Turkey, beef, vegetables, bread rolls, wine – all types of extravagant foods were scattered across the massive oval dinner table.
Ronan's eyes drifted across the room, taking in all the details.
There were currently two figures sitting at the table.
On the far left of the table was a well put-together man. He looked to be in his 50s with a well trimmed beard and a strong face. His eyes were sharp, and he had short, red hair. Vulcan Ashbourne.
On the far right of the table was a young girl. She had a small, heart-shaped face and long, flowing red hair. Plump lips and a button nose made her face recognizable as she elegantly ate a piece of chicken.
Neither of the figures acknowledged his presence.
Ronan wordlessly sat down on the table, not minding the tense atmosphere.
If anything, a completely wordless dinner would be better for him.
However, the awkward silence didn't last long.
"You're late."
The man – his father – spoke.
Ronan paused mid-motion, food halfway into his mouth, before he continued. After he finished chewing, he answered.
"I believe I am on time, Father."
The man looked up.
His one eyebrow was slightly raised.
"Is that so? I believe this is the first dinner you have arrived on time for, then, is it not?"
A scoff came from the girl to Ronan's right.
"Well, father, I would rather not come late to a dinner as important as this. Even I can understand that much."
Ronan subtly looked to Irene on his right. She was focused on eating, as if the conversation that was happening in front of her didn't bother her at all. Irene tore a small piece off the bone, chewing elegantly.
Uninterested.
Or at least she pretended to be.
"You must be referring to the entrance exam, correct?"
Ronan's father spoke indifferently.
With a nod, Ronan answered.
"Yes."
A pause.
"Why?"
No, 'do you think you can pass?'
No, 'are you prepared?'
Not even good luck.
Just 'Why?'
Ronan cut into the plate in front of him, the knife grinding into the meat.
"Because, father," Ronan answered. "I would rather fail trying than not try at all."
A textbook response.
But it was a believable lie.
Vulcun didn't respond to him, however, and addressed the other person in the room.
"Irene."
"Yes, Father?"
Irene's voice was elegant, fitting of a noble.
Her eyes rested on their father.
"Have you heard of this?"
"Yes, Father, I have."
"What do you think?"
Irene paused.
"He will fail, and tarnish the family name."
No hesitation, Irene delivered her brutal opinion.
Vulcan Ashbourne hummed.
"I think the same."
Vulcan's eyes rested on Ronan.
"Ronan. You will not take this entrance exam," Vulcan replied. "I will not allow you to bring more shame to our family."
Ronan contemplated acting shocked, but he didn't. Instead, his gaze remained steady.
Unfortunately for Vulcan Ashbourne, Ronan couldn't afford to not go to the academy. That was the place that would offer the most efficient path for growth – besides the Northern Expanse – and it was where he would be able to exploit his future knowledge the easiest.
Ronan's voice was firm.
"I refuse."
The gaze on Vulcan's face didn't change.
However, the atmosphere did.
The clinking of utensils from Irene's plate stopped. The maids stopped shifting around.
The room turned silent.
"What did you say?"
Vulcan's voice carried a subtle threat that Ronan picked up on, but he was not moved.
"I said," Ronan started. "I refuse. I will be taking the entrance exam, whether you like it or not."
Silence.
The atmosphere felt heavy, and Vulcan's eyebrows furrowed.
It was clear he had not expected this outcome.
A quiet click was heard to Ronan's right as Irene set her utensils down.
From the corner of her eyes, Ronan could see the shocked look on her face, her eyes widened.
Of course, it was natural – the usually complacent and weak Ronan was actively going up against the strongest member of the Ashbourne family and its leader's wishes.
"You believe you have a choice in this matter, Ronan?"
Vulcan's voice was firm.
Ronan shook his head.
"No, father. I do not think I can change your mind, nor do I plan on changing it… but we both know that even you do not hold the authority to stop me from taking the entrance exam to Luminara Academy."
The four noble families were strong, but Luminara Academy's influence stretched further. It wasn't something Ronan should have known, considering his young age and lack of experience.
But he did.
Irene shouted.
"Ronan! Do you even know who you're talking to right now?!"
"I'm aware," Ronan said calmly.
"Then act like it. You are speaking to the head of the great Ashbourne family – our father – not some servant you can talk back to!"
Irene's indifferent act dropped, and she was glaring at Ronan with frustration and rage.
Ronan remained unmoved, his expression directed at his father, indifferent to his sister's rage.
Vulcan watched in silence.
Then his calm voice rang out.
"Irene… enough."
"But father–"
"I said enough."
He didn't yell, but his words carried immense pressure. Instantly, Irene stopped talking and sat back down in her seat.
Vulcan's gaze met Ronan's.
"You speak with a great deal of certainty," Vulcan said.
The threat behind his words was gone, replaced with intrigue.
Ronan didn't respond.
There was nothing to take back.
The statement had already been made, and he had already defied his father's words.
Silence stretched.
"Very well," Vulcan said.
Irene's head snapped towards her father.
"Father–?"
Vulcan raised a hand.
Irene instantly shut up.
"Ronan… you will take this exam."
"Understood, father."
"But understand this…"
Vulcan's eyes narrowed on Ronan's figure.
"If you fail this exam…"
He paused.
"You will not return to this household."
Vulcan didn't say the words explicitly, but they matched up with what Iris had told him earlier.
He would be disowned.
Removed – cleanly.
Ronan nodded once.
"Understood."
There was no fear or hesitation in Ronan's words.
Disownment? That was the least of his worries. Making it into the academy was crucial to his future growth, and he had no intentions of traveling to the Northern Expanse and applying for their military training.
They didn't create warriors in the Northern Expanse; they created expendable soldiers.
Irene's expression tightened at his lack of hesitation.
Vulcan leaned back.
"Eat."
No one argued as the conversation came to an end.
Ronan picked up his utensils and began to eat again as if nothing had happened, while Irene's expression carried confusion and frustration.
Her attention was on Ronan while Ronan's attention was elsewhere; their roles flipped from the beginning of the dinner.
The rhythm of the dinner table returned. Utensils, steps from the maids, sounds of chewing.
But beneath the mundane atmosphere, something had changed.