The final notes of music faded through the grand hall like a tired sigh. The crystal chandeliers, now extinguished, hung silently above a scene of empty glasses and forgotten smiles. Servants moved in silence, clearing the last remnants of the night, while the remaining guests took their leave with diplomatic waves and courteous masks.
Clint stood near the main balcony, where the night breeze touched his face. The blood of Edric Gregory still felt fresh in his memory. But no one spoke of it no one dared since the duel had been initiated by Edric's own arrogance.
From the marble steps, firm footsteps echoed. Duke Leonard approached, with Elara at his side. The woman beautiful, imposing, almost ethereal in her serenity kept her eyes lowered, as was expected of a lady of her supposed status. Her posture as a wife, though artificial, was flawless.
Leonard looked at her with cold eyes.
"Go to the room. Wait for me there."
She did not hesitate. She simply gave a brief curtsy and left without a word. Clint watched her elegant blue dress vanish up the stairs, like a specter dissolving into darkness. Then he turned to the Duke, who now stared at him with unusual intensity.
"What were you talking about with Iris of Kamira?"
The question came direct, cold, and with no room for distractions.
Clint frowned. A slight shiver ran down his spine.
"...She said her name was Iris Valerius," he replied at last, slowly. "And more than that... she knows I'm not your son."
A heavy silence settled between them. The Duke didn't hide the tightening of his jaw nor the subtle clench of his fists. The restrained gleam in his eyes revealed more than any word. Then he spoke, tense:
"They found out too quickly…"
But Clint raised his hand, interrupting him firmly.
"She said no one else knows. At least… not yet."
The word was spat with a weighted emphasis. Leonard raised an eyebrow, analyzing the boy before him. The air between them grew increasingly sharp.
"She's playing with you," the Duke stated. "She wants something, or she wouldn't have spared you."
Clint nodded. The anger was subtle, cold, and silent, but pulsed like a hidden dagger beneath the skin.
"What's the plan?" he asked.
Leonard crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the black marble floor.
"I'll formally invite her in a few days. During the reception, you'll be present. Your mission is simple: find out what she wants. Before she decides to hang us with the truth."
Clint remained silent for a moment. His dark, hungry eyes stared into nothing.
"It would be much easier if we could just kill her now."
The Duke gave no reply.
---
The dawn passed in confused fragments. Clint slept late, without peace, his thoughts dancing like shadows. Iris's emerald eyes haunted him. The anger of being deceived—and the fact she had a means to blackmail him—burned in him.
When the sun had barely touched the sky, a soft knock was followed by the creak of a door.
"Forgive me for waking you, young master," said a sweet voice.
A young woman with silver hair, gray eyes, and a well-developed body carried an ornate tray. Fresh fruits, natural juices, fine breads and cakes for breakfast.
"The Duke asked me to wake you at this hour. And to inform you that from now on, I am your personal servant, at your disposal for any request. Also, he wishes to see you in his office after the meal."
Clint grumbled something inaudible. He got up, took a piece of bread, and bit into it. Then, a sip of juice.
He gave the food no further attention. He grabbed the entire tray and walked to the nightstand, dropping it there with restrained disdain.
The girl remained standing, unmoving.
He turned to her, frowning.
"What's your name?"
She lifted her gaze, showing no fear. Her voice came neutral, almost cold.
"You may call me Emylle, young master."
Clint scoffed.
"Take the tray. And meet me in front of the Duke's office."
The girl simply nodded and collected the dishes, vanishing in silence.
---
The corridor of the east wing was empty. As Clint approached the office door, he noticed it was slightly ajar. He entered without knocking.
The Duke was there, beside a man in noble attire, shoulders marked with the royal family crest: A seven-pointed crown with a flaming sword in the center.
"Ah, finally," said the man, smiling. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Young Master Ravenhart. I've heard of your deeds... directly from the King. It must be quite an honor to receive such attention from His Majesty."
Clint slightly inclined his head, eyes half-narrowed.
"The pleasure is mine. And yes, it is an honor... but to what do I owe the visit?"
The man smiled, then turned to the Duke.
"Now that he's present, I can deliver the message."
The messenger then retrieved a letter sealed in black and gold wax. He broke the seal before them, unfolded the parchment, and read in ceremonial tone:
"To the prestigious ducal house of Ravenhart,
Considering recent events, and in the name of internal stability within our kingdom, I recommend that the young Clint Ravenhart be enrolled in the Nobles Academy of Felgrand. Political education and impulse control are indispensable elements for someone of Ravenhart lineage, especially after the incident at the presentation gala.
Felgrand offers neutrality and excellence. And above all, visibility.
I trust you understand the value of accepting this recommendation.
— César of Kamira."
The reading ended in silence. The messenger bowed elegantly.
"My mission is complete. It was a pleasure meeting you, Young Master."
And he left, without waiting for a response.
Leonard walked to the window, where sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains.
"The king doesn't want to lose control—he wants to observe from a distance… to mold you through the academy. Subtle, but effective."
Clint crossed his arms.
"Fine. I just need to go… and prove I'm strong, right?"
The Duke turned to him, gaze sharper.
"That academy isn't a training ground. It's an arena of fake smiles and invisible blades. Nobles from every kingdom will be there. The little princess of Kamira as well."
Clint's eyes lit up at that.
"Then it'll be the perfect opportunity…"
Leonard nodded.
"Find out what she wants. And turn the game to your favor."
He stepped closer, stopping face-to-face with the boy.
"And don't worry. Once you arrive in Felgrand, seek out James Felps. He's an influential noble and owes me an old debt. He'll help you adapt."
---
And so, the first move was made.
The most unpredictable piece of Kamira was about to be placed on the continental board.