Chapter 7 – Wolves Among Silk
Three days passed like drawn breath—held, silent, strained.
The invitation had transformed the orphanage.
Tables scrubbed. Windows washed. Older children lined up to practice bows and curtsies with wooden spoons for scepters. Even Mother Elna, hollow-eyed and weary, made an effort to polish her brooch and repaint her thin lips.
But beneath the surface?
Nerves stretched like glass threads.
Because they all knew: no one invites orphans to noble gatherings.
Not unless they want something.
And House Dorrell—old, rich, and ruthless—never wanted anything without claws hidden beneath the silk.
—
The carriage came at dawn.
Black velvet over iron wheels. Gold trim so subtle it whispered wealth instead of shouting. Two men stepped down—tall, clean-shaven, silent.
Not servants.
Watchers.
One opened the door.
Arin stepped in first.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he had to.
—
He wore a borrowed jacket from the orphanage's ceremonial chest. Slightly too long in the sleeves. The cuffs frayed. But it was dark blue, and that mattered. Blue was the color of educated boys. Boys with futures.
Kall followed, dressed in charcoal gray. He looked like a shadow pretending to be noble.
Sera came last.
She wore green.
And when the sun hit the fabric as she climbed inside, for a moment, she looked like someone born to gardens and harps—not empty bowls and cold nights.
Arin saw the way the coachman blinked at her.
Good, he thought. Let them underestimate me. Let them look at her.
I'll burn behind the curtain.
—
The journey took four hours.
Through winding cobbled roads, past fields bristling with spring wheat, into a district that smelled like perfume and politics.
Dorrell Manor rose on a hill like a stone crown. High walls. Tall trees. And a fountain shaped like a lion devouring a stag.
Symbolic.
And honest.
They were welcomed at the side entrance.
Not the grand stairs.
Of course not.
Inside, servants bustled. Polished shoes clicked on marble. The air smelled of cardamom and beeswax.
A smiling woman approached them.
Not a maid. Not noble either.
Someone in-between.
"A pleasure," she said, her voice sweet with practiced warmth. "You must be the orphans."
Arin smiled tightly. "Yes, ma'am."
Her eyes paused on him for just a second too long.
Then on Sera.
Longer.
Measured.
She turned. "Follow me, please. The young lords and ladies will be in the courtyard."
—
[Main Quest: "The Masquerade" – Progressing]
[Current Status: Observed, Not Suspected]
[Bonus Objective Triggered: "Earn Favor of a Lesser House"]
[Reward Preview: Invitation to Minor Court / Influence Token (1)]
—
The courtyard buzzed with laughter and bright fabrics. Dozens of boys and girls—heirs, cousins, nobles' children—played games with weighted dice and carved ivory tiles.
None noticed the three new arrivals.
At first.
Arin walked slowly along the edge.
Like a wolf among foxes.
Not biting. Just watching.
Sera drifted toward a table laid with fruits. Kall moved beside the hedge maze entrance. Eyes open. Ears sharper.
Arin waited.
And then the first noble child approached.
—
He was golden-haired, smug, and wearing a doublet worth more than the orphanage's roof. His name, he declared, was Etrien Vald. And he wanted to know where Arin got his clothes.
Arin gave a mild smile.
"Donated by House Merce, I believe. Old line. Quite dignified. They care for those without luck."
The noble blinked.
The insult slid past him like smoke.
"I see," Etrien said, adjusting his cufflinks. "Well. I hope you enjoy the honeycakes. They're made with imported blossom."
He turned and strutted off.
Arin exhaled.
One down.
A hundred more to outplay.
—
Later, during the mock fencing display, Arin watched a dark-haired girl in navy velvet cut through three boys in a row with elegant, merciless precision.
No wasted motion.
No mercy.
After the third duel, she turned, eyes sweeping the crowd.
They landed on him.
Just for a second.
Then passed on.
Arin's heartbeat, oddly, slowed.
She's like me, he thought.
Then the System chimed.
—
[New Character Identified: Mirielle Dorrell]
[Potential Threat Level: Medium-High]
[Disposition: Ambiguous (Cautious / Curious)]
[Interaction Prompt: Engage via Shared Defiance or Wounded Pride]
—
He approached the refreshments.
She met him halfway.
"You don't look impressed," she said, nodding toward the fencing circle.
"I'm not," Arin said.
"I won."
"You weren't challenged."
That made her smile.
Brief. Cold. Genuine.
"Are you here to beg?" she asked.
Arin tilted his head. "Would it help?"
She looked at him again—truly looked. And for a heartbeat, the courtyard faded.
Two children.
Two knives hidden in words.
"…no," she said at last. "But I might remember your name."
"Arin."
"Mirielle."
Then she turned and walked away.
—
[System Notice: Social Seed Planted – Mirielle Dorrell]
[Future Outcomes Unlocked: Alliance, Rivalry, Subversion]
[Skill Gained: "Masked Intent" – Your neutral expressions are harder to read. +5% resistance to Insight-type skills.]
—
As dusk fell and candles replaced sun, the orphans were escorted to the west lawn where music played and polite clapping echoed.
They were shown off.
Quietly. Softly.
A demonstration that House Dorrell cared for "the future."
A lie, of course.
But lies were the bones of nobility.
And Arin had begun to taste the marrow.
—
Back in the carriage, riding toward the orphanage in velvet dark, Kall spoke first.
"They were watching everything."
"I know," Arin replied.
Sera nodded slowly. "Mirielle. She's not like the others."
"She's dangerous."
"I like her," Sera said.
"So do I," Arin admitted.
He leaned back.
Closed his eyes.
And saw the court unraveling.
One mask at a time.
—
[Main Quest Update – "The Masquerade": Completed Initial Contact]
[Unlocked: New Questline – "Thorns in Silk"]
[First Objective: Leak forged Vesq documents to House Dorrell's rivals.]
[Optional Objective: Recruit Mirielle Dorrell (Difficulty: High)]
[Warning: High Failure Consequences – Reputation, Exposure, Retaliation]
[Reward Preview: Skill – "Puppet Strings" or "Fire in the Glass"]
—
Tomorrow, the games would begin in earnest.
But tonight, Arin Velas allowed himself a single breath of satisfaction.
Because the nobility had noticed him.
And soon?
They would never forget.