The morning was hectic. Some of the professors were practically begging Sepehr to stay around longer to help with research and whatnot. It was obvious that they'd prefer if he just stayed for good.
Sepehr had apparently worked here for a few years after graduating, up until he officially joined as the advisor.
However, the current situation was more cumbersome than the old professors trying to hold their star student back.
Uncomfortable and awkward. Nothing described the situation better. Actually, it would have been weirder if things weren't awkward.
It was fine in the beginning. Sepehr woke up as usual, went through his morning routine, and then joined Ambrose. It was a busy time, not leaving any scope for awkwardness. But the atmosphere shifted drastically as soon as they were inside the carriage.
To Zen, a few things always seemed too troublesome. Like, high-collared shirts and complicated relationships. Sepehr was currently suffering through both.
He had to go through much trouble to hide it from the servants during breakfast. Now his shirt was covering up to his throat.
There was no way to tell because, as usual, Sepehr showed no emotion. He sat with perfect posture, hands resting lightly on his lap.
The tyrant was no different. He looked out the window, avoiding eye contact. But his discomfort showed in how he drummed his fingers on the window rest and how his gaze landed on Sepehr every few minutes before darting away.
If it were up to Zen, he surely would've snapped. But Sepehr wasn't like that. He was ten times more capable of acting like nothing happened. It was still unclear if Sepehr even had the right to snap given his position. The power dynamics at play weren't that easy to break.
After another thirty minutes of uncomfortable silence, Ambrose finally spoke. "Sepehr, you look drained." It was a pitiful attempt to break the silence. But at least he took the chance, otherwise, Zen would have placed him lower on the scale than he already had.
"It is likely because of the heat," Sepehr replied, "It is rather suffocating to wear high-collared shirts in summer. But I will manage."
Ambrose was taken aback by the remark. "...You don't need to button up that high," he replied after a pause.
It was unlike Sepehr to complain. Zen wasn't aware of this, but Sepehr usually went forward to do what was required of him, regardless of the backlash. He practically never complained. Ambrose couldn't even remember the last time Sepehr had complained about something.
"How thoughtful of you, Your Highness. But I am afraid my face would be on the posters the next day if I did so." He spoke plainly, although with a hint of sarcasm.
Zen found the comment funny but couldn't understand what Sepehr meant. But Ambrose understood.
Sepehr was more than allowed to do whatever he wanted as long as it didn't go against the crown, particularly the crown prince.
However, as a person of position, his personal life was of utmost curiosity to high society. Imagine him walking around with such an obvious mark on his neck. Speculations would skyrocket in no time. Which, in the end, would pull in the royal family because that's his workplace.
So, no, Sepehr didn't have the luxury of doing as he pleased. His personal freedom was an illusion, more so than that of the noble ladies.
Ambrose coughed awkwardly. "I apologise. I had one too many drinks, so I was not thinking clearly."
Zen naturally thought they were to avoid mentioning the specifics of the issue. After all, this was not a small issue. Not talking about it at all would be the safest option.
But it was still a lie. Zen knew from reading the novel that Ambrose had a very high tolerance. It wasn't even possible to drink the amount he needed to get tipsy at the party. Not to mention, there weren't many strong drinks there to begin with.
Sepehr probably knew this much, but Zen assumed he, too, would look over it. "It is alright, Your Highness. Please don't trouble yourself over it."
Ambrose's gaze turned odd as if he was expecting more reprimand.
Ambrose was about to say something, but the chance never came as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
There was a commotion outside. Before Zen could check, the door burst open, and a sword was pointed at Sepehr.
No, it was pointed at the crown prince. Sepehr was only between the weapon and the target.
It all happened so fast, Zen was still processing things, as were the others.
"You fool. Do you think you can stop a sword with your body?" The assailant laughed. It wasn't that Sepehr didn't know that. One inch; it was just a one-inch difference between him and the tip of the longsword. If the attacker had not stopped, the sword would have pierced through him and even the prince. Sepehr reacted before thinking of any of that.
Instincts. Something that was innate in every human being and animal. It could save their lives in a crucial moment. So, Zen never thought instincts could land someone at sword point. He would never have if it weren't for the scene that unfolded before him. If it weren't for the white haired man standing fearlessly at the end of the sword.