As Magna swept from the hall, her gold gown shimmering, the silence she left behind was not one of peace, but of a thousand held breaths. The last rustle of her skirts faded, and the oppressive weight of Lucien's gaze, now fully unleashed, settled upon Leolvhant. Not the predatory stare of a mere jailer, but something far more dangerous—the look of a man who'd seen a ghost rise from the dead. And didn't know whether to worship it or exorcise it.
The High Priestess retreated to the shadows, her milky eyes still wide with awe and fear. The remaining courtiers shifted uneasily, their whispers like agitated bees. They understood the public spectacle, the forced marriage, the sudden shift in power dynamics. What they didn't grasp was the deeper, temporal current that had just ripped through the fabric of their reality.
King Cyrus, a formidable presence at the head table, lowered his jeweled goblet. His massive frame, draped in ceremonial robes depicting the Mongthar Wars, seemed to swell with authority, his gaze fixed on Leolvhant.
"So, Leolvhant," King Cyrus began, his voice a gravelly rumble, "it seems you have chosen a rather... dramatic return to Xianthos. And to claim a bride. A bold move for a prince who has, for so long, preferred the comforts of Kazaroth."
Queen Livia, sharp and venomous, offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Diamond pins speared through her elaborate crown braid. Her jeweled fingers curled around the throne's arms like raptor's talons. "Indeed, darling. We were under the impression you found our court life... stifling. So different from the rustic charm of the steppes, wouldn't you agree?" Her words, sweet as fermented honey, carried a chilling undertone.
Leolvhant merely offered a languid shrug, his honey-gold hair gleaming. He leaned back in his chair, a picture of defiant nonchalance, his royal blue robes settling around him. He picked up another blood orange, turning it slowly. His piercing emerald green eyes met Livia's gaze with unsettling amusement.
"Stifling, Mother?" Leolvhant drawled, his voice a low, melodic hum. "Perhaps. But one grows weary of endless hunting. A prince requires... stimulation. And what could be more stimulating than the vibrant political tapestry of Xianthos? Especially when woven with such unexpected threads." He glanced pointedly at Lucien.
Lucien, standing across the table, his pristine white tunic and deep purple cloak making him a stark silhouette against the window, finally spoke. His voice, smooth as Ember-Jade, cut through the veiled barbs. "Your return is, shall we say, untimely, brother. And your sudden claim to Xianthos lineage, after years of embracing your Kazarothi heritage... it raises questions. Especially concerning Princess Magna." His amber-brown eyes, sharp and intelligent, bore into Leolvhant, searching for an answer.
Leolvhant peeled a strip of orange rind. "Untimely? Perhaps. But destiny, dear brother, rarely consults the royal calendar. As for my lineage, it is undeniable. Son of King Cyrus, born of Queen Danya. My blood is as Xianthosi as it is Kazarothi. I merely chose to honor my mother's path for a time, after... well, after her unfortunate departure." He let the implication hang in the air, a subtle jab at Livia.
King Cyrus's jaw tightened. "Your mother chose her path, Leolvhant. She chose to lead Kazaroth. You chose to follow her. Now, you return, demanding rights you seemed to have forsaken. What is your true intention? What brought you back to our court?"
Leolvhant's emerald eyes flickered to Lucien, then back to Cyrus. He had to maintain the facade, the playful, irreverent prince. This was the devil's den, and he was here to find answers, to change the future. He needed to be close, to observe, to understand Lucien's true nature, and to protect Magna.
"My intentions, Father?" Leolvhant chuckled, a light, airy sound. "Why, the purest of intentions! To serve the crown, of course. And perhaps... to finally settle down. A prince needs a princess, does he not? And Princess Magna is... charming." He winked, earning a sharp glare from Lucien.
Queen Livia scoffed. "Charming? Or strategically advantageous? Do not insult our intelligence, Leolvhant. This sudden marriage, this 'blood debt' you conveniently remembered, it smells of political maneuvering. Are you attempting to undermine Lucien's position? To claim the throne?"
Leolvhant sighed dramatically, setting aside his dagger and clasping his hands, the emerald jade and sky turquoise of his rings gleaming. "Mother, please. The throne? Far too much paperwork. And honestly, Lucien handles it with such... aplomb. No, my ambitions are far more modest. A comfortable seat on the council, perhaps. Access to the royal kitchens. And the occasional opportunity to annoy my dear brother." He shot Lucien a wide, innocent smile.
Lucien's amber-brown eyes narrowed, seeing through the jest. "The succession is clear, Leolvhant. Regardless of who Princess Magna marries, I remain the Crown Prince of Xianthos. That has been decided by Father, and by destiny." His voice was low, unyielding. "Your marriage to Princess Magna changes nothing in that regard. She remains in Xianthos, and the alliance between our kingdoms is simply secured by... a different hand."
Oh, but it changes everything, brother, Leolvhant thought, the bitter taste of the future he remembered rising in his throat. It changes whether she lives or dies. It changes whether Mother lives or dies. It changes whether I live or die. He kept his expression light, a mask of careless indifference. He knew that for all of Cyrus's declarations, Lucien's ambition would not be so easily contained.
"Of course, brother," Leolvhant said, swirling a goblet of wine. "A mere formality. Though I must confess, the thought of being so... intimately connected to the royal family does fill me with a certain... frisson. Perhaps I shall even attend those tedious war councils you mentioned. For the sake of marital bliss, you understand."
King Cyrus leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, warning tone. "Leolvhant. Your return is accepted. Your marriage, by the High Priestess's decree, is binding. But do not mistake our patience for weakness. You are a Prince of Xianthos, yes, of my blood, but Lucien is the Crown Prince, his claim paramount. And that will not change. Understand? There will be no attempts to usurp what is rightfully his."
Leolvhant met his father's gaze, a flicker of something ancient passing between them. He understood the unspoken threat, the power dynamic that had always existed. In his past life, he had chosen to retreat, to avoid this very struggle. But this time, the stakes were too high. He had to be here, in the heart of the serpent's nest, to unravel the truth.
"Understood, Father," Leolvhant replied, his voice devoid of its usual mirth, "I merely seek to serve. And perhaps, to ensure that no more... unfortunate incidents befall the royal family. Especially those involving Varethyan princesses, or perhaps even esteemed Kazarothi queens." He let his gaze linger pointedly on Lucien, a subtle challenge in his emerald eyes.
Lucien's amber-brown eyes flashed, a brief spark of unadulterated fury and something akin to fear, before his composure snapped back into place. He knew. He suspected. But Leolvhant had given him nothing concrete.
The conversation began to dissipate. King Cyrus leaned back, satisfied for now. Queen Livia watched Leolvhant with narrowed eyes, her suspicion far from quelled. Lucien, however, remained standing, his gaze fixed on his half-brother, a silent, simmering promise of future confrontation. The air between them crackled.
Leolvhant took a slow sip of his wine. He had survived the first direct confrontation. He had secured his place in the "devil's den." Now, the real work began. He had to find the answers, uncover the plots, and somehow, prevent the tragedies that haunted his memories. He had to protect Magna, and in doing so, perhaps save them all. The game had truly begun, and he was playing for far more than a throne. He was playing for lives.