[The Valerius Estate - The Strategy Room]
The heavy doors to the Duke's study swung open.
A high-ranking knight of House Valerius rushed in, dropping to one knee and holding out a sealed scroll bearing the golden crest of the Imperial Family.
"My Lord,"
The knight said, his voice trembling slightly.
"An urgent decree from the Emperor."
Duke Alistair snatched the scroll, breaking the royal seal.
As his eyes scanned the parchment, his expression twisted from calm calculation to absolute fury. With a vicious snarl, he crumpled the letter and threw it across the room.
"That arrogant tyrant!"
Alistair roared, slamming his fist onto the oak table.
"He changed the arrangement! The Cursed Prince and Lyra will not be sent to the South. They are being given a new estate inside the Capital!"
Duchess Beatrice picked up the crumpled letter, her icy eyes scanning the words. Instead of getting angry, a dark, chilling smile crept across her face.
"Alistair, calm yourself."
Beatrice purred, setting the letter down.
"This is actually a blessing in disguise."
The Duke glared at her.
"How is losing our hostage a blessing?"
"Think about it,"
the Duchess whispered, stepping closer to her husband.
"Everyone knows the Emperor fiercely protects his own, even if he acts like he hates them. If the Second Prince were to mysteriously die down here in the South, we would be the prime suspects. The Emperor would butcher our entire family without a second of hesitation. But if the boy dies in the Capital... surrounded by his own political enemies? Our hands remain completely clean."
Alistair's eyes widened slightly as the realization hit him. He slowly began to smile.
"Bring the half-breed to me. Now."
[The Servant's Quarters]
Lyra was carrying a heavy basket of wet laundry down the freezing stone hallway when an older maid intentionally bumped into her shoulder, nearly knocking her over.
"Watch where you're going, half-breed."
The maid sneered, looking down her nose at Lyra.
It was common knowledge in the estate that the servants were encouraged to bully the Duke's illegitimate daughter.
"The Duchess is looking for you in the study. I suggest you run. It's bad enough you exist; don't make them wait."
Lyra didn't say a word.
She just bowed her head respectfully, placed the basket down, and quietly walked toward the study.
When she entered, the heavy doors clicked shut behind her.
"Ah, there she is…"
Duchess Beatrice mocked, circling Lyra like a predator.
"Such a lucky girl. A commoner rat elevated to the status of an Imperial Princess. You must be thrilled to marry the Cursed Prince."
Lyra kept her eyes glued to the floor.
Duke Alistair stepped forward, grabbing Lyra roughly by the chin and forcing her to look up at him.
His eyes were completely void of warmth.
"Listen to me very carefully, Lyra."
The Duke commanded, his voice dripping with venom.
"You are going to the Capital. And you have one mission. You will seduce the Second Prince. You will secure your place, and you will bear an Imperial child within three years. You will tie our bloodline to the throne."
Lyra's breath hitched.
"Father, I... I am only thirteen. I can't—"
"If you fail,"
Alistair interrupted, his voice dropping to a demonic whisper,
"I will ensure your mother suffers."
Lyra's eyes went wide with pure panic.
She thought of her sick, fragile mother locked away somewhere in the Duke's hidden dungeons.
(What Lyra didn't know—what the Duke was hiding from her—was that her mother had died years ago. This monster was using a dead woman's memory to turn a thirteen-year-old girl into a political weapon.)
"Do you understand me?"
Alistair demanded.
When Lyra didn't answer fast enough, Alistair raised his hand and slapped her across the face with brutal force.
Lyra collapsed to the marble floor, her ear ringing.
"Cancel her lunch and dinner today," the Duke ordered the guards at the door, completely dismissing her. "Get out of my sight."
Lyra scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room.
When she finally reached her small, freezing bedroom, she locked the door and slid down the wall.
She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, finally letting the tears fall. She wept silently in the dark, trapped in a nightmare with no way out.
[The Imperial Palace - The Capital]
Far away from the misery of the South, the grand halls of the Imperial Palace were completely silent.
Emperor Aldric stood alone in his massive, dimly lit bedroom.
He was staring up at a massive, beautifully painted portrait of a woman with warm, kind eyes and a brilliant smile. It was the late Empress Elara.
Aldric, the most terrifying man in the world, reached up and gently touched the gold frame of the painting. A single tear escaped his cold eyes, rolling down his scarred cheek.
"Elara..."
Aldric whispered, his voice cracking with a heavy, suffocating guilt.
"I think... I couldn't become a good father after all. They all look at me with such hatred."
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of the crown.
But then, the image of his enemies—the greedy Dukes, the corrupt nobles, the assassins waiting in the shadows—flashed in his mind.
Aldric forcefully wiped the emotions from his face. His eyes hardened, turning back into absolute ice.
..If I break down….. He thought.
If I show even a fraction of weakness... who will protect our children from the wolves?
He turned away from the painting and walked silently down the hallway, stopping outside the Second Prince's quarters.
Aldric opened the door slowly.
CRACK..!
Inside, Zion was fast asleep on his bed, completely exhausted from his earlier mana outburst. The chaotic red aura had finally settled.
Aldric watched his son for a long moment, a microscopic, hidden smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You haven't changed a bit, my son,"
Aldric murmured softly.
"So stubborn. So reckless... You are exactly like your Uncle Yash."
Aldric silently closed the door, standing guard in the dark hallway.
[The Next Morning - Across the Empire]
A massive flock of Imperial Messenger Hawks exploded into the sky above the Capital, scattering to the four corners of the continent.
They carried pristine white envelopes sealed with golden wax.
The invitations were being delivered to the highest-ranking powers in the world.
The Commanders of the Northern Army, the wealthy Ministers of the East, the Beast Tamers of the West—everyone was being summoned for the wedding of the century.
Far outside the Capital, sitting on the roof of a remote, peaceful tavern, a young man with messy hair and an incredibly laid-back aura caught one of the golden envelopes out of the air.
He popped a piece of fruit into his mouth and casually broke the royal seal.
It was Uncle Yash.
The hidden True God.
The 22-year-old walking disaster.
He read the invitation, his eyes scanning the names: Prince Zion Kaelen and Lady Lyra Valerius.
Yash smirked, letting out a soft, amused sigh as he looked toward the horizon where the Capital stood.
"So, my little nephew is finally getting married ?"
Yash chuckled, tossing the envelope lightly into the air. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, piercing right through the politics.
"But a girl from the Valerius family? And keeping them inside the Capital?"
Yash smiled, but it was a knowing, dangerous smile.
"....Huh?.. Big Brother Aldric... you're always playing the villain just to keep them safely under your wing, aren't you? Looks like I need to make a trip back home."