The calculating gleam in them made my skin crawl. "I have to admit, brother, this is more cunning than I gave you credit for. Manipulating Father into providing you with your own personal servant. Perhaps there's a spine in there after all."

If only you knew, dear brother. If only you knew just how much spine it takes to play the spineless coward day after day while plotting your downfall.

I even managed to summon a faint blush of shame to my cheeks—a trick I'd been practicing in the mirror. "It's not manipulation. I just... I know I can't do this alone. And after what happened with Leo von Valerius, I thought... maybe if I had someone to remind me not to make mistakes..."

"The von Valerius incident was indeed educational," Lord Aldric said, his tone suggesting the education had been particularly painful. His fingers drummed once on the armrest of his chair—the only outward sign of his lingering anger. "Very well. The Ashford girl will accompany you to the academy as your personal attendant. She will ensure you maintain proper schedules, appropriate behavior, and minimal visibility."

He fixed me with a stare that could have frozen summer wine. "I trust I need not elaborate on the consequences should you shame our name further."

"No, Father. Thank you, Father." I ducked my head in what I hoped looked like grateful submission, letting my hair fall forward to hide the cold calculation in my eyes. "I promise I'll try not to disappoint you."

"Try harder than you have thus far," he replied curtly. "Dismissed."

I rose from my chair, my movements deliberately clumsy, knocking my knee against the table leg and wincing dramatically. I shuffled toward the door like a beaten dog, shoulders hunched and head bowed. Behind me, I heard Lucius's voice, thick with amusement and laced with something darker.

"Magnificent performance, little brother. You almost had me believing you were genuinely pathetic instead of just pretending to be."

I paused at the doorway, my hand on the ornate brass handle, and turned back to look at him. For just a moment, I let my mask slip—not enough for the others to notice, but enough for Lucius to see something cold and calculating behind my grey eyes. A glimpse of the predator beneath the sheep's clothing.

"Who says I'm pretending?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Then I was through the door and into the corridor, leaving behind the sound of Lucius's uncertain laughter. The rich tapestries that lined the hallway muffled his voice, but I could still hear the faintest edge of doubt that had crept into it.

Round one: complete. Lyra's position is secured, my reputation as a helpless fool is reinforced, and I've planted just enough doubt in Lucius's mind to keep him guessing. Sometimes the best weapon is uncertainty.

The corridor stretched before me, lined with portraits of Leone ancestors whose stern gazes seemed to judge my performance from their gilded frames. Men and women who had built this house through blood and cunning, none of whom would have recognized the value in appearing weak. I straightened slightly, allowing myself a moment of genuine satisfaction before resuming my defeated posture as a servant rounded the far corner.

The price was my pride. The prize was my queen. And tomorrow, we both begin the real game.

I made my way back to my chambers, already composing the mental debrief I would share with Lyra when she arrived for her evening report. The humiliation still burned in my chest—no amount of strategic thinking could completely numb the sting of my family's casual dismissal—but beneath that pain lay something harder and colder. A resolve like tempered steel.

They think they're managing their disappointment of a son. They have no idea they just handed me the keys to their destruction. The first domino has fallen exactly as planned.

The thought should have troubled me more than it did. Three months ago, Alex Chen would have been horrified at the idea of plotting against his own family. But three months ago, Alex Chen had never faced execution at the hands of a golden-haired protagonist. Never felt the casual cruelty of noble privilege. Never watched a servant girl nearly die for crimes she didn't commit.

Perspective is a hell of a thing. So is survival instinct.

I reached my door and paused, listening for any signs of movement in the corridor. The muted sounds of the estate at evening—distant voices from the kitchen, the soft tread of servants' feet on carpet—filled the air, but no one was near. Satisfied that I was alone, I slipped inside and began preparing for Lyra's arrival. The academy awaited, full of dangers and opportunities in equal measure. But now, at least, I wouldn't be facing it alone.

The beggar has claimed his throne. Time to see what kingdoms can be conquered from the shadows.