“Besides… which Duke would dare declare us enemies?” Jessica’s voice lilted, cold and sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Only Duke Asher could be that reckless. And once we secure an alliance with the imperial family through Yuna, our house will be unrivaled — the most powerful in the empire that is soon to rise.”
Her words struck like a whip, sending a shudder through Yuna, Korah, and their mother, Kira. It felt as if the very walls of the chamber recoiled. An invisible weight pressed against them, suffocating and heavy.
As if to seal his mother’s ruthless pronouncement, Kohath leaned forward. From within his tunic, he withdrew a letter, its wax seal gleaming under the council hall’s light. He laid it on the polished table with a solemn reverence. “This is Prince Aaron’s letter,” Kohath announced, his voice rich with triumph. “It bears his intention to betroth Yuna and claim her as his wife. Through her, she will bear the heir to the imperial throne.”
The world seemed to still for a moment.
Then —
“How dare you?!”
Yuna rose so swiftly that her chair clattered to the floor. The air around her shimmered, heat pouring from her skin in waves. Another heartbeat — just one — and flames would leap free. Her hands shook at her sides, fists clenching, desperate for restraint.
Kohath, ever the viper, smiled lazily at her fury, leaning forward with mock patience. “Duke Asher already spat on the prince’s offer, choosing instead to wed his sister to the first son of Count Adamos. Let it be known on the day of his death that another dukedom had the wisdom — and the beauty — to step forward where he did not.”
Korah’s gaze swept across the gathered lords and vassals.
He saw the greed in their eyes.
He saw the fear too — but not enough.
“We cannot refuse the prince,” Viscount Edevane said with a shrug, as though discussing the weather. “We are the foundation of this alliance. Once we leave, we shall join a far greater force — the United Army. House Ashbourne and House Adamos will either kneel or be ground into the dirt.”
Kira’s hands trembled where they rested on her lap, the fabric of her gown bunching in her fists. She lifted her eyes to Yuna, watching her daughter’s back as she stormed from the council chamber, her heart fracturing into a thousand pieces.
This… this wasn’t House Ashbourne. That defiant house.
Her brother — for all his strength — had struggled to keep the Bannermen in line. How could he now defend her or her children against the full fury of external enemies? He was already cornered, pushed against a wall he could no longer hold.
Korah exhaled heavily, mist curling from his mouth in the sudden chill that had gripped the room. His eyes dropped to the letter sprawled across the polished wood, its presence like a final nail in a coffin.
“You were all eager enough to ally with House Ashbourne,” Korah said quietly, his voice hoarse, hollow. “If you do this… there may be no path back.”
Count Marrowind scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “When we embargo their olive oil, their lifeblood will dry up. House Ashbourne will crumble to ash — fitting for their name.”
Korah gave a bitter, humorless smile. He turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of his mother’s strained face and the heavy silence beyond the door where Yuna had disappeared. His chest tightened, aching with a grief he could not name.
“Very well,” he said at last, the words scraping out of him like broken glass. “Let’s hope Duke Asher is truly dead — and stays dead — because…”
He never finished the sentence.
Somewhere inside him, a splinter of fear and regret twisted deeper.
Kohath, sensing victory, straightened. “It’s agreed, then. Yuna will be offered to Prince Aaron. Our house shall pledge allegiance to the United Army.”
All eyes pinned Korah in place, weighing him, watching.
And despite every fiber of his soul crying out in protest, he nodded.
It was the only way.
The only way to protect Yuna.
The only way to shield his mother.
Even if it meant losing Arya forever.
Even if it meant losing himself.
His heart clenched so hard he thought he might choke on it. His hand, hidden beneath the table, shook uncontrollably.
“Let’s go,” Korah said thickly, turning to his mother, voice laden with defeat. Without looking back, he pushed from his chair and left the council behind.
He didn’t know why, but as the heavy doors shut behind him, he felt stripped bare — as if he were the one without vassals, without loyalty, without hope.
A king without a crown.
A leader with no power.
And deep within, a bitter longing curled tight:
What did it feel like to be Asher Ashbourne?
Even for a second… he would trade everything to know.
But for now, he would endure.
He would bend, he would bleed, he would break if he had to —
Until the day came when the Duke’s mantle would be his.
_____
In the heart of a magnificent garden, where exotic blossoms spilled their fragrance into the spring air and marble fountains sang gentle songs, two men reclined in the shade of a gilded pavilion.
Their hair, dark and gleaming with fine oils, was combed neatly back. Their attire was woven from the finest silks and brocades of the Eternal Immortal Empire, each thread glinting with understated power. Rings adorned their fingers, their every movement deliberate, confident — men used to having the world at their feet.
Each held a golden teacup, delicate yet heavy, sipping a rare tea brewed from the most coveted leaves of the empire — leaves once reserved for emperors alone.
To the left sat Reuel Zaur, King of Intis — a man of sharp mind and sharper instincts. Though born on Earth, Reuel had long since learned to wield ambition as deftly as any sword. Satisfied with the favor of his most beautiful concubine — a woman so envied that whispers of her charms drifted through every noble court — Reuel now stood proudly as Prince Aaron’s right hand.
He leaned back, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest. “All three dukes are down,” he said, swirling the golden liquid in his cup. “The North is finally yours.”
Aaron, heir to the Eternal Immortal Empire, lifted his cup to his lips and sipped without hurry. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, one that hinted at boundless hunger yet to be sated. His voice, when it came, was soft, almost amused.
“The fairies helped take care of Lord Asher.” His eyes gleamed with cold triumph. “Once we seize Ashbourne, we’ll claim their lands as rightful repayment. A trade in fairy slaves, and the emerald olive oil…” He exhaled slowly, savoring the thought, “—it will make the empire wealthier than any other on the continent.”
Reuel chuckled again, a knowing sound — the chuckle of a man who had sold and bought the fates of others many times over. “Of course,” he murmured, already envisioning the mountains of gold that would pour into their coffers.
Before them, resting on the low glass table between silver trays of candied fruits and sugared almonds, lay a single letter. Its seal broken, its contents read and re-read. The message had been sent by Lady Jessica of House Mormont — confirming the success of her mission.
Aaron spared it one more glance. His smile widened, deepening the cruelty that lingered in his expression.
“It’s time,” he said, his voice rich with conviction, “for the Eternal Immortal Empire to rise once more.”
His gaze turned toward the distant horizon, as though he could already see armies marching beyond the mountains, cities burning in their wake.
“And after we conquer the lands beyond the Ashbourne mountain range,” Aaron continued, his voice low, nearly reverent, “we shall be even larger… and stronger than ever before.”
The garden’s serenity, its sweetness, seemed to wither beneath the weight of those words.
Somewhere, far beyond the marble walls, the winds of conquest were beginning to howl.