Chapter 815: Thoughts
There was always a formula.
’She would say this, when I brought up the comparison between our books...’
Lucavion’s mind flickered, straying further from the ballroom and the polished rot of nobility. A part of him was still watching the way the air shifted around Priscilla—still aware of the quiet threads being pulled. But another part—sharper, more amused—had already drifted into the archives of memory.
His sister had always been fond of reverse harem novels.
Not in a quiet, embarrassed way, but in the manner of someone who had built a private cathedral out of glittery covers and dog-eared pages. She devoured them between study sessions, during banquets she faked illness to skip, and in the corners of the library where even the archivists turned a blind eye.
Lucavion, on the other hand, read them out of spite.
Well—spite and curiosity.
Because every time she sneered at the male-oriented ones, with their wooden heroines and baffling proliferation of bath scenes, she would turn around and defend hers like they were sacred texts. Still, even she had her limits. Even she had once closed a book halfway through and declared, with solemn conviction: "If he calls her ’kitten’ one more time, I’m setting the next volume on fire."
He’d agreed.
Some stereotypes deserved to die.
And yet, the core structure—ah, that persisted.
Lucavion leaned faintly against the marble pillar, eyes trailing the periphery of the room, but his mind continued its quiet categorization.