"And barking when angered."
The words weren't loud. They didn't need to be. They curled into the room like smoke laced with oil—smoke that knew it could choke the room if it chose to.
Khaedren's stance had stiffened, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to slits of restrained fury. But Lucavion wasn't done.
"Be careful, though," he added, voice turning quieter still, but colder—measured with dangerous exactitude. "Your master's not here to hold your leash this time."
He took a half-step forward again—not challenging, but circling.
And his eyes—black and calm and merciless—never left Khaedren's.
"You wouldn't want to cause problems that might embarrass him."
But with realization.
Khaedren's hand slowly lowered, and for the first time in the exchange, his breath caught in his throat—just enough for his chest to still. His fury hadn't vanished. No. It was still there, coiled like a serpent behind his ribs.
But behind it now stood something colder.
He had lost his temper.
In a sponsor meeting.
Where civility was the cornerstone, and restraint the currency.
He—representative of House Varenth—had been baited into lunging.
And worse—he knew exactly what that looked like from the outside.
"You..." Khaedren growled under his breath, voice quiet but venomous, "you will pay for your words."
Lucavion didn't flinch. Didn't respond with fire.
He just gave a small shrug. Almost casual.
"Quite a lot of people have claimed as much," he said, tone almost conversational. "Guess where they are?"
Khaedren's face twisted—elegance crumpling at the edges. The words were not a boast. Not even a threat.
And that was what stung the most.
This wasn't boldness.
Lucavion didn't think he was beyond Khaedren's reach.
He knew Khaedren wasn't worth reaching for.
That final, subtle smirk on the boy's face said it all.
There would be no leash.
This wasn't a blade that could be claimed. It was a spark in a powder room. An arrogant, delusional wildcard who had been handed a position through sheer brilliance—but lacked the instincts to survive the game he was stepping into.
A boy like that would burn fast.
And drag whoever stood too close down with him.
Khaedren's posture straightened, his coat smoothing with the breath he didn't realize he'd held.
He would not waste another second on this.
"You've made yourself clear," Khaedren said coolly, voice returned to that smooth, noble edge. "So have I."
Just cold silence as he turned from the boy—no longer seeing him as a potential asset.
He walked to the door.
But from calculation.
And as he reached for the handle, he spoke one last time—without turning back.
Khaedren paused at the threshold.
One hand on the door.
His voice, when it came, was smooth again—no longer burning with anger, but chilled with that distinct, noble cruelty that comes from utter conviction in one's superiority.
"When the tide turns against you…" he said, quietly, without facing him, "…and it will—"
But to make it sting.
"—I hope you remember this day. The day a house greater than anything your blood could dream of… deigned to offer you its hand."
His gaze slid to the side, eyes catching Lucavion's reflection in the polished brass of the door's frame.
"You were granted presence, recognition, and a place far above your station."
"And you spat on it."
Khaedren stepped to the threshold.
One hand on the door.
The final words dripped from his tongue, cold and sharp.
"Remember that, when you're drowning alone in waters you were never meant to swim."
Only for flame to crack like a whip across the chamber.
A single ribbon of fire licked across the top edge of the doorway with perfect precision, sealing the door mid-motion. Heat shimmered in the space between hinge and frame—an invisible hand pressing the door firmly closed again.
The metal groaned faintly under the sudden heat.
And Lucavion was already there, walking forward, the light of the flame dancing in his black eyes.
Eyes that no longer reflected calm.
"There is no water," Lucavion said, voice low and steady, "that I am not meant to swim."
Close enough now that the flames behind him threw long shadows on the marble floor, and the distance between commoner and noble had collapsed into inches.
"If such a sea exists," he continued, "then I will simply—evaporate it."
His gaze locked with Khaedren's, unblinking.
"Until there is nothing left."
He tilted his head slightly.
"And as for the ones who think they rule those depths—"
His fingers twitched once, the flame behind him dimming, curling inward like a beast called back to heel.
"When they're grilled alive…"
That smirk again—sharp, knowing.
"…their arrogance will be the first thing to go down."
For a second—just one—Khaedren didn't move.
Lucavion's gaze didn't waver.
He leaned in, just slightly, voice lowering to a murmur that was all the more final for its quietness.
"Make sure to remember that."
The words dropped like iron into still water.
His throat tightened without command, his spine straightening too fast to feel natural. The breath in his lungs—steady, cultivated—caught.
A single drop of sweat traced a line down his temple.
He blinked—and the flame behind Lucavion's shoulder flickered like a serpent's tongue, retreating as if it had never been there at all.
His mind wanted to label it rage.
It was presence. Weight. Gravity pulled into human shape.
And it reminded him of something.
His thoughts recoiled.
A memory, half-buried, clawing to the surface.
The first time he met him.
The man he now served.
The one whose orders he obeyed without question.
He had felt this once before, years ago.
This same silent force pressing against the inside of his ribs. This same moment where logic and instinct diverged.
He forced the thought away, buried it beneath anger, beneath nobility, beneath lineage and law.
He clenched his jaw and turned.
The door gave way under his palm.
And this time, he didn't leave with silence.
The sound cracked through the suite like thunder, echoing down the corridor with the finality of a snapped chain.
But it was already too late.
Because the echo that followed wasn't just of the door.