The Male Lead isn� Chapter 280: Unwelcome Events

Chapter 280: Unwelco Events

The entire empire was alight with celebration. From the grandest noble estates to the bustling streets of the capital, everyone was rejoicing. Flowers adorned the roads, banners bearing the Imperial crest fluttered in the wind, and perforrs filled the squares with music and dance.

The engagent of Prince Cassian and Lady Annora was being hailed as the event of the decade. Nobles, commoners, and foreign dignitaries alike were in attendance, eager to witness the union of the empire’s most powerful figures.

The palace was a spectacle, glowing under the lights of thousands of lanterns, its grand halls filled with laughter and revelry.

But amidst the joy, two figures stood apart from the rest.

Adeline and Benedict.

Inside the ballroom, lords and ladies twirled across the polished floors in synchronized dances, their laughter ringing through the golden-lit chamber. Servants glided between the guests, offering glasses of fine wine and trays of delicate sweets. Conversations humd in every corner—so genuine, most filled with flattery and calculated pleasantries.

Near the center of the room, Annora stood beside Cassian, a perfect picture of elegance and grace. She wore a deep red gown embroidered with gold, her long hair styled with pearls that shimred under the chandeliers. Cassian, dressed in ceremonial white and crimson, held himself with the sa composed, distant expression he always had.

They looked like the ideal couple.

But Adeline knew better.

She watched them from the far side of the ballroom, her grip tightening around the glass of wine in her hand. She had attended because it was expected of her, but every fiber of her being told her to leave.

This was wrong.

Benedict, standing beside her, was no different. He had downed several glasses of wine, but he wasn’t enjoying himself. His usual sharp gaze was locked onto Cassian, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.

"They’re all fools," Benedict muttered. "Praising them as if this wasn’t orchestrated."

Adeline glanced at him.

She did not seem to enjoy Benedict’s company, at least not while he was still being controlled. He only sought her out because he needed a place to vent and sohow she was the perfect fit. She scowled. She was becoming bitter.

She exhaled slowly, looking back at the couple.

Dimitri stood behind them, ever the silent protector. His usual intensity was gone, his expression empty. He wasn’t Dimitri anymore—not really.

His eyes never left Annora, he looked at her with utmost devotion and protection.

Back at the Kendrick estate, things were not nearly as lively.

The grand halls were quiet, the usual air of controlled elegance maintained. But that peace was short-lived.

Without warning, an unexpected carriage rolled into the courtyard. The Kendrick staff, montarily confused, rushed to inform their master.

By the ti Alaric reached the entrance, the doors had already opened.

Carl and his father stepped out, looking far too pleased with themselves.

Carl, ever the arrogant noble, adjusted his cuffs before flashing a smirk. "Alaric, what a pleasure."

Alaric’s gaze flickered between them, unreadable. He wasn’t the type to show his emotions easily, but there was a distinct lack of warmth in his stare.

"To what do we owe this unexpected visit?" he asked coolly.

Carl’s father, Lord Richmond, stepped forward, his large fra imposing. "We’ve co to stay for a few days."

Alaric’s brow twitched.

Richmond continued, completely ignoring the tension in the air. "It is, after all, the engagent of the Crown Prince. A grand occasion. It would be improper not to be present in the capital during such a ti."

Alaric did not look impressed.

"This is rather sudden," he said.

Carl chuckled. "Surely you wouldn’t turn away family, would you?"

Alaric held his gaze for a long mont.

There was sothing off about this. He firmly turned them away the last ti they ca here. This sudden intrusion ant they had a reason for being here—and whatever it was, Alaric would rather keep them where he could see them.

"Of course," Alaric said at last. "You are welco to stay."

Carl’s smirk widened.

But Alaric was already thinking ten steps ahead.

Later that evening, the Kenrick estate hosted a quiet dinner. The tension in the air was thick, unspoken but felt by all.

Isabelle, always composed, played her role as hostess with effortless grace. She poured tea for their uninvited guests, her expression polite but indifferent.

Lord Richmond, however, was not a man of refinent. He sat with an air of entitlent, treating the servants with disregard and speaking with a voice that demanded attention.

Eventually, his attention turned to Isabelle.

"You’ve certainly chosen the correct path as a noblewoman," Richmond remarked. "Though I hear you still insist on that nonsense with your magic like my daughter. Won should leave such things to the n."

Silence fell over the room.

Carl smirked into his cup. He enjoyed watching his father be insufferable.

Isabelle, however, did not even flinch.

"Oh, my apologies," she said smoothly. "You must be quite old-fashioned."

Richmond frowned, clearly displeased with the comnt.

"Old-fashioned? No, I simply believe in a proper order. A woman should know her place."

Alaric’s fingers twitched against his cup. His expression remained unreadable, but the room suddenly felt colder. He could not stand the thought of his mother having to fight against these people... She had to struggle to get into the academy...

Isabelle, however, only smiled.

She reached for the teapot, feigning nonchalance.

"How unfortunate," she mused. "Here I thought progress was sothing to be celebrated."

And then—

The teapot tipped.

A wave of icy cold tea splashed onto Lord Richmond’s lap.

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

Then—

The old man bolted to his feet. "You—!"

He turned, his face red with fury, about to unleash a tirade—

But then he caught Alaric’s gaze.

Cold. Sharp. Deadly.

The words died in Richmond’s throat.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

Alaric didn’t have to say anything. The warning was clear.

Richmond swallowed his pride and sat back down.

Isabelle, unbothered, simply set the teapot aside.

"Ah, my mistake," she said. "I must have lost my grip."

Carl, for the first ti that evening, actually looked nervous.

Alaric sipped his tea, his expression neutral. This people take a mile when you offer an inch.