…“What?”
Adrian jolted upright from where he was lying on the plum-colored sofa tucked into the corner of the library, startled by what he’d just read. The dragon had been engrossed in a thick book titled The Impact of Party Culture on the Kingdom.
Basamiel Academy boasted one of the most beautiful libraries in the entire kingdom. With shelves maintained by meticulous magical upkeep and a yearly stream of performative donations from nobles, the library’s list of new arrivals rarely had time to dry its ink.
So that’s why no one was surprised at the dining hall yesterday. They really don’t care about gender when it comes to choosing partners…? Then how do they even manage reproduction—well, humans do breed excessively, after all.
Adrian turned the page, nodding to himself.
But since when, exactly?
Just a few hundred years ago, same-sex partnerships were still socially condemned. Under the rule of one particular king, there had even been formal executions for it. Was it after the founding of the Rustavaran Kingdom? That’d make sense—he hadn’t visited the human world since that indulgence, so he could at least narrow it down to a rough timeframe.
Now ablaze with academic curiosity, the dragon became fixated on pinpointing when this cultural shift began.
And then it happened.
Carlo de Inehart. The familiar name appeared in elegant script on high-quality parchment. The dragon gently ran a finger over it. Perhaps because it was the name of the kingdom’s founding king, the page was adorned lavishly with gold leaf, the entire spread glimmering with decorative grandeur.
What an absurd waste of money.
If Carlo had seen this himself, he would’ve clicked his tongue and immediately ordered a ban on it.
The dragon lightly scraped the gold with a fingernail. The students at the academy were all rich, so it made sense that books like this could be donated so freely.
Adrian opened the page to its full width from the center of the book. Several pages were folded like an accordion, and when he unfolded them completely, the illustration stretched nearly the full length of his arm.
It was a vivid multi-page depiction of Carlo being crowned.
Adrian met the garnet-red eyes of the man wearing the gem-studded crown. Though long dead, the life and majesty captured in the illustration shone so vividly, it felt like gazing up at the real, living face of a king.
He touched the face of the blonde Archmage illustrated next to Carlo.
It really was decorated with actual gold and silver. Given the opportunity to closely examine Carlo’s face—once only existing as a faint memory—the dragon let out a quiet breath of admiration. Humans, plagued by their short lives, often clung obsessively to records, and thanks to that obsession, the dragon could recall a memory long forgotten.
He had assumed Mikhail resembled Carlo simply because they shared royal blood. But staring at the portrait now, the dragon realized just how eerily similar the two humans truly were.
***
Joyful human chatter echoed behind him. The mood was steadily warming, with everyone talking cheerfully about the kingdom’s enduring peace and prosperity.
But for the man standing alone on the terrace, the blossoming atmosphere of the party meant absolutely nothing. The part about bringing in a famous harpist must’ve been true—the music was lovely, his favorite thing about the night. Ah, and the wine too. The Gold Dragon held the moonlit glass of wine made from grape pearls with elegant fingers, raising it toward the moonlight.
And then—
“…Not a fan of parties, huh?”
Someone approached the Gold Dragon, who had been quietly sipping his wine while gazing at the bright moon from a corner of the terrace. He hadn’t been surprised—he’d already sensed the presence—but he still responded to the comment.
It was Carlo de Inehart.
He seemed perfectly at ease with parties like this. Before the dragon had stepped out onto the terrace, Carlo had been enjoying himself in the banquet hall, twirling among the guests and soaking up their attention.
“Come on, don’t you know my tastes by now?”
Ha ha ha!—a sudden burst of laughter rang from inside the hall. Both the dragon and Carlo turned their heads in its direction. There was no way a party like this would ever be to the dragon’s taste.
Hmm. The dragon’s eyes narrowed slightly. Carlo noticed and stepped further out onto the terrace, then—shhk—drew the curtain shut with practiced grace. Though it was just a thin layer of fabric, it was more than enough.
Luce Fennigan let one side of his lips curve into a crooked smirk. Carlo, watching the expression carefully, stepped closer to the terrace railing where Luce had his arm casually draped.
“Aren’t you supposed to be out there mingling?”
Luce asked, eyeing Carlo. It made sense—after all, the only reason he was even at this dull party was because of Carlo’s business. Carlo had invited him along before realizing that Luce’s social skills were about as functional as a Darfung’s horn. He was probably regretting the whole invitation now.
“Your date’s out here all alone… kind of hard to enjoy the party like that.”
“…Is that so?”
Guess it’s time to head back in.
The dragon sighed and poured the rest of his wine over the terrace railing, as if to say he had no other choice.
“What, was there something wrong with the wine?”
Carlo raised a brow at Luce, puzzled by him dumping his drink so suddenly. Luce just gave a light shrug and replied casually.
“I’m sick of wine. Thought I’d grab something cleaner while I’m heading back in anyway.”
Carlo’s crimson eyes swept over Luce’s face with a faint hint of reproach.
“You really do like your alcohol. I’ve seen you drinking quite a bit tonight. How much can you handle?”
He was checking for signs of drunkenness. But Luce’s face was clear—no hint of a flush, not a trace of intoxication.
“I’ll drink just enough to make sure I don’t cause a scene at your party. No need to worry.”
“…I wasn’t worried about that.”
“Means I could down a few hundred more glasses and still be fine.”
What? Carlo tilted his head at the absurd claim. In response, Luce brought his index and middle fingers to his temple and cast some kind of spell. Under the moonlight, all Carlo could see was Luce’s golden hair and his molten gold eyes shimmering like a boiling tide.
Thanks to the magic, glimmering particles of golden mana began to rise in the air. The Gold Dragon gently blew them away with a soft puff of breath.
“……”
It was a beautiful sight. Carlo stared, speechless, utterly captivated by the haunting beauty before him. Sensing the intensity of his gaze, Luce narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
“You get it now, right?”
With magic, he could purge any trace of intoxication. And besides, his physical abilities were far beyond what any human body could achieve. Whatever concerns this human might have had—none of it mattered to a dragon. There was a time when being above it all had thrilled him, made him proud. But that feeling had long since faded.
“…Using magic just so you can drink a few hundred glasses. That’s indulgent.”
Carlo leaned against the railing, lips curving into a wry, elegant smile.
“What’s the point otherwise? You drink to get drunk, don’t you?”
“Point? You mean there’s meaning in drinking?”
The Gold Dragon looked down at his empty glass, bewildered by the odd notion. Internally, he mused: Well, humans do love giving meaning to every little thing.
“You drink because being drunk is fun.”
Carlo said it with ease, watching the side of the dragon’s face as he puzzled it out.
“…Being drunk is fun?”
“Next time, try drinking until it hits you. Just once. Though I’ll warn you—you’ll wake up with a splitting headache.”
“No thanks.”
The dragon cut him off flatly and stepped away from the terrace railing with a sigh. Carlo had come all the way out here to find him, so they had clearly been out here long enough.
As Luce and Carlo pulled aside the curtain and reentered the banquet hall, the stares immediately made themselves known. Whispers flickered through the room, lips hidden behind fans, palms, and sleeves—gossip aimed squarely at Carlo.
The Gold Dragon, whose hearing was far too sharp for his own peace, flicked a glance toward the man beside him. They’d already forgotten how he had been laughing and dancing with them earlier. Now all they could talk about was the “tragic sword genius from a fallen noble house.” The noise was enough to give him a headache.
Carlo showed no reaction. He simply accepted a new drink from a nearby server and swapped it with the empty glass in Luce’s hand.
“Try this one. It’s the new trend at parties in the royal capital.”
“Alright.”
Luce accepted it without hesitation and brought the glass straight to his lips.
“But why exactly did I have to come to this thing?”
It had been bothering him for a while. He hadn’t asked out of sheer laziness. As far as the dragon knew, human customs dictated that one typically brought a member of the opposite sex to events like this. Yet Carlo had gone out of his way to bring him here.
“…Why? Did someone say something to you?”
“They’re all talking about you.”
There wasn’t even a need to name names—everyone was doing it.
The dragon downed his fresh drink in one cool gulp, as if it were none of his concern.
It was an incredibly rude gesture. To drink without savoring the aroma or flavor, as if it were water—that was the kind of thing only commoners did with cheap alcohol. The nobles gathered in the banquet hall, their gazes sharpened like knives, watched in visible disapproval and exchanged glances among themselves.
“Don’t mind them. People like that won’t be saying a word soon enough.”
For some reason, Carlo’s crimson eyes gleamed with a sudden, chilling edge.
Really? The dragon shrugged, returned his empty glass to the server, and accepted another. He quite liked this new trendy liquor everyone was talking about.
