Adrian had enough Tilons on hand that he wouldn’t need to take on any new commissions for a while.
For the first time in a while, he got up at his usual waking hour. The bright sunlight streamed through the clean window, casting a warm glow throughout the dormitory.
Yawn— Adrian let out a soft yawn as he walked over to the door. It had become a part of his morning routine these days.
Sure enough, the newspaper had been safely delivered again today.
As he reached out to retrieve the newspaper wedged in the doorframe, something else slipped out along with it. Huh? Is this another newspaper?
It was a pristine, snow-white piece of paper. The smooth texture that grazed his index finger gave away its quality—an expensive envelope.
Turning the carefully sealed letter over in his hands, Adrian examined it thoroughly. He didn’t know anyone who would send a letter to a dragon. His hunch was correct. Written in elegant, flowing script with high-grade ink was the name Mikhail Luce Inehart.
“Mikhail. You’ve got a letter.”
Adrian tossed the envelope lightly toward Mikhail. Mikhail, who had been meditating cross-legged on the bed, opened his eyes just in time to snatch the flying envelope out of the air with a thwack.
Mikhail scowled. Even though it was just a letter, this was the first time anyone had ever dared to throw something at royalty like that.
“…If you’re going to deliver something, do it properly!”
“Well, when I get a letter, you can just throw it at me the same way.”
Adrian shrugged off the moment with practiced indifference, fully confident he’d never receive such a letter himself. Lately, Mikhail had been disgruntled that he didn’t get much opportunity to hear creative insults since most people held their tongues around royalty. The worst he ever got were comments like “barbaric” or “ill-mannered.”
Mikhail sighed as he checked the sender’s name on the envelope.
Damn it. That shameless bastard Cameron Harris. Of course he’d actually go and send a letter.
The sender was none other than the infamous Prince Alix.
Cursing his brother internally, Mikhail broke the wax seal and opened the letter. Inside was an ornate sheet of stationery stamped with the grand insignia of the royal kingdom. There were two papers inside: one lustrous sheet, polished to a pearl-like sheen, and another thinner one.
He pulled out the larger sheet first and examined its contents.
The gleaming, letter-sized paper was almost completely blank—except for a single sentence scrawled dead center in bold handwriting:
Since you’ve enrolled at the Academy, fulfill your duty as a royal.
Even through the ink, Alix’s condescending tone came through loud and clear.
Grimacing, Mikhail picked up the other paper.
As expected, the thin sheet turned out to be an invitation to a party hosted by none other than Cameron Harris. Fulfill your duty as a royal, huh? Mikhail curled his lip in annoyance. He didn’t realize attending parties was now considered a royal obligation.
With a scoff, he flung the letter onto the bed.
The luxurious stationery caught air with a whoosh, gliding down in an elegant arc and landing gently on the bed. Even that, it seemed, refused to cooperate.
“Keep throwing tantrums in the morning like that and you’ll age faster.”
Adrian offered a gentle warning, the kind that came with living a long life. Humans were fragile—so fragile that even minor stress could send them spiraling. But rather than appreciate the considerate advice, Mikhail responded with another scowl.
He looked down again at the still-in-hand invitation. On second thought, Mikhail didn’t have anyone to go with. Alix, with nothing better to do, was probably sitting in the royal palace with eyes wide, waiting to see if he’d RSVP. If he went as far as sending a letter, he must really want this. Mikhail supposed he could at least oblige him to that extent.
“What are you doing this weekend?”
Still watering the potted plants by the window with the newspaper in hand, Adrian tilted his head.
“Where’s that coming from all of a sudden?”
“…Just answer the question.”
“I’m supposed to check out the Ordinas greenhouse—”
“So, in other words, you’re free.”
What the hell did this punk just say? Adrian raised an eyebrow. He’d been mentally reviewing all the tasks waiting for him in the greenhouse when Mikhail cut him off mid-sentence with such certainty.
“I said I’m busy, didn’t I? The herbs in the greenhouse need really delicate care.”
“They’ll die if you skip just one day?”
“Well… no, not exactly.”
The plants under my care never die, anyway.
The Gold Dragon adjusted the watering can with a graceful shhhh, shifting his shoulder with a satisfied shrug. As expected, after spending a few days by the sunny window, the leaves were vibrantly green and in perfect condition.
Mikhail fiddled with the invitation in his hands, mumbling with a sulky expression.
“Come to think of it, we’ve gotten kind of close, haven’t we?”
“…Have we?”
Even though he had lived through countless ages, the dragon still couldn’t quite grasp human relationships. Was this what humans considered being close? He quickly masked his bewilderment and answered.
“…Are we really that close?”
It was a genuine question, but Mikhail seemed to take it as sarcasm. His eyes narrowed as he stared intently at Adrian.
“So we’re not?”
It was hard to outright deny it. They attended classes together, ate meals, sparred, and even shared a room… Humans probably did call that being friends.
“…If you say so, then sure.”
Tap, tap. Adrian lifted the watering can and shook out the last few drops, wrapping up his morning routine. Then he turned to look at Mikhail, who was still staring at him from the bed.
“So?”
“I’ve got a favor to ask—something a friend would do.”
“No thanks. If that’s what this friendship is about, then I’m out.”
Adrian snorted, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and neatly pushed the watering can under his desk. Mikhail slammed a fist down on the bed with a thud.
“At least hear me out before you decide!”
“How many Tilons are you offering?”
“…What?”
The dragon crossed his arms and leaned comfortably back against the table, diving straight into negotiations.
“Even between friends, give-and-take is a thing. Do I look like a pushover to you?”
“……”
Mikhail clenched his fist, reminded of the 20 Tilons he had left. He’d nearly killed himself trying to catch that damn tadpolie to earn it. The prince closed his eyes. Wasn’t there anyone else he could take to the party? The thought passed, but the idea of going with a stranger sounded painfully awkward and exhausting.
“Not Tilons.”
He muttered through gritted teeth.
“Isn’t there anything you want besides Tilons?”
“Ah, so now we’re talking favors-for-favors.”
Adrian nodded approvingly at the new offer. It wasn’t a bad deal. Was there anything he needed from Mikhail, though? Nothing came to mind.
“Hmm… Sorry, but there’s nothing I really need from you.”
“Think it over! I’m a prince of the kingdom, you know.”
His brown eyes flicked up toward the ceiling for a moment before returning to their default, unimpressed expression. Weak, broke… As far as usefulness went, Mikhail didn’t bring much to the table as royalty.
“Seriously, nothing.”
Mikhail swallowed down a string of curses, barely managing to keep his composure.
“…Then just keep it in mind. In exchange, come with me to Cameron Harris’s weekend party.”
“Why is everyone so dead set on going to this party?”
“You’re coming, right?”
Mikhail asked again, cutting off Adrian’s grumbling.
“It’s a good opportunity for you too. Cameron’s party is invite-only. Only a tiny fraction of the Academy gets in. It’s a chance to build connections with some of the top noble houses.”
“Yeah… sure, fine.”
That kind of networking meant nothing to a dragon.
Still, Adrian figured it couldn’t hurt to lock in a favor from Mikhail. There’d be a use for it sooner or later.
As Mikhail scribbled down the name and number of his plus-one with a quill pen, Adrian suddenly turned around and shouted.
“Wait—do they serve alcohol at this party?”
“…Alcohol?”
Mikhail raised an eyebrow, his expression flat. Alcohol was strictly prohibited at any party held within Basamiel Academy. The rules were relaxed and the academic atmosphere low-pressure, so students sometimes forgot—but it was still an educational institution.
“Of course not.”
So Mikhail could confidently give a firm no.
Then what the hell kind of party is that? Hearing the answer only drained what little interest Adrian had left. He gave a half-hearted reply.
“Yeah, okay.”
