Page 54 of Johan.

My eyes go to twelve-year-old Joris, who seems to be in a rush as he promptly opens his own present and reveals two sets of sword replicas with lion shields and masks, perfect for two people. He immediately starts showing off, pointing out how his sword is bigger and better. “Look at my sword, Arthur. It’s way bigger than yours,” he boasts, putting on his mask and waving his sword around.

Arthur’s excitement fades as his lower lip begins to quiver. His big, innocent eyes fill with tears, and the more Joris sneers and points his sword at him, the more I can see his small face contort with the effort of holding back his sobs. Seeing him so distressed, my heart aches. When he starts to cry, the sound is heart-wrenching. Before anyone can step in, I quickly scoop him up and soothe him. “Hey, don’t worry about his sword. You have a dragon, and that’s way cooler,” I say, giving him a reassuring hug and a kiss on the head. Arthur clings to me, comforted by my words, his sobs subsiding into sniffles.

Joris keeps teasing, a smirk on his face. “You can’t even fight me with that little sword.”

“But I can,” I say, a playful challenge in my voice. “Can I take this set?” I ask Joris.

When he nods, I pick up the other sword and shield, and we start play-fighting in the middle of the room.

Arthur’s tears quickly turn to laughter as he watches us. The room echoes with his giggles when I land a playful blow on Joris’ bottom, causing him to yell in exaggerated rage. We continue our knightly duel, the kids and adults alike entertained by our antics. Hannah is even recording the entire scene, her laughter joining the chorus.

When I finally “defeat” Joris, I declare, “Now that you’ve been defeated, I command you to be kind to your brother, for he has a dragon.”

Arthur stands up, proudly displaying his dragon and pretending it’s breathing fire. Everyone bursts into laughter, thoroughly entertained by the show, and they all clap.

Resigned to his faith, Joris goes to his nanny, who invites him to get a cookie in the kitchen.

As the laughter dies down, Hannah sidles up to me, her eyes shining. “All I ever wanted was to run away from the chaos of my home, but you seem to enjoy it very much for someone who never had siblings.”

I give her a kiss on the hand, feeling the connection between us deepen. “You make it easy to love, chaos and all.”

We head to the dining room for breakfast, but just as we sit down, my phone buzzes again. Astrid is calling. Reluctantly, I excuse myself to take the call in a quiet corner of the house.

“Hey, Astrid. Merry Christmas again,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

“Hey, love,” she replies, her voice cheerful. “I just wanted to let you know that your family has RSVP’d for the Goschen NYE ball, and it looks like Conrad’s family might go too.”

I freeze, not wanting to see her again at her parents’ estate. “I’ll have to check,” I say, unsure of what else to offer. “I need to study, and there's a lot to prepare for Oman.”

“Johan, you ain’t gonna work at midnight. Come! My dad is so excited to see you again.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” I say, feeling cornered.

“Perfect, I knew I could count on you. Bye, love.” And she hangs up.

I return to the dining room, feeling the weight of the conversation like a heavy stone in my chest. The soft clinking of Hannah’s spoon against her bowl stops abruptly as she looks up, concern etched deeply on her face, eyes wide with worry.

“What’s up?” Her voice's tinged with apprehension.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I walk forward. “Astrid called. Her family is hosting a New Year’s Eve masked ball. My family RSVP’d, and Conrad’s family might go too,” I explain, sounding more tired than I intended.

Hannah’s expression darkens immediately, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Astrid is doing it on purpose. Inviting you, your parents, Conrad... everyone gets to go except me. It’s pure malice,” she says, heaving a long sigh.

I sit down across from her, feeling helpless. “I know.”

Hannah’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, a mix of hurt and anger burning within them. “Are you going?” she asks, her tone softer, almost vulnerable.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit, the uncertainty gnawing at me.

She doesn’t say anything else, focusing on finishing her breakfast in silence. The atmosphere grows thick with tension, each passing second weighing heavier. After finishing, she quietly retreats to the bedroom, and I know I can't leave things like this. Understanding that she’s upset, I follow her upstairs, my heart heavy with guilt and sorrow.

Seeing her sitting alone, her shoulders slumped, sadness radiating from her in palpable waves twists something deep inside me. The sight of her like this makes my chest ache.

I sit beside her on the bed, reaching for her hand, needing to touch her, to offer some semblance of comfort. “Hannah, if you don’t want me to go, I won’t go,” I say, my voice firm yet gentle.

Hannah looks at me, her eyes filled with frustration and pain, making my heart clench. “And then what? She’ll go ask her daddy to get me expelled. She’s such an awful person. I can’t believe she’s doing this.” Her voice breaks, the raw emotion causing her to tremble slightly.

I squeeze her hand gently, hoping to convey my support and determination. "Hannah, I’d rather face Dean Pembroke and Ludovic myself than see you hurt so much.”

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