Chapter 600 – Noble Cat Fight.

“Wait, aren’t those four…”

“Yes, they are. Please be quiet, or you will get us in trouble.”

The nobles turned their faces toward a strange scene unfolding. Four women were speaking together, each well known and prominent within her own circle. Behind them stood small groups of lesser nobles, mostly women, with a few silent servants among them. Lady Scarlet, the one with crimson hair, did not look pleased, yet soon her lips curled into a sharp smile.

“Better poor taste than no taste at all, Lady Celeste. You look like a peacock draped in sapphires.”

Celeste’s eyes narrowed, and the gems in her hair glittered as she mockingly tilted her head.

“And yet, Lady Scarlet, peacocks are still admired. Some of us need not breathe fire like common tavern drunks to be noticed.”

A third voice broke in before Scarlet could reply. It was a refined voice, one laced with a feeling of superiority.

“Bantering like fishermen’s wives already, I see. How predictable.”

The speaker was a tall, slim woman with raven hair, dressed in a gown of dark silk that seemed to be woven from shadows themselves. Jewels glittered at her throat, a deliberate display of wealth and rank. She carried herself like one accustomed to command, her chin lifted as though she looked down upon all others.

“Lady Layla, how nice of you to join us. Your dress looks as gaudy as ever.”

Said Lady Scarlet, her frown plain for all to see. Lady Layla arched a brow at this response, and her dark eyes gleamed with disdain.

“Gaudy? My dear Scarlet, this fabric was woven in the capital by the royal tailors themselves. Not that you would know the difference. Flame burns bright, yes, but it lacks refinement. A pity your son inherited the same vulgar temperament.”

Gasps and muffled laughter rippled through the circle of noblewomen who had gathered like vultures to a fresh carcass. It was rare enough for the duke’s four wives to appear together, rarer still for them to trade insults so openly. Scarlet’s face flushed red with fury, and she was about to unleash a retort when another voice intervened. It was another noble woman, her words smooth and calming.

“Ladies, please, let us remain civil.”

Lady Aurelia stepped forward. Her golden hair shimmered in the chandelier light, and her gown, woven of gold with silver trim, seemed to glow as it caught the rays. The sun motif embroidered across her bodice marked her devotion to Solaria. Every gesture she made carried the grace of a true lady, the kind poets would immortalize in song.

“My dear sisters, we stand in the duke’s hall. Let us show the dignity befitting our station. Let us remember the eyes upon us, and the honor, the burden, our children must one day carry forward.”

Her words drifted through the hall like a calming breeze amid a storm. Where Scarlet’s voice crackled like fire and Layla’s dripped with venom, Aurelia’s floated with poise and restraint. She did not appear to mock or accuse, yet her words were not received kindly by the others.

“Dignity befitting our station? Are you suggesting we are acting unladylike? What audacity.”

Layla’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharp, and neither Scarlet nor Celeste seemed pleased either. The air grew rigid, the atmosphere heavy, while nobles leaned closer to catch every word. For many of them, such gatherings were the only true diversion from their estates. What seemed like polite conversation was, in truth, warfare. At such gatherings, alliances were forged and broken in moments, friends discarded as quickly as rivals were courted.

It reminded Roland of the days he had spent among nobles, though his own time had been brief. In the five years he lived as a noble’s child, he had witnessed such spectacles often. His stepmothers had hosted similar gatherings, and he remembered well how laughter could shift to slander the instant backs were turned.

‘Once you are the wife of a duke, unless royalty is present, there seems to be no reason to hold back.’

From where he stood, he could see the four ladies exchanging insults. He wasn’t sure if Julius’s mother was doing it on purpose, but some of her words came off as rude, though they could also be masked as goodwill. Whether intentional or not, the disruption they created proved useful to him. It gave him the chance to slip away from the knight eager to provoke a fight.

He glanced aside toward Arthur, who lingered at the edge of the hall. Arthur’s expression was distant, his gaze fixed on the four women, though his eyes seemed to search for someone beyond them. His stare roamed across the chandeliers, the jeweled gowns, and the silken cloaks of the assembled nobility, yet it always returned to the shadowed doorways.

Roland had a fair idea of whom Arthur longed to see. Yet such a wish could never be granted, not here, not in this hall, not within the rigid confines of noble society. Arthur’s mother was no human but a moon elf, and though her beauty and grace were beyond question, she had no noble birth within the kingdom. To the lords and ladies gathered here, such a truth was intolerable. It was a stain that made Arthur’s chosen path all the more difficult.

“What do you mean by that?”

An annoyed voice echoed through the hall again.

“Oh? Did I strike a chord?”

The bickering among the duke’s wives resumed, but before it could escalate further, a voice thundered from the far end of the hall. Roland recognized it at once.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

It was the butler. His voice carried through the chamber, boosted by the power of magic that silenced even the most stubborn whispers. A small group of attendants stood behind him, maids and butlers dressed in impeccable attire.

“His Grace welcomes you to his palace.”

At once, the hall fell into silence. Every gaze turned upward, searching. The eyes of the nobility shifted instinctively to the second level, where private booths overlooked the grand ballroom. The vast chamber was divided into two tiers: the main floor with its polished dance floor and banquet tables, and the upper level, where the great and powerful observed from the seclusion of their own chambers.

Each of the duke’s wives possessed a private booth, furnished and reserved for their allies and confidants. At the very center, dominating the highest wall, stood the duke’s own throne-like chair, the seat of the master of the palace. Yet, it remained empty.

‘Where is he?’

Roland wondered at the duke’s absence as he glanced about the hall. Though the man had considerable freedom in how he conducted himself, this was a moment when tradition demanded his presence. He should have been here to greet the assembled nobility. The confusion in the crowd was plain, and even his four wives seemed uncertain of the reason he had not appeared.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“His Grace will join us later. He has been detained with urgent matters of state.”

The butler’s voice carried with its usual polish, steady and composed, yet Roland noticed the shifting of shoulders, the narrowing of eyes. The nobles were not convinced. The explanation rang hollow, too neat, like a line rehearsed to keep unrest at bay. Whispers started almost instantly, and with his enhanced hearing, Roland could hear it all.

“Too busy to greet his own court?”

“Perhaps he grows weary of his wives endless quarrels.”

“Or is this a statement? Does he resent someone’s presence… perhaps the Solarian paladins?”

Speculation spread like fire through dry grass. Some remarks carried little weight, while others made quite a lot of sense. Roland knew the truth beneath it all. Even if Julius was favored in the battle of heirs, there were many who despised the changes he championed. To them, the Solarian church was not a blessing but an intrusion, an outsider’s hand creeping into their duchy, bound not to this kingdom but to the power of the west.