Ravenna sat across from Marie in the cozy study, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Between them rested a delicate tea set on a polished oak table, the warm aroma of brewed tea mingling with the faint scent of parchment and ink. The conversation had shifted to a more serious tone as Ravenna patiently explained the intricacies of the island's governance and the broader politics of the empire.
Marie, holding her teacup with both hands, frowned slightly in thought. “But, Master,” she began hesitantly, “why doesn’t Emperor Andrew just announce a successor? Wouldn’t that stop all this political chaos and prevent it from damaging the empire’s economy?”
Ravenna smiled knowingly, her fingers tracing the rim of her own teacup. “True, Father could end the power struggle by declaring a successor,” she replied, her tone carrying a hint of irony. “But doing so would create a peaceful transfer of power.”
Marie tilted her head, her confusion evident. “And what’s so bad about that?”
Ravenna chuckled softly, setting her cup down with a gentle clink. “Our empire is not like others,” she began. “We hold sway over four vassal kingdoms, command the largest military on the continent, and are surrounded by enemies—empires and factions who harbor varying degrees of hostility towards us. The last thing Father wants is a weak ruler to inherit the throne.”
Marie’s brows furrowed as she mulled over Ravenna’s words. “So he’s willing to let his children fight, betray, and even kill one another for the throne?” she asked, her voice laced with both curiosity and a hint of horror.
Ravenna leaned back in her chair, her gaze thoughtful. “Do you know the story of the Golden Silkworm?” she asked, her voice taking on a storytelling lilt.
Marie nodded quickly. “Yes, it’s one of the teachings of the Absolute One to the Goddess Solious,” she said. “The Absolute One believed in placing various venomous creatures into a sealed container and letting them fight until only one survived. The survivor, hardened and tested, would inherit its origin.”
“Exactly,” Ravenna said with a nod. “But remember how the story ends? The Absolute One was ultimately defeated by the gods when they united against him. His downfall came at the hands of Saintess Lila.”
Marie’s eyes brightened as she recalled the tale. “Saintess Lila was created by the gods, wasn’t she? A being born from their combined essence, pure mana incarnate, able to insulate all forms of mana and nullify the Absolute One’s powers.”
Ravenna smiled, pleased with Marie’s understanding. “That’s right. The Absolute One’s idea worked, in a sense. The last surviving creature, Saintess Lila, was indeed the most powerful. It’s the same principle Father follows: only the strongest, most capable ruler should ascend to the throne. Survival of the fittest, if you will.”
Marie’s expression grew more serious. “But unlike the Absolute One, Emperor Andrew interferes in court politics, doesn’t he?”
Ravenna chuckled, standing and stretching lightly. “That’s because he’s a man, not a higher being,” she said wryly. “Now, enough politics for one morning. Let’s visit the blacksmiths. I want to see how their work is progressing.”
Marie’s face lit up with eagerness as she rose to her feet. Her flowing dress shimmered slightly in the sunlight, the high slit and exposed midriff a stark contrast to the modest mainland fashions she had once favored. Ravenna couldn’t help but smile, noticing how comfortable Marie had grown in her new attire. It was a small but meaningful sign that she was beginning to embrace the more extravagant and daring styles of the island.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Lead the way, Master!” Marie said cheerfully, her confidence adding an extra spring to her step.
Court of the Council of Vassal States, Ancorna Empire, Capital of the Kingdom of Estra
The Court of the Council of Vassal States of the Ancorna Empire was alive with activity. A sense of urgency permeated the air as messengers rushed to and fro, their voices mingling with the sharp clinking of armor. The security at the grand entrance had grown exponentially tighter, with soldiers from various factions bolstering the already formidable guard. The meeting convened today was no ordinary session. It was an emergency council summoned to address a grave matter: the emergence of an eight-floor dungeon within the Morgen Dukedom.
This was no minor issue. Unlike routine gatherings where representatives deliberated on matters concerning the vassal kingdoms, today’s meeting drew key figures from every corner of the empire. Even the Royal Prince of Estra, Finel Gustav, had chosen to attend in person, a rare display of the kingdom’s commitment to the council.
Finel, a striking figure in his late twenties with sharp features and an air of confidence, stood near the entrance of the council building. Dressed in regal attire adorned with Estra's sigil, he exchanged words with one of the council ministers, his tone firm but courteous. Mid-conversation, his attention was drawn to the arrival of a carriage emblazoned with the imperial sigil.
The carriage came to a halt before the grand steps, and a contingent of imperial guards formed a protective formation. The door opened, and out stepped a man whose presence immediately commanded respect. He had jet-black hair, neatly styled, and features that betrayed his youthful appearance, though he was known to be 32. His regal purple attire bore the sigil of the Goddess Solious crossing swords, marking him unmistakably as a member of the imperial family.
Finel’s lips curled into a smirk. “Well, well, look who’s decided to grace us with his presence,” he remarked as the man ascended the stairs.
The newcomer returned the smile with a calm nod. “It’s been a while, Finel. How is your father, King Gustav?”
“Wonderful, as always,” Finel replied, his tone playful. “So wonderful, in fact, I doubt even Goddess Herptian could seduce him into kicking the bucket.”
Prince Landon Solarius chuckled, his deep voice resonating. “That does sound like the King Gustav I remember.”
The two princes exchanged a handshake, their camaraderie apparent. “So,” Finel began, his tone becoming more serious, “you’re here to represent the imperial faction? I didn’t expect Emperor Andrew to send someone from the imperial family. I thought he’d delegate this to a general or perhaps a minister.”
Landon smiled, his demeanor composed. “He didn’t exactly send me. I happened to be in the area, and Father thought it prudent to have me accompany Justice Minister Kimmel.”
Finel nodded thoughtfully. “A wise decision. Given the growing dissent among the vassal states’ nobility toward the imperial court, having someone directly from the imperial family present might help ease tensions—or at least provide clarity.”
Landon’s expression grew more serious as he acknowledged Finel’s words. The rift between the vassal states and the Ancorna Empire had been widening for years, fueled by perceived neglect and unequal treatment. This meeting would likely be fraught with challenges.
As their conversation continued, the sound of hooves clattering against stone drew their attention. Another party approached, this one bearing the imperial flag. Unlike Landon’s formal entourage, this group was less ostentatious but equally disciplined. Most of the men were on horseback, their armor reflecting the sunlight.
Leading the group was a man in his early or mid twenties, his striking features and dark black hair a mirror image of Landon’s. He dismounted gracefully, his piercing gaze scanning the crowd before landing on his older brother.
From the top of the stairs, Landon’s lips curled into a faintly mocking smile. “Look at that,” he said, loud enough for the younger man to hear. “He must have spent quite a fortune to arrive here so quickly.”
The younger man glanced up, his expression cool but sharp. “Brother,” he greeted curtly.
“William,” Landon replied with a smile that carried equal parts amusement and challenge.
The two princes locked eyes, the unspoken rivalry between them palpable. It was clear that the council’s proceedings were about to take an even more intriguing turn.