Chapter-5: Fear and Respect
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of Nurin Castle's throne room, painting silver across stone floors. Candles flickered in the sudden gusts of wind that slipped through cracks in the ancient walls. No other sound disturbed the late hour except the low murmur of voices—men speaking in the careful tones reserved for dangerous topics.
Duke Shrita Marian sat on his throne, looking distinctly bored.
Around him, ministers and advisors debated with the sort of nervous energy that came from discussing predators. In this case, the predator wore silk and seduced daughters and went by the name Lucien Aurevane.
"Your Majesty," one minister finally ventured, "why did you personally invite Prince Lucien to Nurin Palace?" Others nodded, emboldened by solidarity. "I mean, you could have simply let him reside somewhere in the state. But the Palace—that's the ultimate luxury, the highest hospitality we can offer."
The murmuring intensified. Duke Shrita let it continue for a moment, then sat forward slightly. The room quieted.
"There are two reasons." His voice carried the weariness of a man who'd explained this before but knew he'd have to explain it again. "First—he is the Second Prince of the Aurelith Empire. You cannot deny him anything without bringing consequences down on all our heads."
The whispers grew tense. Fearful.
"And second..." Shrita's hand rose to touch his crown, almost unconsciously. "He was the one who saved me from a death sentence."
Silence crashed over the room like a wave.
"He was twelve years old. Twelve." The Duke's gaze swept across the assembled ministers, watching comprehension dawn slowly on some faces and not at all on others. "Our kingdom was tearing itself apart. Civil war. When the Aurelith Empire made its move, they killed most of our generals. I was next in line for execution."
A few men shifted uncomfortably. Most had been part of that chaos—survivors who'd bent the knee fast enough to keep their heads.
"Do you know what that boy said to Emperor Emrik?" Shrita asked. "Do you know what made the Emperor stop seeing him as just another naive princeling?"
"But Your Majesty—" The Finance Minister spread his hands, half-laughing. "He spends his time bedding ladies. Running around like it's all a game. Why would he be anything more than that?"
Several others chuckled nervously, eager to believe the comfortable lie.
"Father," came a calm voice from the side, "if you'd killed this man—" Mireth Ombres, the Chief Minister at forty-nine, stepped forward with the measured grace of someone who'd learned to command rooms through competence rather than birthright. He looked at the other ministers like they were children who'd missed an obvious lesson. "It would have required far more effort to secure the kingdom. Better to keep the Marian bloodline intact and shift the power structure underneath it."
The laughter died immediately.
Duke Shrita nodded, a ghost of approval crossing his features. "Exactly. Sixty percent of the population still wanted Marian blood on the throne. This man—" he gestured to himself, "—was the perfect compromise. Kill the generals and rebellious ministers, establish new governance, and transition Nurin from an independent kingdom into a state of the Empire." He paused. "That's what the twelve-year-old prince proposed. Word for word."
The ministers looked ill.
"Now." Shrita leaned back. "What do you think Emperor Emrik saw in that boy?" His voice dropped lower, almost to himself. "He wasn't just a prince. Wasn't just clever. It was his grin—that ambitious, hungry smile. It made me shiver. Fear and relief all at once, because I realized I was only alive because my death would have been 'inconvenient' to his plans."
The room remained utterly still.
A young man near the throne spoke up—blonde hair, sharp features, barely eighteen but already carrying himself with noble confidence. "But Father, you still haven't answered 'why' you invited him to the Palace specifically."
Nian. The Duke's only legitimate son.
Shrita turned to him with something almost like fondness. "Nian... Prince Lucien is not like other royalty. He was born with looks that don't belong in this world—something almost unnatural. And he weaponizes that beauty to an extent that even our ministers are affected by it." His gaze slid deliberately to Mireth, whose jaw was clenched tight. "He hasn't even set foot in this castle, and already he's gathered enough information to cripple half the men in this room."
Mireth's face darkened but he said nothing.
"Would you prefer," the Duke continued, addressing Nian but speaking to everyone, "that our ministers spend their time trying to protect their daughters and wives from him instead of doing their actual work? Better to contain him in the Palace. Keep the chaos localized."
Nian didn't look worried. If anything, he seemed fascinated—the way young men often were by things that should frighten them.
"Your Majesty," the Army General spoke up, older and more grizzled than the rest. "Why did the Empire send a Death Knight just to escort him twenty miles to the capital? Death Knights are the strongest individuals in any military—one of them rivals entire platoons. And Lady Ethelia De Colisson has been waiting at the state barracks for two days now, expecting a simple courtesy meeting."
Duke Shrita's expression shifted. The weariness returned, but now tinged with uncertainty.
"That," he said slowly, "is where we don't know if it's an upper strategy, if it's meant to keep an eye on the Prince... or if it's because of something the Prince has already done."
The implication hung in the air like smoke.
"Death Knights don't escort. They hunt or they guard against armies." The General pressed carefully. "So which is she here for?"
"I don't know," Shrita admitted. And that, more than anything else he'd said, seemed to unsettle the room. "But I intend to find out."
He stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "That's enough for tonight. Go home. And for gods' sake, don't try to confront him "
The ministers filed out, voices low and anxious.
Only Nian remained behind, staring at the empty throne with something like hunger in his eyes.
"He's only two years older than me," the young prince murmured. "And already the Empire fears him."
Duke Shrita placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Fear and respect, Nian. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Nian looked up. "When it comes to him?"
The Duke had no answer for that.
Across the lake, in the luxury of Nurin Palace, Prince Lucien was busy with something.
And at the state barracks, Death Knight Ethelia De Colisson sharpened her blade and waited for morning.