"Aren’t you curious why your king is greeting you all alone in this hall?"

  Yvain sat resolutely before his gathered nobles, his youthful visage belying the weight of his words.

  Duke Eldric raised his voiot even answering to Yvain’s greetings. "My, it seems Your Majesty's court is too io grace us with their preseoday. Your Majesty, you should—"

  “Fire them?” Yvain cut off his words.

  "Well, I did. I find myself alooday, not by act but by choice," he began, his voice steady and imbued with a calm authority.

  "I've dismissed those who dared to insult me and my decision. It seems I o make room for those truly loyal to Edensor—or at least curious enough to witness its fate firsthand."

  Duke Eldric Olfield frowned.

  Alongside him, the faces of the h nobles soured as well—Duke Merweather, Marquis Reune, and even Duke Veryon shared in the collective displeasure.

  Yvain paused, surveying the room with a satisfied eye. "Let me share a little prophecy with you, a glimpse of what would have transpired had I not made the difficult decision to accept Emperor Burn’s offer."

  Yvain's toook on a biting sarcasm as he paihe hypothetical sario.

  "Our esteemed lord of the west," he nodded slightly towards Marquis Reune, "would not have hesitated for a sed. They would’ve sprio join Emperor Burn, tripping over themselves in their eagero switch allegiances."

  The room tensed, nobles shifting unfortably as Yvain’s gaze swept to Olfield and Merweather.

  "Our friends in the north would have fled innd, seeking refuge in the heart of the ti, while our southerhren would have taken to the seas, hoping to escape the reaperor Burn’s iron grasp."

  A wry smile pyed on Yvain's lips as he turned his attention to Duke Veryon, who stid and alert.

  "And then, there’s Duke Veryon. A valiant stand would be made, no doubt, swords drawn and banners flying high. But as, when the dust settled, and the reality of defeat became apparent, your plea to manage Edensor uhe fg of Soulnaught would surely follow."

  The hall was filled with a charged silence, eaoble abs the young king's words, their implications clear and cutting.

  "Imagihat—each of you, pying your part in this grand drama as though you were mere characters in a py scripted by fate—or rather, by Burn."

  The young king was just spoiling the written fate word for word, right from Burn’s own mouth.

  Yvain’s tone softened slightly, but the underlying steel remained. "I chose to surrender not out of fear, but out of strategy. By aligning with Burn, I’ve secured a measure of trol over our destiny, rather than leaving our fate to the chaos of war he is going to decre forward and the whims of turncoats."

  He csped his hands on his scepter. "So, yes, I sit here alone, because I will not surround myself with those who doubt or deride. From this moment forward, our course is one of cautious cooperation with Soulnaught, not blind submission."

  “But.”

  With a casual flick of his wrist, King Yvain summohe ethereal equivalent of a high-tech surveilnce system.

  Magical images flickered ience, h like ghostly ss. Eae offered a live feed of Soulnaught's army, ominously assembled he domains of Edensor's elite families.

  "There, as you see," Yvain began, his voice dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and regal posure, "our friends from Soulnaught are enjoying a little camping trip just outside your estates."

  The images shimmered with the precision of a well-directed dotary, showg rows of Soulnaught soldiers who seemed more equipped for a parade of power than a quiet piic.

  The troops were arrayed in perfeations, a dispy of military might that was less 'wele ittee' and more 'invasion parade.'

  "Marquis Reune," Yvain tinued, nodding towards the western border's representative, "your neighbors have polished their armor just for you. How thoughtful, right?"

  The se shifted to the north, where Duke Eldrids y. "And Duke Olfield, it seems the northern winds bring more than just cold air this season—perhaps a hint of steel and gunpowder as well."

  , the southern coasts under Duke Merweather's stewardship came into view. "Duke Merweather, your shores are about to host more than just seagulls and ships. I hope your docks are ready for a different kind of tide."

  Finally, the foded on Duke Veryon’s territory. "And dear Duke Veryon, it appears a siege might be part of your uping social dar. I'd advise against pnning any rge bas."

  Yvain's tone held a sharp edge as he maniputed the magical dispys, each swipe and tap punctuating his points. The nobles around him shifted unfortably, their expressiing from armed to dht terrified.

  The nobles, aced to the fort of their high stations, now found themselves grappling with the immediate reality of a military threat at their doorsteps. Worse, they were helplessly distant from their nds, wealth, and families, uo defend them.

  Their faces, a vas of disbelief and fear, mirrored the sudden upheaval of their assumptions about their own security and power.

  "Your Majesty! This is preposterous! Are you waging war against your own people?!" Duke Olfield bellowed, his voice eg through the throne hall with a mix of e and disbelief.

  "Are you truly allowing Soulnaught to parade their forces through our nds unchallehis is a disgrace!" Duke Merweather added, his tone sharp and accusatory, his gaze pierg Yvain with every word.

  "And what of our snty? Are we to bow and scrape while they mar our soil?" Marquis Reune chimed in, his words fuelled by a fiery indignation, filling the room with a cresdo of protest that rattled the a windows.

  Together, their voices melded into a tumultuous uproar, a symphony of dissent that challenged Yvain's authority and questioned his strategy, resonating off the stone walls with the force of a brewing storm.

  Yvain, seizing the moment of vulnerability, fixed his gaze on his vassals, his voice cutting through the tension with the precision of a well-honed bde.

  "Let me be clear," he began, his tone ced with icy reminder, "a single and from ME could send Soulnaught's forces to dismantle everything you hold dear. Your nds, your titles, your very lives hang by the thread of MY goodwill."

  The threat hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the young king's newfound resolve and the lethal edge of his authority. Sensing their wavering spirits, Yvain pressed on, his words framing the ultimatum that would redefiheir fealty.

  "This kingdom," he decred, "will no longer be a pyground for your personal ambitions or corrupted interpretations of 'good.' From this moment forward, your allegiance will be secured not just by oath but by magic—bound to the very essence of Edensor's stability, glory, and wful order."

  He raised his hand, ahereal strands of light began weaving around the assembly, materializing into tangible symbols of the pact they were about to enter.

  This magic was heatrical flourish; it was a binding agreement, a pact that would enforce their loyalty not through fear alo through the inescapable grip of ented pulsion.

  "As your king, I demand your absolute submission," Yvain tinued, his words resonating with the force of his magical and royal authority. "Refuse, and you faot just political ruin but the literal disiion of all you and uhis pact."

  The nobles, faced with the dual threats of military annihition and magical enfort, found their options narrowing to one: pliance.

  But in the middle of it all, Duke Veryon suddenly grinned.

  CRAAAAAAASH!