The enormous doors to Vistro Manor creaked open, revealing the patriarch himself. Marquis Vistro. He stood like a monolith of velvet and steel, flanked by two rows of bowing maids and servants.
As the royal party ascended the marble steps, the Marquis stepped forward. Leading the group was Duke Charles Luminaris, a man whose very presence seemed to bend the light around him. Charles was the younger brother of the current King, a war hero who had earned the title Flame Phoenix Lord for his devastating fire magic during the border skirmishes with Aethelgard. Though he lacked the crown, he held the military's heart.
"Charles, my old friend," Marquis Vistro said, his deep voice softening for a moment.
"Marquis," replied the Duke with a sharp grin.
These two important people in the Luminaris Kingdom greeted each other formally. To outsiders, it seemed like a friendly hug. But to those in the inner circle knew it was a way to measure their strengths.
The Marquis then turned his attention to the youth standing beside the Duke. The Fourth Royal Prince, clothed in shiny white and gold clothes, looked bored. Beside him was the Fifth Princess, a young woman with sharp eyes.
"Your Highnesses," the Marquis bowed deeply. "The House of Vistro is honored by your presence. My daughter, Sara, is currently making her final preparations. She will join us when the ceremony officially commences."
The Marquis began to escort the royal party toward the Grand Ballroom, their footsteps echoing through the vaulted corridors. As they walked, the Marquis cast a glance at the Fifth Princess.
"I must say, Phoenix Lord, the Princess has grown into a formidable young lady," the Marquis noted smoothly. "My own heir, Damian, has just reached the peak of his current circle. I believe they would make a most suitable match, should the heavens allow it."
The Duke chuckled dryly. "A conversation for another time, perhaps."
As they neared the heavy doors of the ballroom, the Duke slowed his pace, the royal children and maids moving ahead. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small token etched with glowing red runes. He pressed it into the Marquis's palm.
"A gift, and a warning," whispered the Duke, his voice low and serious. "The token contains a fragment of my spiritual sense. If it is broken, I will teleport to your location instantly, regardless of the distance. The political dynamics in the capital are... shifting. The struggle for the throne is no longer a hidden game anymore, it's a blood sport. I need to know where your loyalties lie."
The Marquis tightened his grip on the token. "You have my word, Phoenix Lord."
"And your project?" the Duke asked, his eyes darting around the empty hallway. "The alchemical progress?"
The Marquis offered a thin smile. "I have achieved a breakthrough. I have successfully evolved a goblin who possesses the physical strength and magical capabilities of a Late Stage Adept mage. He is currently presiding over the lower pits, breeding a horde that will be ready when the King's health finally fails."
The Duke liked what he heard. "I have always trusted your alchemical intelligence, Marquis. Those evolved monsters will be the perfect vanguard to sweep through the city while the Royal Guards are distracted. Remember our alliance: I take the throne, and you become the Hand that rules beside it."
"A toast to the future, then," the Marquis replied, pushing open the ballroom doors.
The ballroom was a sea of light, illuminated by thousands of floating candles enchanted to burn with a soft, golden hue. The top of the kingdom's nobility—Counts and Barons from across the territory—stood as the Marquis approached the platform.
The Marquis raised a crystal chalice filled with wine. "To the union of House Vistro and the Royal Line! Let the engagement ceremony of Lady Sara and the Fourth Prince begin!"
As the servants and maids flooded the room, moving between the guests with trays of delicacies, the heavy atmosphere of political tension was briefly masked by more simple and relaxed conservations.
Then, the main doors opened once more.
The chatter didn't die instantly; it faded gradually, starting from the back of the room and moving forward as Edward Vistro stepped into the light.
He wore a regal blue tunic made of heavy silk, trimmed with silver thread that shimmered like moonlight. His black hair was slicked back, showing the sharp, unyielding lines of a face that looked far too good for a fifteen-year-old. Beside him, Fiona walked with her head bowed, her pink hair a gentle contrast to Edward's cold, commanding presence.
Edward didn't walk like a third son who had just spent five days in a hole. He moved with steady, measured control, like someone who expected the room to make way for him. His cold eyes didn't search for friendly faces; they swept across the crowd, like weighing people and picking out weak points.
The Duke, sensitive to spiritual pressure, felt a strange, inexplicable prickle on his skin. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze locking onto the boy in blue.
"Marquis," the Duke remarked, his voice curious. "Is that one of your children? I don't recall seeing him at the last banquet."
The Marquis didn't like the way that sounded, and he stared at his son he had been trying to break.
"Unfortunately, he is," the Marquis answered, his voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. "That is Edward, my third son."