The Last Banner

"You're sounding a bit too casual for a noble," Helena remarked, raising a perfectly shaped brow. "Perhaps you should spend more time with your tutor, Hadrian. A few lessons in etiquette wouldn't hurt. Your vocabulary is... unbecoming."

Hadrian smirked faintly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Right. Because I'm sure a few extra lessons will fix all my flaws."

Helena's lips twitched into a sly smile. "Oh, it's worth a try. You might surprise us all."

Her words had the tone of a jest, but her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary. She wasn't laughing—she was watching. Assessing. As if she already suspected something about him wasn't quite the same.

To his right, Sophia and Cassandra were engaged in their usual bickering. Sophia, the older at eleven, had her arms crossed, pouting dramatically, while Cassandra, nine, grinned with victorious glee.

"Hadrian!" Sophia called out, turning to him with wide blue eyes. "Tell Cassandra she's wrong! She keeps saying the old oak tree is taller than the bell tower, but it's not!"

"It is too taller!" Cassandra shot back, her grin widening. "You're just mad because you can't climb as high as me."

Hadrian blinked at them, briefly caught off guard by their sudden attention. "Well, obviously," he said slowly, "the only way to settle this is to climb the tower and the tree and measure them both. You'll have to report back with your findings."

Cassandra giggled, while Sophia huffed indignantly. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Sorry, I've gotta stay neutral on this one," Hadrian replied lightly, the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto his face.

The lighthearted moment was quickly overshadowed as Duke Leonidas began speaking again. His voice was calm but carried the weight of authority, commanding the attention of everyone at the table.

"The goblin delegation arrives in a few months," Leonidas said. "We'll need to ensure everything is in order before then. They'll be looking for any sign of weakness."

Hadrian kept his expression neutral, but his ears perked up at the mention of goblins. From the fragments of memory he'd managed to piece together, he knew enough to recognize the tension in his father's voice. The word "delegation" felt almost laughable—there was no sense of diplomacy in his tone, only caution.

"Do you expect trouble from them, Father?" Alexander asked, his tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

"Always," Leonidas replied curtly. "They're not coming to negotiate. They're coming to see if they can press us further."

Hadrian leaned back slightly, his mind racing. His father's words painted a grim picture—one of constant defense, endless vigilance, and a precarious balance of power. He glanced around the table again, observing the faces of his siblings. Alexander's confidence. Helena's sharp focus. Sophia and Cassandra's innocent bickering. And Leonidas, a man clearly bearing the weight of a crumbling world on his shoulders.

This family has been surviving, not living. Hadrian's hands tightened slightly against the edge of the table. But surviving isn't enough. Not for me.

The meal was drawing to a close, and Hadrian carefully pushed himself up from the dining table. His legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied himself against the edge of his chair before anyone noticed. The weight of his weak frame was enough to make every movement feel like an effort, but he masked his struggle behind a composed expression.

His siblings began filtering out, Alexander clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. "Don't overdo it, little brother," he said with a grin before striding confidently toward the hall. Sophia and Cassandra trailed after him, their voices light and carefree as they giggled about some shared joke.

Hadrian sighed, adjusting his posture, and turned toward the door. Helena, who had been seated across from him, rose at the same time, her chair making the faintest scrape against the uneven floor. She reached the door first, her hand brushing the rough wood, but Hadrian stepped forward and opened it for her. Despite his own exhaustion, the gesture felt oddly instinctual.

Helena paused, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at him. Her dark, dirty blond hair framed her face in loose curls, gathered into a half-up style that allowed several strands to fall delicately around her cheeks. The subtle arrangement added a softness to her features that contrasted with the sharp intelligence in her green eyes.

Hadrian's gaze lingered for a moment too long, noting her petite frame—she was taller than him, but only just, standing at about 5'6". Her slim shoulders and slight figure gave her an almost doll-like appearance, but there was nothing fragile about her presence. She wore a simple but well-fitted blue dress, cinched at the waist with a thin leather belt, and her movements carried a quiet elegance that seemed almost out of place in this austere setting.

"Chivalry?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips. "Or are you just using the door as an excuse to take a breather?"

Hadrian gave a soft chuckle, leaning lightly against the doorframe. "You caught me. It's both." His smirk softened into something more genuine. "But I figured I might as well be polite while I'm at it."

Her smile lingered, but her eyes studied him more closely. There was a flicker of concern in her expression, though she kept her tone light. "You should be resting, Hadrian. You've barely been out of bed, and you're already pushing yourself."

"I'm fine," he replied, waving off her concern. "A little walking won't kill me."

Her smirk returned, but her gaze remained steady, as if she wasn't entirely convinced. "Just don't collapse halfway to your tutor. I'd rather not have to drag you back here."

"You'd leave me on the floor," Hadrian said lightly. "I know you too well."

"Perhaps," she replied, stepping through the door. As she passed, the faint scent of lavender and something warmer—like fresh cedar—reached Hadrian. It lingered for just a moment, distracting him enough to make him forget the ache in his legs.

She paused in the hallway, glancing back over her shoulder. "And don't overdo it with the tutor either. He doesn't have the patience for your theatrics."

Hadrian couldn't help but smile faintly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Helena didn't respond, but the smallest hint of a smile tugged at her lips before she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hall. Hadrian watched her go, his thoughts lingering on the brief exchange. There was something disarming about her presence—an elegance that made her beauty striking but not unapproachable. Yet there was also an edge to her, one that kept him on guard.

She's sharp. Too sharp. And far too perceptive.

Shaking the thought away, he straightened his posture and turned toward the study. His tutor was waiting, and he had a world to understand.