The Elvian guest quarters, bathed in a warm amber glow from the overhead lanterns, were quiet.
Not peaceful, just quiet.
The kind of quiet that came before something big. Like the moment before a sword unsheathes. Or a verdict is handed down.
Inside the main hall, Viscount Orion sat with his back straight, fingers interlaced on his lap, his face schooled into calm. But his foot tapped beneath the table, giving away his unease.
Sylvia sat across from him, her posture equally composed, but her eyes, those sharp, quiet eyes, flicked every so often toward the door.
They were waiting. All of them were waiting.
For one person.
The doors creaked open with a long, dramatic groan that I couldn't help but appreciate. If nothing else, the Elvian architecture had impeccable timing. I stepped through, side by side with Eldrin, who looked exactly like the kind of man that's seen twelve centuries and wasn't impressed by any of them.
Behind me, Clara followed with her usual effortless grace. Loyal, sharp-eyed, and practically silent.
Eldrin paused at the threshold and offered me a polite nod.
"It was nice talking to you, Lord Hugo," he said, his voice smooth and impassive. "We shall head out together tomorrow, whenever you are ready. I will have the letter of permission delivered to your chambers by this evening."
"Much appreciated, Sir Eldrin," I replied, tone respectful.
He gestured to the waiting servants, who bowed and moved to guide me away.
The walk back was silent. Not awkward, not tense. Just… quiet.
Even Clara didn't speak, which was odd. Maybe she was processing what had just happened. Maybe she was just hungry.
When we finally reached the guest quarters, the air felt heavier, like the room had been holding its breath this whole time.
Orion and Sylvia stood as I entered, their eyes locking onto mine with expressions that were....oddly enough, the same.
Hope, tangled with dread.
"Lord Hugo," Orion greeted, the words stiff but earnest.
"Lord Orion. Lady Sylvia." I gave a polite nod. "Apologies for the delay. Talking to Sir Eldrin took longer than I expected. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."
"Not at all, Lord Hugo," Orion said quickly, as if he was afraid saying yes would scare away whatever good news might be hiding behind my arrival. "We wanted to share a meal together."
"Oh?" I tilted my head, feigning surprise. "I'm in the mood for a meal. Let's break bread, shall we?"
Clara didn't need a cue. With a graceful wave of her hand, the household maids sprang into action, setting the table with practiced elegance. Plates clinked softly. Wine was poured. The scent of fresh bread and spices filled the air.
By the time I sat down with them, the table looked fit for a royal banquet. But the tension hadn't gone anywhere.
Orion sat tall, but the way his eyes scanned mine made it clear, he was bracing for a blow.
Sylvia wore a polite smile, her expression calm, but there was something too careful about the way she held herself. Like a dancer standing en pointe, hiding the strain beneath grace.
I took the butter knife in hand. Let the silence stretch just long enough.
Then, as I cut into a warm roll, I said it:
"Sir Eldrin has agreed to reconsider."
I glanced up. Orion blinked.
"And," I added, casually dabbing my lips with a napkin, "he's made us an appointment with the Elvian merchant guild. Tomorrow. Said we can leave whenever we're ready."
The room stilled.
A breath was held.
And then—
"Thank the stars," Orion exhaled, leaning forward like a weight had been yanked off his shoulders. "Lord Hugo, that means… they're truly considering our proposal?"
I smiled.
"They are. But..." I let the word hang there, slicing into the next sentence like a blade, "...the goods they're interested in were not the ones from your court, Lord Orion. They were the ones Lady Sylvia presented. It's because of her, House Orion's hidden hand, that we got this far."
I turned slightly toward Sylvia.
"I'm genuinely impressed, Lady Sylvia. You've got a keen eye for commerce. Just as you said, Lord Orion, looking forward to House Orion's capabilities wasn't a mistake after all."
Orion's face lit up, pride and relief washing over him in equal measure.
"As long as the deal is secured, that's all that matters," he said, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "My daughter has always had a sharp mind. You've done wonderfully, Sylvia. I'm proud of you."
Sylvia offered a gentle smile. But I could see it now, beneath the smile, the fatigue lingered. That same hollow tiredness from earlier. The weariness of the soul.
Still, she nodded politely.
"Let's enjoy the meal, Lord Hugo," Orion said, lifting his glass. "This is a moment worth celebrating."
I raised my own. "To partnerships," I said.
And the dinner passed in a blur of clinks and chatter, mostly Orion's. He was in a rare mood, jubilant and hopeful. Meanwhile, Sylvia maintained that same polite grace, her smile flickering at times, like a candle in the wind.
She was trying.
I saw that.
As the last course cleared and the table was being cleaned, Orion stood with renewed vigor.
"I'll inform the rest of our crew," he said. "We'll plan to depart with Sir Eldrin to the merchant guild in the morning."
"Sounds great, Lord Orion," I said, standing. "Let's all get some proper rest tonight."
"Indeed. Good night, Lord Hugo."
"Good night."
With that, Orion left.
Clara followed me back toward our own quarters, silent once again. Maybe she just knew I needed time to think. Or maybe she was still waiting to eat.
When we finally arrived, it's already around 8:00 PM. I turned to her.
"It's late, Clara. You should have dinner."
She bowed and slipped away without a word.
And me?
I tossed myself onto the bed, letting out a long groan that sounded way too close to death.
Finally....finally....I could...
KNOCK KNOCK.
.......
Fuck.
I dragged myself up, muttering curses under my breath that would've made even the tavern drunks proud.
"Lord Hugo, are you awake?"
The voice was soft, familiar.
Sylvia.
I blinked once, twice, then walked over and opened the door.
"Lady Sylvia," I said, straightening my clothes. "Come in. I was expecting you."
She entered quietly, her expression composed but uncertain. Still that same smile. Delicate, worn, forced.
"Your performance today was wonderful," I said, closing the door behind her.
She nodded once, but didn't answer.
Whatever she was here for, it wasn't to hear praise.
And I had the distinct feeling this night… wasn't over yet.
.
"Hm… it's bad," Everard muttered, his voice low.
"I think bad is an understatement," Sebastian replied, eyes fixed on the parchment in his hand, the edges curled from how tightly he was gripping it.
Beneath the shadow of a tall ash tree, the two cloaked men stood side by side. Wind whispered through the leaves above them, brushing across the black leather of their horses tied nearby, the beasts shifting restlessly as if sensing their masters' tension.
They stared down at the letter again.
The ink had barely dried, but the weight of its content made the air around them feel heavier.
"The question is," Sebastian said slowly, "since when has this been brewing?"
Everard didn't answer right away. His dark eyes traced the lines of the message again before lowering it with a grim expression.
"It wouldn't be unnatural if the marquis had started planning this the moment the Emperor granted me the duchy," he said finally, his tone cold, analytical. "He never took it well."
Sebastian's brows furrowed.
"If what this report claims is true… the one who'll be in danger is the young lord."
Everard gave a slow nod. His jaw was tight.
"This has gone sideways in ways I didn't expect," he said. "I never thought he'd have the spine for a move this bold. That bastard's always been clever, but this…"
He let the sentence hang like a blade in the air.
Sebastian's fingers twitched toward his belt, where his sword lay hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.
"Should we go 'talk' to him first?" he asked, voice laced with dangerous intent.
Everard's reply was immediate.
"'Talking' can wait. If it's truly the marquis behind this… then we'll need evidence. Solid. Incontrovertible. Anything less, and we walk into a trap of our own making."
A gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it the distant screech of a hawk. Everard lifted his gaze to the rolling hills beyond the forest's edge, his expression darkening.
"There's something else," he said, more to himself than to Sebastian. "This isn't just the marquis. Velmont doesn't have the gall to pull this alone."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed.
"You think someone else is involved?"
Everard nodded slowly.
"Yes. Something's moving beneath Falcon. Quiet, cold, and deliberate. Like water seeping under a carpet. You don't notice it until the wood beneath begins to rot."
He folded the letter and tucked it inside his cloak.
"We need information. And we need it fast."
His voice sharpened with finality.
"Let's head to Glimmerforge."
"At once," Sebastian replied without hesitation, swinging onto his horse in a smooth motion.
Everard mounted his own, and as they turned their steeds toward the north road, his thoughts spiraled in grim silence.
This isn't simple.
The pressure closing in on Falcon isn't just from the other duchies…
Internal fires are already burning.
The Emperor's doctrine had been clear. Hereditary succession alone wasn't enough to hold a title. A Duke had to prove themselves worthy. Victory in battle, reform in governance, political leverage, or economic expansion, any of these could justify the reassignment of power.
It was that very principle that had secured Everard his duchy.
And now, the same law had become a blade pointed inward—used by those who hungered for the throne he held.
Marquises. Earls. Old vultures with young ambitions.
And the Falcon's heir? Hugo Gyrfald, the supposed disappointment, the disgraced noble…
In their eyes, he was the perfect excuse.
Internal power struggles…
They're the worst kind of enemies... the type that wear familiar faces.
And with that, the horses galloped into the mist-cloaked horizon, carrying their riders toward Glimmerforge. Toward the truth buried beneath layers of whispers, betrayal, and shadows.
.
"This is the seventeenth letter, my lady," Seraphina said gently, placing the latest sealed parchment on the polished table.
Serena lifted her gaze from the open window, her fingers pausing in the air as if suspended between thought and motion. The sunlight filtered through the silk curtains, casting long streaks of gold across the floor, but her expression remained undisturbed, composed as ever.
"Who is it from now?" she asked, her voice calm, like still water before the ripple.
Seraphina opened the scroll with a practiced flick. "It's from Earl Tormund, my lady."
Serena's brow lifted slightly. "Tormund… ah, the one who holds Ravenholt under his dominion."
She leaned back, her fingers steepled thoughtfully under her chin.
"He is powerful. And his daughter…" A small pause. "Graceful. Intelligent. Knows the court's dance better than most her age."
She tapped the table lightly, then smiled with practiced serenity.
"Prepare a response. Acknowledge the strength of the proposal, and inform him that, with so many offers arriving, we hold his in high regard. And… make sure to hint, gently, at our current inability to provide a definite answer. As we've done with the others."
"I'll have it crafted at once, my lady," Seraphina replied with a graceful nod. "Anything else?"
Serena's eyes narrowed slightly in thought before she nodded once.
"Yes. There have been numerous partnership offerings sent to the castle lately. Have them compiled into a single letter and send it to Glimmerforge, my husband should receive it there. I want him to have an accurate understanding of the kinds of hands reaching toward the Falcon now."
"Understood," Seraphina replied, reaching for a quill to make a note.
"And one more thing," Serena added, her tone softening, but the weight of her words unmistakable.
"Ask Gaveric to prepare a flexible evaluation metric. Something that allows us to reassess regional priorities based on the nature and strength of the partnerships my husband will choose to accept. We need to be agile now. Alliances are shifting faster than titles can catch up with them."
Seraphina paused, then gave a deeper nod of respect.
"I'll see to it personally, my lady."
With that, she turned and quietly exited the chamber, her footsteps vanishing into the corridor beyond.
Left alone, Serena stood and walked toward the window, resting her hand on the cool stone edge as her gaze drifted beyond the gardens and the distant flags fluttering atop Falcon's eastern towers.
Just these past six months…
The duchy has seen more change than it has in the last four years combined.
And the winds were still stirring.
The old world was shifting, and Serena Gyrfald would ensure they were not only prepared for the storm but positioned to master it.