Prologue — Under the Mask of Control

  The capital of the Southern Duchy glittered, drowning in light.

  Laughter echoed through the streets, and enchanted lanterns illuminated every corner. No one intended to sleep that night.

  He stood at the center of the grand ballroom, surrounded by dozens of admirers.

  Anyone who looked at him felt only awe — and the desire to draw closer. His bright smile, effortless laughter, and casually sharp remarks held the attention of everyone present.

  Ryan Crowen was, without question, the most charming young noble of the South.

  According to the South — and perhaps the entire Empire.

  The celebration lasted until dawn. Only in the early morning did the guests finally begin to disperse.

  Ryan collapsed onto his bed and exhaled.

  Finally, it's over, he thought. Now I can entertain myself.

  He smiled — and for the first time that night, the expression was genuine.

  The door opened.

  A servant stepped inside. His silver hair caught the dim light.

  “You have returned,” the servant said.

  Ryan slowly turned his head.

  “How disrespectful,” he clicked his tongue. “Should I punish you?”

  The young man bowed.

  “What do you desire?” he asked quietly.

  Ryan’s eye twitched slightly.

  He knew there was not a trace of submission in those lowered eyes.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Wash my feet,” Ryan said, his voice turning poisonous. “You are a loyal servant, aren’t you?”

  The servant said nothing. Silently, he brought a silver basin and knelt. His movements were steady and precise as he began to wash his master’s feet.

  They both knew Ryan could have done this with magic in an instant. This was not about cleanliness.

  It was about control.

  Even now, Ryan’s gaze never left the servant’s face.

  Suddenly, he grabbed him by the hair and forced his head up. Blue eyes met his.

  “Well?” Ryan whispered coldly. “Do you enjoy washing the heels of your enemy?”

  Silence.

  “I asked you a question,” Ryan traced a finger along the old scar near the servant’s ear. “Or will you keep pretending?”

  No answer came.

  The silence stretched between them, heavy and unbroken. The servant’s gaze did not waver for even a second.

  At last, Ryan pushed him away and turned aside, irritation flashing across his face.

  Another failed attempt.

  “Get out. I’m tired of looking at you.”

  The servant left without a word.

  Ryan turned toward the window. The sky was scattered with stars, as if even the Milky Way had decided to celebrate.

  Thousands had bowed before him today. He had received countless gifts. The Empire rejoiced at the twentieth birthday of Ryan Crowen, heir to the great Southern Duchy.

  And yet —

  All he felt was bitterness.

  And emptiness.