Hours later, Lusian Douglas came to a halt before the Carter estate. Lamplight bathed the marble columns and perfumed gardens in a warm glow. When Emily stepped out to meet him, the air itself seemed to still.

  She wore a delicate ivory gown, its lace catching the light like threads of moonlight. Her brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and though her eyes were still faintly reddened from sorrow, they shone with a quiet, melancholic calm.

  "Hello, Emily," Lusian greeted, slightly taken aback.

  "Do I look strange in this dress?" she asked nervously, lowering her gaze.

  "Not at all," he replied with a sincere smile. "You look stunning. How are you feeling?"

  "Better," she said, attempting a smile. "Though I'm still… quite sad. But I'll get through it."

  Lusian offered his hand, and Emily stepped into the carriage. The steady rhythm of hooves against stone accompanied their shared silence.

  The grand hall of the palace glittered beneath hundreds of crystal chandeliers. Nobles conversed amid laughter and clinking glasses while music filled the air with elegant notes. When Lusian and Emily entered, heads turned—some in curiosity, others in open envy.

  From across the room, Clarise spotted them and hurried over. She embraced Emily warmly before greeting Lusian, and together they joined a small circle of acquaintances.

  In the distance, Lusian caught sight of Elizabeth, radiant as a lily among shadows. But she was not alone. Standing beside her, imposing and immovable, was General Marcus Valentine—the Jackal—the very man Lusian remembered from the game's chronicles: a formidable enemy, a warlord destined to be defeated during the future imperial invasion.

  Tension crept into the air. Lusian looked away just as Prince Leopoldo began yet another attempt at conquest. The imperial noble leaned toward Isabella Armett, extending his hand with feigned gentility.

  "My lady, may I have this dance?" he asked for the third time.

  Isabella barely glanced at him, her expression glacial.

  "I am not in the mood to dance, Your Highness," she replied coolly.

  The prince forced a smile as courtiers pretended not to hear his humiliation. Yet his expression shifted when he noticed where the princess's gaze had drifted.

  She was discreetly watching the young man who had just arrived… Lusian Douglas, accompanied by the beautiful Emily Carter.

  A flicker of jealousy—or perhaps curiosity—crossed Leopoldo's eyes. His imperial mind began weaving a venomous idea.

  So the princess takes an interest in that arrogant commoner…Perfect.I will remind him of the distance between the chosen and the insignificant.

  With that thought, the prince smoothed his jacket, donned a polished smile, and approached them.

  The banquet had only just begun, and the true masks were already beginning to fall.

  It was in that atmosphere, perfumed with luxury and danger, that Prince Leopoldo Ferrussi Fabrini—smiling arrogantly, eyes sharp with scrutiny—stepped toward the group where Lusian and Emily stood.

  "What a lovely young lady," he said in a honeyed tone, extending his hand. "May I invite you to dance?"

  "I'm sorry," Emily answered firmly, "but I don't know who you are, and my fiancé is present."

  She moved closer to Lusian, seeking shelter in his presence. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

  "I deeply regret that," the prince replied with calculated charm. "I am Prince Leopoldo Ferrussi Fabrini of the Empire of ítaca."

  Emily stiffened at once. To slight a foreign prince could spark diplomatic conflict. But before she could respond, Lusian stepped forward.

  "That title carries weight only in your empire," he said calmly, though his voice was sharp as steel. "Here, it means nothing. If you are a guest, you should behave as one."

  Murmurs spread like wildfire. Leopoldo frowned, scarcely believing what he had heard.

  "What did you say? You ignorant fool! You have no idea of the consequences of your words."

  "Of course I do," Lusian replied coolly. "Why don't you show me, Imperial Prince?"

  A tense silence fell over the hall. Before the prince could react, a female figure pushed through the crowd and shoved him aside.

  "Brat, already recovered?" Kara growled, stepping in front of Lusian.

  He covered his face to hide a laugh. Seeing her in a gown was nearly surreal. Kara—the fearsome swordswoman who despised formal events—looked utterly out of place among lace and ribbons.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, amused. "You've never liked these gatherings."

  "First, how do you know that?" she shot back with a daring grin. "Second… tomorrow afternoon, at the Amphitheater of the god Dynamus, I will defeat you."

  "Sorry, I can't," Lusian replied. "I'm joining the incursion into the Cymopelia Forest. Your defeat will have to wait."

  Emily, unsettled by the tension, leaned in and whispered:

  "You should be more respectful to the prince…"

  "Prince? What prince?" Lusian replied dryly.

  "Are you trying to run from me?" Kara crossed her arms. "How is it that you're allowed on the incursion, but I'm not? Unfair!"

  "Are you truly going to ignore me, you wretched children?" Leopoldo exploded, his face flushed with fury.

  From one end of the hall, Andrew watched the scene with a blend of concern and calculation. He stepped forward, his voice firm.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Lusian Douglas The Mondring, you should not insult our guests."

  Lusian regarded him calmly.

  "If guests are not properly supervised, 'accidents' might occur… and someone could get hurt."

  The air grew heavier. Andrew exhaled, attempting to contain the situation.

  "Behave, Lusian. Do not cross the line."

  Andrew withdrew with Prince Leopoldo, taking him by the arm and murmuring words meant to soothe. As they left, nobles followed them with looks of fear and fascination.

  Royal concubine Alessia Ferrussi bore a mission she despised in silence: restraining her brother's impulses. The emperor—their father—had entrusted her with the task as coldly as one assigns a weapon to war. She was to keep in check the most impetuous and least obedient son of the imperial line.

  But the prince was incorrigible. He believed himself superior to all—even to fate itself—and it took only a single careless moment for his arrogance to escape protocol and provoke a clash with the most dangerous figures in the kingdom.

  In the throne room, Duchess Sofia Douglas The Mondring stood erect as a living statue. Her presence imposed silence; her gaze cut through the air.

  "I appreciate your apology on your brother's behalf," the duchess said coldly to Alessia, "but it is vital that the prince understand and adapt to our customs as soon as possible. Otherwise, situations like today's may repeat… and the outcome may not be so benign."

  "Of course, Your Grace," Alessia replied with a flawless bow. "I will personally instruct him. He will learn this kingdom's protocols and traditions. It is essential he understands the importance of his role… and the consequences of his actions."

  Sofia inclined her head slightly. Her expression did not change, yet the warning lingered like a suspended blade.

  From afar, Elizabeth Douglas observed the exchange with quiet amusement. Her bright eyes sought Lusian among the guests. When their gazes met, she gave him a subtle signal.

  Meanwhile, Andrew Carter attempted to calm the prince.

  "Try not to involve yourself with that boy again," Andrew said diplomatically. "He has a terrible temperament."

  Leopoldo gave a bitter laugh.

  "Why can you not control your people? In the Empire, such insolence would be punished by immediate execution."

  "Perhaps," Andrew replied evenly, "but if your father were in our position, I believe he would handle it the same way."

  "You are mistaken," the prince declared proudly. "My father would have had him beheaded on the spot."

  Andrew smiled faintly.

  "No doubt. Anyone who dares challenge Duchess Sofia Douglas deserves a measure of respect."

  Leopoldo frowned.

  "What does the duchess have to do with this?"

  Andrew regarded him with mild amusement.

  "You are not very perceptive, are you? You antagonized her son. Had you laid a finger on him, you would likely be fodder for one of her magical beasts by now."

  For the first time, Leopoldo fell silent, fully grasping the shadow looming over him.

  That night, Lusian withdrew to the Douglas quarters. In the secret chamber hidden behind a marble wall, Elizabeth awaited him, candlelight dancing upon her golden hair.

  "It was amusing watching you toy with that fool," she said with a mischievous smile as she approached.

  "It wasn't amusing seeing him approach you," Lusian replied more seriously.

  "So you're jealous…" she whispered lightly. "How unexpected. Now you know how it feels."

  "Yes," he admitted, stepping closer as though drawn by an invisible force. "Incredibly jealous."

  "Lusian… don't…" Elizabeth murmured—but her words were silenced by a kiss that seemed to halt time itself.

  In the royal concubine's private chamber, the crack of a fist striking wood echoed like thunder. The table trembled beneath Prince Leopoldo's fury, his hands leaving marks upon the carved surface. Lamplight flickered across his face, twisted by contempt.

  "Filthy wretches!" he roared. "They don't know their place! Savage barbarians!"

  Reclining with forced elegance upon a divan, his brother watched with cynical amusement.

  "You made quite a spectacle, brother," he said coolly. "If you refuse to obey our father's orders, at least your death might serve as justification for war."

  Leopoldo turned on him, eyes blazing.

  "Do you think Father would allow that in a place like this?"

  His voice carried wounded pride—and fear.

  From the shadows, Alessia stepped forward, her tone cold as steel.

  "Of course he would. Your fate was sealed the day your magical affinity was confirmed. As a mere Gamma, Father sees you as a tool… something to use and discard. He does not even regard you as a son. You know how obsessed he is with bloodline purity."

  Her voice grew almost clinical.

  "In our lineage, magical strength flows through the mother's blood. No child can surpass the affinity of the woman who bears them. It is an unbreakable law—save for rare interventions of fate. One in millions. And you, brother, were simply… ordinary."

  Leopoldo clenched his fists.

  "My affinity may not rival others," he rasped, "but that does not define my position. I am still a prince of the Empire. I cannot change how he sees me—but I can forge my own path."

  Alessia laughed bitterly.

  "The heir is Naira Ferrussi Becker, born with Epsilon affinity. Father has made her his goddess. There is no place in his vision for someone like you."

  A dry click broke the silence. From a darkened corner emerged Marcus Valentine—the Jackal—his smile a scar upon a battle-hardened face.

  "My dear princess," he said gravely, with faint mockery, "do not be so harsh. The prince's death could bring great benefit to the Empire."

  Leopoldo glared.

  "You too, Marcus?"

  "I merely acknowledge reality, Your Highness," the Jackal replied calmly, lighting a pipe. "The Empire stands above any one man. If you will not obey—do not stand in its way."

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Alessia approached her brother.

  "You have one last chance to prove your worth. Your first objective is to win over the princess. Use that handsome face of yours. Seduce her. Earn her trust. Make this kingdom lower its guard. They already suspect our intentions… and we cannot allow that. Those are the emperor's orders."

  "I tried," Leopoldo growled. "She ignored me. And that brat—" his teeth clenched—"that bastard shows me no respect."

  Alessia's voice lowered to a whisper.

  "Do you know who that 'brat' is? Lusian Douglas, son of Sofia—an Omega-class mage. Born with Epsilon affinity. Father has set his sights on him. He cannot force Sofia to bear him another child, so he intends to secure what he desires through blood. He wants Lusian to father an heir with our sister Naira. If fortune favors him… he will finally obtain the perfect lineage he craves."

  Leopoldo's face drained of color.

  "That brat… is Epsilon? Damn it!" he shouted, looking upward as though challenging the heavens. "How many times have I cursed my fate for lacking that gift? And now that peasant bastard possesses what was denied to me!"

  His voice echoed against the walls, the lamps flickering as though trembling before his fury. Beneath the rage lay something deeper—a wound carved by rejection.

  For a fleeting instant, a spark of pity flickered in Alessia's eyes—then vanished. The Empire had no room for weakness.

  The hall shimmered with golden light and distant orchestral strains. Amid the murmur of nobility and clinking glasses, Emily spoke with her parents when Alejandro approached. His bearing was impeccable, his smile polite—but there was something more in his eyes.

  "May I have this dance?" he asked, offering his hand.

  Emily hesitated. Her gaze drifted toward the far end of the hall, where she thought she had seen Lusian watching. A pang of unease pierced her chest.

  "Alejandro… I need to speak with you. Alone."

  They withdrew discreetly to a crystal-lit corridor.

  "Has something happened?" he asked. "You seem troubled."

  "We need to distance ourselves," she said softly. "Lord Lusian has misunderstood our relationship… and I do not want it to cause problems for either of us."

  "Did he threaten you?" Alejandro demanded.

  "No," she replied. "This is my decision. I want to avoid unnecessary conflict—for you and for my family. From now on, it's best we keep our distance."

  "Are you truly discarding our friendship so easily?"

  "No one asked me to," she whispered. "But there are things I cannot ignore. I will not become the cause of conflict—or the shame of my house."

  After a long silence, Alejandro inclined his head and walked away.

  Emily steadied herself before returning to the hall.

  Lusian stood by a marble column, watching the dancers, his expression calm yet clouded with restless thoughts.

  "Lusian, you're back," she said.

  "Yes. I rested a little."

  "I spoke with Alejandro," she murmured. "I told him we can no longer be friends."

  Lusian blinked in shock.

  "What? Emily, wait—that wasn't my intention. I don't mind if you continue seeing him."

  "I will fulfill my duty," she replied, her voice trembling. "I will not break my word."

  For the first time in a long while, Lusian understood that good intentions were not enough. In trying to preserve harmony, he had fractured it instead. Emily had isolated herself—and he had been the cause.