By the time the sun set behind the northern mountains, the kingdom already trembled.
From the lowest viscount to the royal court itself, everyone whispered the same thing:
The Duke of Altaire's daughter has been humiliated.
Whispers travel faster than light in the capital.
By the time dawn touched the palace spires, the scandal had already reached every noble house in the empire.
The Crown Prince had done the unthinkable.
In the middle of a royal banquet, before hundreds of guests, he had declared that unless Lady Seraphina d'Altaire knelt and apologized to a newly risen baron's daughter — a timid young woman who'd only recently entered high society — he would dissolve their engagement.
The ballroom had fallen silent.
Everyone had expected tears, begging, or at least a desperate plea.
But the Duke's daughter had simply smiled — a quiet, perfect smile that sent a chill through the room — and said,
"Then let it be dissolved, Your Highness. I accept."
Then she curtsied, turned, and left.
No crying. No shouting. Just the click of her heels echoing through the stunned silence.
By morning, the court trembled for a different reason.
Because everyone knew:
The Duke of Altaire does not forgive.
---
The estate of House Altaire stood far from the capital — a fortress carved into the spine of the northern cliffs. Its marble towers gleamed pale in the moonlight, and ancient runes glowed faintly on the gates, a remnant of their dragon ancestry. No music, no laughter, only the steady rhythm of boots against stone and the silent fear of servants who knew that the Duke's wrath was something the gods themselves would not provoke.
Inside the grand study, the fire roared. The massive silver dragon carved above the fireplace cast long, ominous shadows over the chamber.
Seraphina stood at the center, posture flawless, her ice-blue eyes calm — too calm. Her brother Lucien leaned against a marble pillar beside her, his expression unreadable, though amusement flickered faintly in his gaze. He looked every bit the devil the rumors claimed him to be: dark hair, sharper tongue, and an aura that reeked of danger. The firelight painted their silver and obsidian hair in gold. The siblings were mirrors of their lineage: poised, cold, and strikingly beautiful, yet with the air of predators waiting to move.
Once the door opened, the atmosphere and the air inside the room had changed. It had become cold and terrifying for those outsider and they might faint out of fear.
Duke Cedric d'Altaire entered — tall, broad, and cloaked in black trimmed with silver thread. His eyes were cold gold, the mark of dragon blood. When he stepped forward, even the flames in the hearth seemed to bow to his presence.
Behind him followed Duchess Elenor d'Altaire, her beauty pale and haunting, her crown of silver hair cascading over a cloak of midnight blue. She carried herself with the serenity of royalty, but her gaze could freeze the marrow of any soul foolish enough to meet it. The Duchess of Altaire was not just noble — she was royal, a princess of the Northern Kingdom where winters never ended and mercy was an unfamiliar word.
The room fell utterly silent as the Duke's boots echoed against the stone floor. He stopped before his children, his face a mask of composure — too calm to be safe.
"You will explain what happened, right now." he said quietly. The low tone made the servants outside the door stiffen in fear.
Seraphina lowered her head slightly, not in submission, but respect and her tone was composed.
"There is little to explain, Father. His Highness demanded I apologize to the young lady in front of the court. I declined. He declared our engagement void. I accepted."
Her voice carried no tremor. No regret. Only truth.
Cedric's eyes narrowed. "He humiliated you. In public."
Lucien's lips curved. "He tried to. Failed spectacularly." Lucien's voice followed, lazy but edged. "You should've seen it, Father. The prince looked like he'd just won a battle — until Sera smiled. Then he realized she didn't care at all. The silence after that was priceless."
The Duke's gaze flicked toward his son, sharp as a blade. "And you stood by?"
Lucien met that gaze without flinching.
"You once told me, 'Never dirty your blade on fools.' I obeyed."
For a moment, there was nothing but silence ghen — a soft exhale was made from the Duke and it not amusement rather it was just an Approval. "Good."
The Duke turned to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. The firelight painted his silhouette in gold and shadow.
"The royal family has grown complacent. They mistake our silence for weakness." His voice darkened, each word a threat. "If they think they can humiliate the Altaire bloodline, they have forgotten the power that built their throne."
He spoke the words like a curse.
"Does the royal bloodline forget whose ancestors saved their throne? Does he forget that the first king begged for Altaire steel when the empire was burning?"
Elenor's voice joined his — calm, but sharp as winter wind. "He forgets because he was allowed to. They mistake our restraint for weakness." Then she continued her words. "And they forget that the King himself once sought my father's permission to wed his queen. He still breathes because the North allowed it."
Her cold-blue eyes moved to her daughter. "You did not cry, I hope."
"No, Mother." She answered with confidence and respect as she looked at her mother.
"Good." Elenor's tone was smooth as glass. "You are my daughter. We do not weep for insects."
Cedric's gaze softened by a fraction. "You did well, Seraphina. You carried the name Altaire with dignity. Let the prince rot in the ruin of his arrogance."
Then turned back to them. "Did he raise his voice at you? If he did then...." He said as his voice become cold and he looked at his children to tell him the truth.
"He tried," Seraphina said simply. "The Commoner girl stopped him."
A slight lift of Cedric's brow. "The commoner girl?"
Lucien chuckled. "It was intertaining I supposed.... She was brave, that one. She told him the rumors were false and that Sera was innocent. Half the nobles fainted from confusion."
"A commoner girl with a spine," the Duke murmured. "Rare."
Elenor crossed her arms gracefully. "Rare or not, I will not tolerate anyone humiliating our name — not even the royal family."
Before anyone could say anything more, Cedric's servant soon come inside holding an envelopment in his hand. He bowed his head, trembling as he handed the Duke a sealed letter. The red wax bore the royal crest.
Cedric broke the seal with one motion, read the first line — then let out a low chuckle that froze everyone in place.
"They request all nobles presence at court tomorrow. The King 'wishes to clarify matters' before the nobility."
Lucien tilted his head. "Clarify? Or control the damage?"
"Both," the Duke said, tossing the letter into the fire. It caught flame instantly.
She looked to her husband. "What will you do, Cedric?"
He turned toward the fire. Its glow caught the dragon crest on his ring.
"The royal court has forgotten its place. Tomorrow, I will remind them."
His voice darkened, each word deliberate.
"It seems that they will host this emergency session to 'discuss the scandal.' I will attend uninvited."
Lucien smirked. "You intend to walk into the lion's den?"
"Lions are loud," Cedric replied. "Dragons are patient. And dragons eat lions."
Elenor crossed her arms, voice smooth as snow over steel.
> "You intend to confront them directly?"
> "No," Cedric said. "I intend to remind them who holds the leash."
The Duchess's expression didn't change. "And if the King protests?"
"Then the Southern Kingdom shall fall in our own hands." He said with a smirk on his face.
Her lips curved, cold and proud. "How nostalgic." Elenor's lips curved slightly, though her eyes stayed cold. "Be sure to burn only what's necessary."
"I will," he said, his expression unreadable. "But if they so much as whisper against my daughter, I will erase the word 'royal' from the Altaire records."
The Duchess approached her children, the faint scent of frost trailing behind her. Her gaze swept over Seraphina — assessing, critical, proud. "Your poise did not falter even once?"
"No, Mother." She answered but her mother's proud voice has made her voice softer than before and she smiled towards her.
"Then you have done well." Elenor's gloved hand brushed a speck of invisible dust from Seraphina's sleeve. "In this world, weakness invites predators. You must never let them see you bleed."
Her eyes softened — barely, but for Seraphina, she knows that this is her mother's way of showing that she loved them. She knew that her mother values them more than anything in this world. "You have my blood, Seraphina. It runs cold when needed. Do not waste it."
"Yes, Mother." She said as her gaze softened and a soft smile was seen in her face.
Then she turned to Lucien. "And you. Stop smiling like that in public. It unsettles the weak."
Lucien laughed quietly. "That's the point."
"Precisely," she replied, though the ghost of a smirk touched her lips.
---
As the conversation faded, the Duke gestured toward the door. "Dinner. The family eats together tonight."
No one dared disobey that tone.
In the grand dining hall, the table stretched nearly the length of the room. Silver candelabras glowed with pale flame. No servants spoke; they only served and vanished.
The family dined in near silence — an old habit of the Altaires. Words were unnecessary when power did the speaking.
At last, the Duke set down his wine glass. "Tomorrow, Seraphina, you will not attend court. Let them stew in their guilt. When they finally beg for an apology, you will not grant it."
"Yes, Father." Seraphina answered as she knows that her father will not go easy on everyone inside the court tomorrow.
"And Lucien," Cedric continued, "You will accompany me to the capital. The nobles have grown restless. It's time they remembered why the north is feared."
Lucien's eyes gleamed. "With pleasure."
Elenor dabbed her lips with her napkin, her tone elegant, detached. "If the King protests, remind him that the last king of the North was my father. Remind him that I still have allies who do not answer to his crown."
"I intend to," Cedric said.
The candlelight flickered as he smiled — a smile that made even Lucien pause. It was the smile of a dragon preparing to move.
---
When the Duke dismissed them, the siblings found themselves standing on the frost-touched balcony outside the study. The moon hung heavy and bright over the northern peaks.
Seraphina leaned against the railing, her breath forming pale mist. "I thought he'd be angry."
Lucien chuckled. "He is. Just not at you. We're his pride, Sera. The whole kingdom just found that out."
She was silent for a while, eyes tracing the distant lights of the capital while Lucien leaned against the railing, smirking faintly. "You realize what Father's going to do tomorrow, right?"
"Burn them politely?" Seraphina said.
"Exactly." He said.
She exhaled, her breath visible in the cold air. "I suppose we should prepare."
He looked at her sidelong. "You're not worried?"
"No," she said softly. "You already told me that Father will not let the royal family touch us."
Lucien chuckled. "I know. They're about to learn why House Altaire is called the Dragon's Bloodline."
They stood in silence for a while, watching the frost creep along the edges of the stone.
Inside, Seraphina's thoughts turned inward — to what she remembered before this life. The game's story, but, this was no script — this was their life now.
"In the game," she murmured, "I don't remember what had happened after the death of the Villainess nor what had happened after the engagement was broken."
Lucien tilted his head. "None of that would happened anyway."
"Why are you so sure?" She said with a mix of doubt in her voice.
"Because this isn't a game anymore." Lucien said with a smirk on his face.
A faint smile ghosted over her lips when she heard this and she couldn't help but chuckled at his arrogance and courage. "No, I think It's better."
Lucien grinned, leaning back against the railing. "Then let's make it interesting."
Seraphina turned her gaze toward the distant palace — where the prince slept soundly, unaware that dragons did not forgive.
"Let them come," she whispered. "We'll remind them what happens when they humiliate an Altaire."
The wind stirred. Somewhere far below, the ancient wards of the estate glowed faintly — as if even the dragons beneath the mountain had heard her vow.
And in the cold heart of the night, the empire shuddered.
Because the villains of the story
had just begun to move.