The sun had long since dipped below the walls of Brixton, and the city lay bathed in the orange glow of torches and lanterns. In the study, Ace sat at a desk, quill scratching steadily across parchment. His expression unreadable, utterly focused on the lines he was committing to ink.
The door creaked softly, and Lucy stepped inside. She hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"What are you doing?"
Ace didn't glance up. His hand moved with practiced precision, sealing each word with deliberate weight.
"I'm fulfilling Catherine's wish."
Lucy's eyes narrowed slightly as she pieced the meaning together.
"Annulling the engagement…? Wouldn't that stir up even more trouble?"
At that, Ace finally leaned back in his chair, setting the quill down. His white eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light, calm yet edged with something sharp.
"No. It will make them happy. They'll believe they've gained their freedom, and they'll throw themselves at the tool they wanted to pursue."
Lucy folded her arms, frowning.
"The Hero."
A thin smirk tugged at Ace's lips, but he didn't confirm or deny. Instead, he reached for the parchment, folding it neatly before pressing his seal into the wax.
Moments later, outside in the courtyard, a hawk spread its wings and took flight, soaring into the twilight sky with Ace's letter fastened to its leg.
Across the city, in the guest manor, another hawk launched into the air at the very same moment. Catherine stood by the window, her fingers resting on the sill as she watched her own letter vanish into the horizon. Her eyes followed the fading silhouette, her face calm but her heart pounding with anticipation.
Two hawks—two letters—cut across the night sky, heading toward the capital. Both carried words that could shift the balance of power, and though they flew apart, their consequences would one day collide.
The golden banners of Solarian Empire hung heavy in the capital's grand courtroom, catching the first rays of morning light. Emperor Aurelius Solarian sat upon the throne, his crown tilted slightly as if the weight of rulership pressed upon him even in repose. His sharp eyes scanned the hall idly—until the heavy doors creaked open.
A guard stepped in, his boots echoing against the marble floors. With a bow that nearly scraped the ground, he held out two sealed letters in both hands.
"Your Majesty," the guard said, his voice stiff but respectful. "Letters. One from Princess Catherine... and one from the heir of Thornevale."
Aurelius raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering behind his usually impassive gaze. He extended his hand without a word.
The guard placed the letters onto a silver tray, and Aurelius picked up the first one, Catherine's.
The seal, embossed with her personal crest, cracked open with a satisfying snap. He unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the neat handwriting.
As he read, a slow smile began to creep across his face. By the time he reached the end, the chuckle that slipped from his lips was low, almost gleeful.
"My daughter... pursued by the Hero, is she?" He muttered aloud, his voice soft but carrying the weight of amused disbelief. "And she requests the annulment of her betrothal to Thornevale's heir?"
Aurelius's laughter echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls. It was a rich, triumphant sound—one that seemed to draw the attention of everyone present, even the most stoic of his ministers. He glanced around the chamber, meeting the eyes of the lords and ladies lining the walls, who were all trying very hard to look indifferent.
"Seems the goddess have a soft spot for Solarian blood," Aurelius continued, his voice rising slightly, his eyes gleaming with the promise of something larger than the empire. "The Hero himself might soon be bound to our line."
Murmurs rippled through the hall before erupting into polite applause and words of congratulations. Lords and ministers stepped forward with smiles—some wide and earnest, others thin and forced. They praised the emperor for his fortune, for his daughter's cleverness, for the empire's bright future.
Yet beneath the surface, their eyes betrayed calculation. Everyone knew what it meant if the Hero joined the imperial family. The Solarian dynasty would gain influence unmatched, and the balance of power among noble houses would tilt dangerously.
Still, Aurelius only smiled, unconcerned with their silent disapproval. To him, their opinions were trifles. He cared only for strength—and the Hero was strength incarnate.
He waved his hand dismissively, signaling the court to quiet down.
'Let them mutter behind my back if they wish. The throne has no need for their approval.'
The emperor set Catherine's letter aside. His hand reached for the second—the one sealed with the Thornevale crest. The hall seemed to grow a touch colder as the nobles watched, all waiting to see what message the ever-unpredictable Thornevales would send.
Aurelius's fingers lingered on the Thornevale seal for a moment. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the letter toward one of his guards, who scrambled to catch it,
"Read it aloud," the emperor commanded, his voice low but thick with an ominous edge.
The guard, bowed quickly and unrolled the letter. The parchment crackled in the silence as he held it up, his voice ringing clear and steady through the tense air of the courtroom.
"To His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Aurelius Solarian. The engagement between myself, Ace Thornevale, and Princess Catherine Solarian, is hereby annulled."
Whispers erupted immediately, nobles glancing at one another. Some looked at the emperor, trying to gauge his reaction.
Aurelius didn't flinch. He leaned back in his throne, his sharp eyes narrowing, and the smile that had been there moments ago was now replaced with an icy calm. His fingers twitched on the armrest.
The guard continued, though his voice faltered slightly.
"Since we are no longer bound by ties of marriage, the Thornevale tax rate should rise to match that of other imperial territories—twenty percent. However, we will not be doing that and will be paying five percent. Should His Majesty wish to contest our decision, he may do so… by force."
The silence in the hall deepened, thick and suffocating, like the calm before a battle. Every noble was frozen, holding their breath. Even the air seemed to grow colder. A few glanced nervously at the emperor, but no one dared make a sound.
Aurelius's gaze was locked on the guard, his jaw clenched so tight it looked as though it might crack under the pressure. His eyes were blazing now, but the smile—gone. Completely gone.
The guard pushed forward, his voice shaking slightly but determined to finish the message.
"And since the annulment originates from your side, compensation must be delivered to Thornevale before the end of this month. Should it be delayed, the compensation will double with each month you are late. —Ace Thornevale."
By the time the last words left the guard's lips, the courtroom was deathly still. Not a single soul moved. Not a breath was taken.
Aurelius's hand tightened around the armrest, his knuckles turning white, his eyes dark with the kind of fury that could scorch kingdoms.
"They dare…" he muttered to himself, his voice low but seething with venom. His chest rose and fell with the force of his anger, and for a moment, the emperor seemed to grow larger, more imposing.
"They dare dictate terms to me, as though I were some petty count," he spat, his words thick with disgust.
The tremor of his fury rippled through the chamber. Ministers lowered their heads instinctively, avoiding eye contact, some unable to hide the tension in their faces. Others clenched their fists, anger bubbling beneath their poised exteriors. But no one spoke. No one dared.
Because they all knew one unspoken truth—Thornevale could back up every word.
The scroll slipped from the guard's hands and landed on the polished marble floor with a dull thud.
The emperor's face darkened. His anger was palpable, rolling off him like heat from a furnace.
But the nobles' reactions were mixed.
One of the elder, representative of a duke immediately stepped forward, bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty, this is an outrageous insult! The Thornevale heir must be punished for such arrogance. If they think themselves above the Empire, they must be reminded of their place."
Several others nodded vigorously, voices joining in.
"Yes! They mock the Solarian throne!""This is no better than treason!"
Yet, not all shared the same confidence. Some of the shrewder nobles remained silent, eyes downcast. A few exchanged uneasy glances, their minds already calculating.
A baron muttered under his breath to his neighbor, though the whisper carried in the silent hall.
"Not even paying the taxes as the rest of us… Even under threat, they remain wealthier."
Another, rubbed his chin.
"And compensation… doubled each month? Bold. Dangerous..."
A younger noble, less cautious, scoffed loudly.
"Wise? They spit on the Empire! If we allow this, others will follow!"
The marquis only smirked faintly, lowering his gaze.
"Others would… if they had the Thornevale's strength."
The emperor's hand slammed onto the armrest with such force the wood cracked. His voice thundered through the hall.
"SILENCE!"
The chamber fell instantly quiet.
His gaze swept across the assembled nobles—those who cheered for punishment, and those who quietly admired Thornevale's audacity.
"Do not mistake my silence for weakness. The Empire does not bow to upstart dukes who grow fat off their mines."
But even as he spoke, a flicker of doubt showed in his eyes. He knew—everyone in that room knew—that if the Empire moved against Thornevale, it would not be a swift suppression. It would be a war.
And one the Empire could ill afford.
The room was still, the air heavy with tension, when at last, one of the emperor's senior advisors—an older man with graying hair and sharp eyes—stepped forward, bowing low. His voice carried calm authority, cutting through the tension.
He bowed low, his voice smooth but firm. "Your Majesty… forgive my boldness, but striking at Thornevale now would not be wise."
The emperor's glare shifted to him, but the advisor pressed on.
"If the Empire raises its banner against the Thornevale duchy, the consequences would ripple far beyond the battlefield. Too many of the great houses look upon them with envy. Some would gladly betray the crown in secret, waiting for us to weaken ourselves in war before striking at us. The Empire cannot afford such fractures."
He let his words linger, his gaze drifting across the assembled nobles. Several averted their eyes, their guilty consciences exposed. Aurelius noticed. His jaw tightened.
The advisor continued, voice lower but sharper:
"Better to bide our time. Once the Hero is within your family, bound by marriage to Princess Catherine, then the people's faith will belong to you. With their eyes turned toward the Hero, punishing Thornevale will not risk riots or rebellion. The people themselves would cheer it."