In the duke's study, twilight settled like a solemn veil over shelves lined with grimoires and maps. Laurence Douglas stood by the window, watching the duchy's banner ripple beneath a gray wind. The door opened softly, and Caleb stepped inside.

  "Father, are the knights going to the forest?" the young man asked, his anxiety barely contained.

  "Yes," Laurence replied without turning. "They have a mission assigned by the Crown."

  "May I accompany them?"

  "No. Your mother will be in charge of that mission, and she cannot look after you," he said firmly.

  Caleb lowered his gaze, his fists trembling.

  "But Lusian is going. Why is the treatment different between him and me? Is it because he's an Epsilon and I'm only a Delta? I've heard the generals whispering… that they would rather see him as heir to the duchy."

  Laurence turned at last, his eyes blazing with authority.

  "Never repeat such nonsense. I will decide who succeeds me, and I have decided it will be you. No one in this duchy would dare defy my word."

  Caleb nodded, though the shadow of doubt continued to burn in his chest. As he left the study, he saw a maid passing by, carrying an elegant box adorned with the Armett family seal.

  "Who is that gift for?" he asked with feigned casualness.

  "For young Lord Lusian, my lord," the maid replied with a curtsey. "It was sent by Lady Isabella Armett."

  "May I see it for a moment?"

  "Lord Caleb, the duchess will be angry if she discovers you handled Lord Lusian's belongings," the woman stammered nervously.

  Caleb pretended not to hear her and followed the maid to his half-brother's chambers. He found Lusian reclining on a sofa, a thick tome of sorcery in his hands.

  "What do you need, brother?" Lusian asked without looking up.

  "I want to know why Isabella has written to you."

  "I don't know," he replied calmly. "Read it yourself."

  Caleb approached. A delicately penned letter rested upon the desk beside the gift. He unfolded it and read in a low voice:

  Dear Lord Lusian Douglas The Mondring,I wish you a swift recovery from your injuries. I send this small gift in the hope that it may help you refine your art with the flute. Should you ever desire my advice regarding the use of this instrument, I would be delighted to offer it.With respect,Isabella Armett.

  "Well, how formal," Lusian remarked with an easy smile. "She seems like a well-mannered girl."

  "Yes…" Caleb replied, a murky glint in his eyes. "Very special, no doubt."

  "There's no need for concern," Lusian added, closing his book. "I'm not interested in her."

  Caleb clenched his teeth but said nothing. He turned to leave, only to find himself face-to-face with Sofia. The duchess regarded him with glacial severity.

  "What are you doing here, Caleb?" she asked, her voice sharp as a blade. "I have warned you many times not to approach Lusian."

  "I apologize, Duchess," he replied, bowing his head. "I only came to ask him a question. It will not happen again."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Leave," she ordered, without looking away.

  The young man withdrew, the weight of humiliation burning across his back. Sofia watched the door close and sighed faintly in concern. In that house, silence was beginning to smell of treachery.

  Days later, the capital stirred beneath the sound of imperial trumpets. The carriages of the Ferrussi Empire passed through the walls adorned with crimson banners. Among them stood one distinguished by silver reliefs and black eagles: the carriage of the Ninth Prince, Leopoldo Ferrussi Fabrini—a man of regal bearing, hair blue as tempered steel and eyes green as cold gemstones. At his side marched Marcus Valentine, general of the Twelfth Legion, known on the battlefield as the Jackal.

  The kingdom's nobles watched with restrained respect, some with open distrust. Upon the palace steps stood the royal concubine Alessia Ferrussi, the prince's sister, awaiting his arrival.

  "What a pleasure to see you, Leopoldo," she said with a practiced smile.

  "Sister," he replied, kissing her hand, "it gladdens me to see you. Though I must admit, living in this corner of the world must be… primitive."

  "It has not been so bad," Alessia answered, diplomatic light in her eyes. "How fare things in the Empire?"

  "Well enough," he said with a shrug. "Though I was sent here with a ridiculous task: to become engaged to a peasant princess."

  "Brother, do not be angered," she murmured, lowering her voice. "You must understand that the people of this kingdom are different. Do not expect bows and feasts as in the imperial court. I ask for your tolerance. Do not ruin our plans."

  Leopoldo let out a bitter laugh.

  "Tolerance? Are you telling me these peasants would dare show me disrespect?"

  They entered the throne room, where King Felipe Erkham awaited them. There was no carpet of petals, no welcoming music—only the sober echo of their footsteps upon marble. The monarch rose, expression imperturbable.

  "Welcome, Prince Leopoldo," he said evenly.

  "The customs of this kingdom are… cold," the prince replied with a venom-laced smile. "Perhaps I shall recommend to the Emperor that someone be sent to teach you proper etiquette."

  The king held his gaze, serene.

  "There is no need. The Empire has its customs, and we have ours. If they displease you, you may return at your leisure."

  Leopoldo pressed his lips together, fury hidden behind courtesy.

  "That will not be necessary, Your Majesty. I shall remain a few days. I would like to meet my fiancée."

  Felipe arched a brow.

  "I must correct you, Prince. I never accepted that request. The princess is not at your disposal."

  Leopoldo stared at him in silence. A shadow crossed his face.

  "Is that your final decision?" he asked quietly, threat coiled within his voice. "Do you not fear the Empire's reprisals?"

  Tension filled the hall, as though the air itself awaited the breaking of a storm. In that instant, the fate of two kingdoms began to hang by an invisible thread, thin as the edge of a blade.

  The echo of trumpets resounded once more in the throne room.

  The herald, standing beside the gilded doors, lifted his voice solemnly:

  "Her Grace, Duchess Sofia Douglas The Mondring!"

  The great ebony doors opened, and the murmurs ceased at once.

  From the threshold, Sofia advanced with measured steps, clad in a dark blue cloak that flowed with her stride. At her side walked a majestic beast, rumbling softly—a silver-maned lion as large as a carriage, its fiery eyes warning all that a single false move would mean death.

  Prince Leopoldo Ferrussi instinctively stepped back. His haughty expression paled. He retreated behind General Marcus Valentine, the Jackal, who observed the scene and thought: A prince who speaks too much and listens too little. In war, that is a death sentence. The lion crossed the hall with a low growl that made the chandeliers tremble.

  Sofia bowed before the throne.

  "Your Majesty, I come to report that all units are prepared for the forest expedition."

  King Felipe Erkham nodded with dignity.

  "Duchess, it is a pleasure to see you. General Joshua Erkham will command my troops. Coordinate the necessary formations with him."

  "It shall be done, Your Majesty," she replied firmly.

  "Very well, Duchess. You may withdraw."

  Sofia turned without sparing even a glance at the imperial delegation. To her, they were little more than arrogant shadows—silk-clad worms… beings she might one day have to crush.

  Marcus Valentine watched her closely. His eyes, cold as blades, studied every muscle of the lion. He assessed it, measured it, compared it against his own capabilities. He reached a silent conclusion: he could defeat it… but he would not leave alive.

  And that, of course, did not account for the other two magical creatures that answered to Sofia Douglas's will.

  Even if the Emperor himself—the only human to hold the rank of Epsilon Champion—were to face her, victory would not be guaranteed.

  The prince broke the silence, his voice tight.

  "Your Majesty, how can you permit such a beast to endanger the lives of Imperial diplomats?"

  The king regarded him without the slightest disturbance.

  "It seems the people of the Empire are easily frightened. My opinion of you has just diminished further."

  "There is no need for such hostility, Your Majesty," Leopoldo replied with a strained smile. "After all, we are family."

  "For now," the monarch answered coolly. "Rest, Prince. There will be a banquet tonight. You are welcome… should you wish to attend."

  Silence fell like a verdict. Sofia departed the hall, and the lion's distant roar echoed like an omen.