The following morning dawns over the Capital of Eldrath, bathed in soft, diffused light that filters through the high, arched windows of the royal court. Mikhail enters the colossal chamber with a composed, confident stride, wearing a perfectly tailored silk imperial suit and an effortless, practiced smile. His first sight is the Queen, already seated upon her magnificent throne, but who immediately rises to her feet upon his approach. The gesture is a vivid, unambiguous display of the massive political power the Great Empire—and by extension, he, its Crown Prince—holds over this kingdom. Queen Yuehua is greeting him as an equal or superior, not as a mere prospective in-law. He returns her greeting with a measured smile, a symbol of the alliance that is, unbeknownst to her, about to be dramatically renegotiated.
Beside the Queen's throne sits a secondary, slightly smaller seat reserved for Princess Meilin, and standing beside her, an unmoving shadow, is the Sword Saintess Miyako. Mikhail offers a quick, formal greeting to the Princess, the smile he gives her a dangerously thin line that barely conceals the dark triumph churning inside him. He knows he's already achieved a critical, game-breaking victory; the reward is now ripe for the taking. He moves to his special, honored guest seat, taking his place with Hilowat, a pillar of silent, armored loyalty, positioned directly at his side.
The court slowly fills with the ministers, nobles, and high officials of Eldrath, each performing the necessary rituals of deference to both the Queen and the visiting Crown Prince. Once the chamber is appropriately packed, buzzing with anticipation, Queen Yuehua brings the session to order.
"Thank you everyone," her voice resonates clearly across the solemn hall, "for gathering here. Today, I am very proud to announce to you all that soon, my beloved daughter is going to be married to Crown Prince Mikhail of the Great Empire, making us a large family and securing a future of peace." Her face beams with genuine political satisfaction. "Today we will discuss the specifics of this royal marriage, so we shall begin."
Before she can utter the next sentence—before the official diplomatic discussion can even be formally opened—Mikhail executes his preemptive strike. His voice cuts across the Queen's, smooth and decisive, demanding immediate attention.
"Your Majesty," Mikhail interjects, his smile abruptly hardening into a look of serious, concerned sobriety. "Before we start talking about the marriage, I would like to address a matter of urgent security first."
The Queen is visibly taken aback by the interruption, her composure momentarily slipping. "Y-yes, of course, Honored Prince," she stammers, her brow furrowing with sudden concern. "Was there something lacking in my hospitality? A matter that caused you discomfort?"
Mikhail dismisses her concern with a grand wave of his hand, ensuring the entire court is now focused on him. "It is not that, Your Majesty. Quite the opposite. But there is a hidden threat to this alliance that I must reveal." He turns his head slightly, his gaze falling upon the Vice Commander. "Hilowat, bring him in."
Hilowat executes a sharp nod and raises his hand, signaling toward the immense entrance doors. Two Imperial Knights, moving with the practiced efficiency of highly trained operatives, immediately lead in a captive. The man is severely restricted, his hands bound tightly, his body displaying evidence of a harsh, if non-lethal, struggle, and his head completely covered by a heavy sack.
The atmosphere in the prestigious courtroom shatters. A wave of horrified gasps sweeps through the assembled ministers, many of whom rise halfway out of their seats in shock at the sudden, violent intrusion. The two Imperial knights march the figure directly to the center of the hall, near the foot of Mikhail's dais. With a final, brutal shove, they force the captive down onto his knees, positioned squarely to face the Crown Prince.
Mikhail then slowly, deliberately, rises from his seat. The entire focus of the room is now fixed on his every movement. He walks down the single step of his platform and stands over the kneeling, bound figure. With a theatrical, controlled motion, he reaches out and pulls the covering sack from the captive's head.
The revelation elicits an even louder, more collective intake of breath from the court. Revealed before them is Ren Takahito: beaten, visibly bruised, his face bloody from the struggle, and his mouth sealed with a gag to ensure his silence. The Hero, the figure destined to steal the Princess and publicly dismantle the diplomatic union, is now reduced to a bruised, captive object kneeling before the villain.
The Queen is aghast, rising fully from her throne, her hands gripping the wood. "Honored Prince, what's the meaning of this? Who is this man?"
Mikhail doesn't answer her. His eyes, cold and triumphant, snap across the hall, past the stunned court, and settle directly upon Princess Meilin. He allows the smallest, most contemptuous smile to play on his lips—a direct, private taunt aimed at her, a silent declaration that he knows everything and that her game is over before it began.