Because it would be impudent—but that wasn’t it. In fact, it was a completely different reason. Livio wasn’t the sort of good little boy that respected royalty unconditionally, and, well...he didn’t hate Vyce, but it wasn’t like he had so much faith in the man that he felt compelled to address him with “sir.” It went without saying that Livio wasn’t scared of him either. Vyce himself had told Livio to address him that way, so it wasn’t like he’d be punished if he actually did. Vyce wasn’t the type to be so easily offended.
“You and your old man aren’t the kind to get so fussy over etiquette, are you?”
“How rude.”
Well, it was rude...but he was right.
The reason House Warrion had flourished wasn’t because they were strong when it came to political affairs—it was because they were simply strong in the physical sense.
They were strong. That alone permitted them to do whatever they liked. Livio’s father, Oznil Warrion, the barbaric head of the Warrions, seemed somehow to be a quiet knight...but that wasn’t quite true. It’d be more accurate to say that he was just keeping his mouth shut because it’d be a headache to speak up. When it came right down to it, he probably didn’t have any real loyalty to the royal family—at least that was what Livionis Warrion thought about it. All they were doing was behaving in order to protect their house, their family, and the kingdom...and because it didn’t inconvenience them to do so. Livio figured that that was how most of the men of House Warrion were.
Back when there’d been a huge outbreak of massive monsters along their kingdoms’ borders, the Warrions had found themselves fighting alongside the foreign king, only for Vyce to remark, “I wish I had you all for my own kingdom.”
The only one who’d been flustered was the Captain of the Knights, however. Any normal knight would’ve likely thought their loyalty was being mocked, but House Warrion was, after all, House Warrion. Livio had only thought the king to be an odd type, and his father had merely said, “Please do refrain from such jesting” as he watched the captain panic, like it was someone else’s problem.
That was why, well...the reason Livio called him “Sir Vyce” wasn’t because he was a serious-minded golden child or anything like that.
“It’s just...”
“Well?”
“I...still can’t even address Lady Sophie as I’d like...” Livio admitted. “So to address you by name without any title first, well...that’s hardly right, is it?”
Vyce fell silent.
Agh— Ouch. Ow, ow, ow. Vyce’s stare hurt.
It felt like Vyce’s stare was stabbing into his face. Was he sure it actually wasn’t? Maybe his face was actually covered in holes right now. Livio couldn’t help but cover his cheeks with his hand.
“You’re...” Vyce’s voice seemed to shake.
“What is it then?!” Livio demanded. “If you’re gonna laugh at me, then laugh away! I know what a pitiful excuse for a man I am!”
“No, that’s not—”
If Vyce were going to make fun of him or laugh at him, Livio certainly hoped he’d just get it over with. Just go for it! That’s right! Just do it! Feeling like a fish on the butcher’s block, or perhaps the last surviving soldier on the battlefield, Livio looked at Vyce’s expression. He heard the statue of something or other that Vyce had been holding crack apart against the floor, but that didn’t matter now. There were plenty more where that one came from.
“Yer a cute little guy, aren’tcha?”
Livio gasped. He would’ve felt far better if Vyce had made fun of him.
Vyce’s eyebrows were furrowed together, and his shoulders were shaking with laughter—it was the same way a grown-up looked at a small child. Could there be a more unbearable insult?!
Livio was the most embarrassed he’d been since that time his mother had shown his grandparents her treasured portrait of Livio. Had it been just a normal portrait, she would’ve just been a caring mother who loved her family, end of story. But! Not so fast! Fittingly for the calm and collected, daring and brave, and (only slightly) unhinged House Warrion, the portrait that his mother treasured so dearly was one she’d had made after putting Livionis in a dress when he was only a small child. If he were being exceedingly generous, she was welcome to treasure it all she wanted, but was it really too much to ask that she not go parading it about?
“It looks like I’ve got a little daughter who matches her mommy, doesn’t it?”
Indeed, just as she’d declared so happily, with the artist drawing extra long hair onto Livionis, he and his mother might as well have been mirror reflections of each other. The portrait made him look so much like a little girl that one would have never imagined he was a small, sword-wielding barbarian.
While his grandparents could be forgiven for laughing when they saw the picture, they’d had to add insult to injury and shower him with compliments on how he looked! “Oh, just look at how cute he is!” Livionis could’ve died from sheer embarrassment. And that half-hearted look his younger brother had given him as he’d patted Livionis on the back! The nerve!
“Well, just what was it for you then, Sir Vyce?” Livio asked as Vyce turned away to head toward another door within the room. He was desperate to get in a jab of his own however he could.
“What?”
Vyce opened the door, revealing a spacious room with a large bed. It appeared to be someone’s sleeping quarters.
“About Lady Lunetta,” Livio replied. “What enticed you about her that made you want to take her as your fiancée?”
“The hell?” Cleanly tearing apart a pillowcase, the tyrant turned around with a furrowed brow. “She’s fourteen years younger than me.”
Whaaaaaaaa?!
“What?”
“And what the hell do you mean by ‘what,’ huh?!” Vyce snapped back. “What would you do if you were with somebody fourteen years younger?!”
“I have Lady Sophie, so that’s no concern.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
Maybe he has a point. Livio decided to try thinking about it. Livio himself was sixteen, so if someone were fourteen years younger than he was, that would make them... Oh. They’d be two years old, huh?
“That’d...make me a creep and a half!” Livio answered.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
“What?” Livio asked. “But Lunetta’s not two—she’s seventeen! She could marry at that age!”
“Take a good look at me,” Vyce said, “and tell me what comes to mind.”
What comes to mind?
Livio stuck his head out from the wardrobe he’d been rifling through, only to find a scene of madness: Vyce flipping over the mattress before tearing it in half.
It looked less like he was looking for treasure and more like he was looking for the next kill to savor. Make eye contact and you’re as good as dead. You’re going to get caught one way or another. He actually likes it when they try to run away. That was what came to mind.