A week had passed since the confirmation ceremony of the Tirésias Marquisate. On the night before the prince's arrival, the Marquisate was silent, except for the distant sound of the wind passing through the newly-renovated walls.
Brianna walked through the courtyard lit by torches, observing the arrangement of the flags and guards. Karna walked at her side, attentive to any detail that could be exploited, even in the darkness.
"Tomorrow he will arrive early," commented Heron, the voice low and firm, cutting through the silence. "And he will come ready to evaluate each one of us, each gesture, each expression."
Phoebe tilted her head slightly, touching the cold surface of the wall. "We need to put the prince at our side, not only as a visitor, but as an implicit ally. Each gesture, each word of his tomorrow can reinforce our position."
"Exactly," agreed Brianna, breathing deeply. "Everything will depend on how he will react to the changes we made without consulting the power of the royal family. I hope everything goes as planned, since Kael decided to stay in the North, Ereon disappeared, and after the war we know nothing of Telvaris. The number of people we can trust now is very low."
"Well, we still have the baron and the nobles who remain loyal to the old count," added Phoebe, with a slight smile. "If the prince is not what we expected, we will have to use the nobles."
Haron crossed his arms, the firm gaze illuminated by the torches. "At least that guarantees that he will not tear our heads off… but I am not deceived: tomorrow each gesture, each word, will be like walking on blades. One false step, and everything we conquered may collapse."
Brianna breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the Marquisate on her shoulders. Her eyes lifted toward the walls, as if seeking strength in them.
"Yes… but if we pass through this, if he recognizes what we built here, we will be closer than ever to overthrowing the kings. Tomorrow, he will not be only a visitor — he will be the bridge that will lead us to the heart of power. And we cannot fail."
Silence fell again over the courtyard, heavy and full of expectation. Each one withdrew to rest, aware that the morning would bring a test that would define not only the future of the Tirésias Marquisate, but also the prince's perception of them.
With the breaking of the first light of day, the Marquisate seemed to come alive. The morning sun gilded the stones of the courtyard, reflecting on the flags and coats of arms that now bore the symbol of the Marquisate with pride, while each soul still felt the weight of the previous night.
In the upper corridors, the nobles lined up with formality, while a nervous whisper passed through the gallery. Each gesture was measured, each look calculated. Some whispered among themselves, debating whether the prince would calmly accept the recent reforms or if he would come to demand immediate obedience.
In the courtyard, all those present — soldiers, nobles, Brianna, Karna and Heron — knelt as the thunder of hooves echoed across the stones. Formality was absolute: even kneeling, Brianna, Karna and Phoebe maintained firm posture, eyes fixed and breathing controlled, transmitting that they fulfilled the protocol without yielding to intimidation. Heron knelt with the experience of a court veteran, upright posture, discreetly evaluating the courtyard and casting quick glances at Brianna and Karna, signaling that the shared leadership was intact.
The prince appeared mounted on a black horse of majestic bearing, accompanied by his royal guard. His armor shone under the sun, but there was no brightness in his gaze — only contained fury. Each movement radiated authority, as he observed the courtyard: the renewed coat of arms, the guards aligned under Heron's orders, and, more importantly, Brianna and Karna, kneeling, firm and attentive.
"So this is how it is…" his voice cut the air, deep and cold. "You dare to reorganize these lands as if the king had no word at all over them?"
Brianna remained kneeling, the clear white eyes fixed on the prince's, transmitting serenity and authority. Karna, at her side, also maintained firm posture, ready to react to any sign of attack.
"We do not seek confrontation," answered Brianna, the voice firm and clear. "But the Southern County, now Tirésias Marquisate, needs capable leaders. The honor and security of our people cannot wait for orders that arrive too late."
Phoebe tilted her head slightly, the imposing posture even while kneeling making the prince hesitate for an instant. Each gesture transmitted confidence and control, reinforcing that that Marquisate would not bow easily.
"Do not confuse autonomy with independence. Remember: the blood that runs in your veins still owes loyalty to the throne," warned the prince, raising his hand as if trying to contain the storm of his fury.
The prince frowned, his eyes passing over each kneeling face with contained fury. His voice cut the air like a blade:
"So… until when will I have to stay out here?"
Phoebe rose calmly, maintaining the imposing posture. "I have already prepared a suitable place for our conversation, my prince," she answered, the voice firm, but loaded with strategic deference. "If you wish, we can proceed now."
He nodded briefly, impatient, and advanced a few steps, followed by his royal guard. Phoebe opened the way ahead, guiding him through the corridors of the Marquisate with precision and silent authority. Brianna, Karna and Heron remained just behind, accompanying each step, attentive to any unexpected movement.
As they crossed the main corridor, some nobles present settled into the chairs arranged in the hall, observing the prince with respect and caution. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the crack of the group's steps on the stone floor.
Upon entering the inner hall, the prince sat rigidly in one of the main chairs, still radiating power and impatience. Phoebe stood nearby, maintaining the posture of leadership and vigilance, while Brianna discreetly settled into another chair, carefully measuring each word that could be said. Heron, keeping slightly at a distance, sat strategically, ready to intervene if necessary.
The remaining nobles settled into the remaining chairs, some visibly nervous, others trying to mask anxiety with a formal countenance. The Tirésias Marquisate, despite being newly-reformed, now seemed a perfect stage for the political tension about to unfold.
Phoebe tilted her head slightly, keeping the prince under her firm gaze. "My prince, I thank you for accepting to meet with us here. I wish this conversation to be clear and productive."
The prince crossed his arms, the rigid posture. "Let it be recorded," he said, the voice cutting, "that I did not come here to praise audacity or improvised decorations. I came to measure loyalty. Each word spoken here will be recorded, each gesture observed."
Brianna breathed deeply, maintaining calm. "We understand, my prince. We are prepared to give account, and to demonstrate that the Tirésias Marquisate can serve the throne without causing instability."
The prince leaned slightly forward, resting the elbows on the knees, the eyes shining with authority. "Then, show me. Show me that you deserve not only autonomy, but trust. Let us begin with what you did with the county."
Phoebe stepped forward, gesturing lightly toward the windows that revealed the renewed courtyards and walls. "Each reform, each reorganization, was thought to guarantee the security and prosperity of our people, maintaining order and discipline, but also respecting the well-being of those who live here."
The prince narrowed his eyes, absorbing each detail of her speech and posture. "Interesting," he murmured, almost to himself. "You seem confident… too much, even. But confidence without control is only presumption."
Heron adjusted himself in the chair, the voice firm. "Presumption is not what moves us, my prince. Each decision was calculated, each step thought to strengthen this Marquisate within the laws of the kingdom, without causing unnecessary ruptures."
The prince let out a dry laugh, without humor. "Then show me this so-called loyalty. How did the count summon a being from the Abyss? How did you manage to stop this creature? And why was all the information hidden? Depending on the answers, I will decide whether I take — or not — your heads to the emperor to appease his wrath."
A cutting silence filled the hall. The nobles breathed as if each of the prince's words weighed one pound more. Brianna felt the blood freeze for a second, then held back the anger and spoke with controlled voice, choosing each word as if it were coin:
"My prince, what happened under the count was grave. We do not deny that forces of the Abyss manifested, but what saved you—and saved the people here—was the coordinated action of those who remained. There was no voluntary summoning on the part of the people; the circumstances were more complex than the simple word 'conjurer' suggests."
Brianna leaned forward, accepting the challenge like one accepts a game of blades. "I am willing to clarify the facts," she said, the voice low and firm. "But allow me to ask something first: where is your loyalty, prince?"
Brianna smiled, cold and calculated, and rose from the chair with the calm of one who already had the answer in hand. Her eyes turned, slowly, to the guard posted at the door.
The hall, wide and lit by the light that passed through the high windows and by the suspended chandeliers, plunged into an uncomfortable silence. The nobles exchanged uncertain glances, unable to understand the reason for that sudden change of attention.
Then, as if responding to Brianna's mute call, the guard raised his hands to the helmet. The metallic sound echoed through the hall when the piece was lifted, revealing, little by little, the hidden figure.
First, the short hair appeared — silver, with long and disordered locks that fell to the nape and partially over the eyes, reflecting the soft light like fragments of crystallized snow. Then, the face: the pale skin, almost translucent, as if the energy that corroded him inside could break free at any instant. But it was the eyes that held everyone in the hall — crimson, burning like living embers, an inhuman flame that denounced something far beyond any mortal.
The guard — now exposed in his true nature — smiled. A slow smile, loaded with irony, that froze the blood of many present. "I see you have attentive eyes, Brianna," he said, the voice firm, each syllable echoing like a verdict. "Few would have noticed. Few would dare to speak out loud what all would prefer to pretend not to see."
A shiver ran through the seated nobles; some recoiled in their chairs, others turned their gaze away, as if the simple act of facing that being was too dangerous.