That afternoon, the Emperor of Highthorne sat within the enclosed carriage, it's curtains gently swaying with each passing motion. Seated across from him was the ever‑respected Supreme Commander of the Highthorne Empire, Sybil Crowholt, a man whose loyalty was as unyielding as steel—and the father of Sylas. They had only just departed from a distant duchy, where discussions concerning trade, governance, and other pressing affairs had occupied their time.
Emperor Dwayne rested against the cushioned seat, his posture regal yet burdened. He wore an ornate off‑white coat adorned with delicate gold embroidery, a blue sash drawn firmly across his chest, secured by a gleaming buckle. A crimson cape trimmed in gold draped from his shoulders, while black gloves covered his hands, folded calmly upon his lap. His crown of polished gold sat upon his head, catching the faint light that slipped through the carriage window. Opposite him, Sybil sat upright, composed and disciplined, clad in a dark blue military coat marked with gold detailing and epaulettes. His white sash lay neatly across his torso, his red cloak falling in sharp lines behind him. His dark hair had been arranged with precision, every strand in place, reflecting his unwavering nature.
Breaking the silence, Dwayne lifted his gaze, his voice calm yet edged with concern."How stands Gildoran? Have you heard anything of them?"
Sybil's expression hardened slightly. His jaw tightened before he spoke, his tone measured but firm."No news of worth, Dwayne. Yet their nature remains unchanged. Their hunger drives them to strike the smaller, distant territories first—places far beyond our immediate reach."
Dwayne's brows drew together as he leaned forward, curiosity sharpening his eyes."And to what end?"
"To widen their borders with haste," Sybil replied, his fingers curling subtly against his glove, "and to prepare the ground for war against us."
Those words lingered heavily in the narrow space. Dwayne leaned back once more, exhaling slowly as understanding settled in.
"The Gildorans remain as grasping as ever," Sybil added, his voice low.
Though a duchy by title alone, Gildoran spanned lands vast enough to rival a kingdom. Dwayne shook his head faintly, a weary breath leaving his lips.
"They are ambitious beyond measure, convinced they alone are rightful rulers of this empire."
Within the empire's domain stood three great duchies that no longer bent fully to imperial authority—Gildoran, Velliamor, and Dorothel. Their independence was born of immense natural wealth, making them difficult to control. Among them, Gildoran clung fiercely to an ancient belief: that true dominion belonged only to those of their bloodline, marked by the rare inheritance of golden eyes. Once, long ago, Gildoran had indeed ruled the entire region. Yet their cruelty toward slaves and common folk sowed the seeds of their downfall.
It was during that age of tyranny that the youngest daughter of a great Gildoran emperor chose defiance. Her name was Amanda Elizabeth Gildoran. Unable to endure the savagery of her kin, she fled into unknown lands known as Vertimore. There, amid dense forests and lurking beasts, she encountered a commoner named Highthorne, a man born of that rugged soil. Fate bound them together in marriage.
Vertimore, in those ancient days, was a land both feared and revered. Some were driven there by desperation, others by exile, yet all stood in awe of its wild beauty. Through sheer strength and unyielding resolve, Highthorne defeated the great demon that once terrorized the land. United, Amanda and Highthorne rose to lead Vertimore, and the people, by shared will, named Highthorne their king.
News of this reached the Gildoran emperor, whose wrath knew no restraint. Determined to destroy what Amanda and Highthorne had built, he sent his armies forth. Yet Highthorne prevailed, aided by allies from Velliamor and Dorothel, whose rulers stood beside him in battle. Thus, the Gildoran forces were driven back, defeated by unity and resolve. From that victory, the empire took the name Highthorne, in honour of Dwayne's great ancestor—the one who stood firm against Gildoran's tyranny. The people, bound by gratitude and pride, agreed that Highthorne's bloodline would rule as emperors.
Dwayne drew a slow breath, his fingers pressing lightly against his temple."Even without strong alliances, we must not grow careless."
Sybil gave a single nod, his gaze steady."Especially now. The former crown prince has begun to move."
Concern flickered across Dwayne's eyes as he turned fully toward his commander. His voice softened, carrying the weight of trust."Protect my son at all costs, Sybil. You are the only one I can entrust with this."
Sybil met his gaze, unwavering. After a moment, he answered with quiet conviction."The only true shield your son possesses is himself. Rather than hiding him from danger, he must learn to stand against it. My own son will walk that path as well—trained to become one of the great knights of Crowholt."
The carriage continued its steady journey toward the palace, carrying two men bound not only by duty, but by shared history, loyalty, and the heavy burden of the future.
In the quiet of Sylas's office, where maps and parchment cluttered every table, he led Elira inside, a faint warmth tugging at his chest. He had chosen a gift for her, something small yet meaningful—a simple gesture he had longed to make. The afternoon sun spilled softly through the high windows, gilding the scattered tomes and papers in a warm light. With Joana having already left the palace, the two were alone, the silence of the office settling around them like a gentle hush. Sylas's colleagues were gone, leaving him free, yet his attention remained fixed on her.
"Wait here… I have something for you," he said, voice steady though betraying a subtle tremor. He strode to his desk, leaving her to wander. Elira drifted past bookshelves, her fingers brushing over spines as if greeting old friends, and glanced at maps spread across tables. But it was Sylas's own desk that caught her attention: pristine, disciplined, a reflection of the man himself. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she curved her fingers to hide the sound, amused by his meticulous orderliness.
Sylas turned, curiosity bright in his gaze. "What are you laughing at?" he asked, stepping closer. He held something in his hands, extending it toward her. When the book landed gently in her palms, Elira blinked twice, startled.
"Oh… a book? What kind of book is this, Sylas?" Her voice held surprise, a note of delight threading through it. She turned it over, scanning the cover with widening eyes. It was a romance novel—the very type she loved, the stories that had filled her quiet hours.
Sylas's gaze flicked away, heat rising to his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to appear composed. "It… it's by SA Stories," he murmured, voice low, slightly rough with nervousness. "The author of the books you used to read at my mother's house. It's their newest release… A Commoner's Love Story. I… thought you might like it."
Though his posture suggested calm, his heart hammered violently. He had given her gifts before, small tokens, but this—the sight of her surprised, delighted face—struck him profoundly. Every beat of his heart seemed to pull him closer to her, even as he tried to maintain his usual composure.
Elira's gaze softened, curiosity and warmth mingling in her golden eyes. She wondered why Sylas had chosen to give her this, yet she could only smile. Every time he offered something, every subtle shift in his expression, made her chest flutter with a gentle, unspoken affection.
"Thank you, Sylas. I truly… appreciate it," she said, voice soft, though she scolded him gently, shaking her head like a mother with a chubby‑cheeked child. "But you didn't need to… first, it's expensive, and second, I don't want to trouble you."
Sylas smirked faintly, a warmth spreading through his chest. "You're not troubling me, Elira. I wanted to give you something… perhaps because you might have been bored in maid's quarters." His words were an excuse, though the truth was simpler: he wanted to see her smile, wanted to linger in this moment with her.
"You're funny, Sylas… but thank you. I do really appreciate it." Elira's lips curved into a wide, innocent smile, her hair curling softly near her ears. Her cheeks flushed with happiness, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the joy bloom in her expression. Sylas's heart stumbled in response, fluttering violently. That smile—so pure, so unguarded—was intoxicating. He had seen many smiles, yet hers struck him differently, as though his entire world narrowed to that single, radiant curve of her lips. His chest tightened, a pulse quickening that he could not deny, a sensation far removed from the camaraderie he felt with Cassian or anyone else. Cassian was a man, a friend, predictable. But Elira… Elira was something altogether different.
Later, having left the office, the two walked to a quiet glade just a few paces from the palace walls, shaded beneath the boughs of a lone tree. Sylas accompanied her as they watched the sun sink toward the horizon, the sky painted in hues of amber and rose. He stole glances at her as her hair shimmered in the fading light, loose strands dancing softly in the breeze.
"Do you not have work today, Sylas?" she asked gently, as if concerned she might be intruding upon his time.
He shrugged lightly, gazing skyward."No… nothing pressing today. I am free."
"And do you often visit Mrs. Joana when you have such free hours?" Elira asked, a note of curiosity threading her words.
"As always," he replied shortly, eyes tracing the vast expanse of the afternoon sky.
"But… why not today?" Elira pressed again, and Sylas blinked, caught slightly off guard by her directness. Though her question held no malice, it unsettled him. He hesitated, unsure what to say, as her eyes—warm, attentive—searched his.
"I… I was busy. Tired," he muttered, diverting his gaze to hide the faint flush creeping across his face. The truth was far simpler yet far more complicated: the person he truly wished to see was already present, and Sylas found himself unaccountably guarded, a twinge of jealousy stirring at the sight of her interactions with Cassian. Though he would never admit it, each smile she shared with the crown prince pricked him sharply, like a thorn he could not pull free.
Perhaps he merely seeks attention, he thought grimly, frowning in silent protest.
"You silly," Elira said softly, her laughter light and musical, breaking the tension. Together, they watched the sun descend, its golden rays spilling across her features. Her eyes gleamed, reflecting the dying light, and a small, wistful smile curved her lips as she recalled the bitter days of her youth—sold by her mother to men she did not know. Without Sylas by her side, she could hardly imagine where she might be now.
"You know, Sylas…" she began, her voice gentle.
"Hm?" he replied, still gazing at the horizon.
Before he could raise his head fully, she leaned suddenly, her body soft against his shoulder. Her eyes remained fixed upon the glowing sun, a faint, serene smile lingering. Sylas stiffened momentarily, a rush of heat and a rapid pulse betraying his calm exterior.
"Thank you, Sylas… for always being there for me," she whispered, clutching the book he had given her close to her chest. Though he had tried to maintain a composed posture, her words melted the tension from his body. He allowed himself a small smile, relaxing as she leaned further, her warmth grounding him.
"You're always welcome, Elira," he said, his voice low, deep, and tender. Side by side, they watched the sky bleed into twilight, the world beyond the glade falling into quiet peace, while between them lingered an unspoken closeness, fragile yet undeniable—a bond that neither time nor distance could easily sever.