From the corner of his eye, appeared a convoy moving along the road toward the capital's border. A procession of wagons, guarded by a group of elite horsemen bearing a banner—the flag of the Duke of Kustoria—waved proudly in the wind. The flag, adorned with the iconic lion and flame symbol, stood as a beacon of glory, honor, and fear. A flag known by every citizen, from the highest noble to the lowliest peasant.
As the convoy neared the border, the sharp-eyed soldiers posted along the walls could see it too. "The Duke is entering the city!" one cried, his voice cutting through the air. "Sound the horn!"
In an instant, the cry echoed throughout the capital, and a great blast from the horn resounded, filling the streets with the loud call of triumph. The citizens, having heard of his legendary deeds on the battlefield, surged into the streets, lining the path to the palace. A celebration like none other began to unfold. The whole capital erupted in joy, eager to celebrate the hero's return.
The air was thick with excitement, the streets adorned with flags, flowers, and banners as the Duke's convoy made its slow but grand journey toward the heart of the city. The people cheered, throwing flowers and chanting his name, their spirits soaring with the promise of victory. The noise of the crowd was deafening, but it was filled with admiration and reverence.
However, not everyone shared the same enthusiasm.
High atop the castle, the royal family watched from their balcony, their faces void of warmth or joy. The Emperor, seated on his throne, did not even rise to acknowledge the arrival of the Duke. The air around him felt heavy with disdain, his gaze fixed in silence, as if the arrival of the Duke was nothing more than an irritating inconvenience.
Beside him, Prince Ian stood, his expression unreadable. His eyes, cold and calculating, were fixed on the procession below. His mind was already working, planning—he had other intentions for this day.
Here comes the royal mandate from his majesty the Emperor,'Today, we stand in the light of victory, and it is because of you. You led our armies with unmatched courage, driving back the darkness that threatened our kingdom. Your valor has ensured our future, and your name will be remembered for generations to come.
You have not only returned from war, you've returned as a hero. For that, we are forever grateful. On behalf of the kingdom, I thank you, Duke.
Now the Duke are to make way to His Majesty,The Emperor
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In the grand conference room, the air was thick with tension, yet laced with an unspoken understanding between the Duke and the Emperor. The Duke, having just returned from the battlefield, knelt before the Emperor with a quiet reverence. His eyes, though weary, held a fire that refused to die, the aftermath of countless battles still burning within him.
"How are you?" The Emperor's voice was calm but heavy with genuine concern, his gaze scanning the Duke's battered form. The Emperor may have been cold, calculating, and detached in public, but in moments like this, there was something resembling familial care.
"Good, but the flames take a toll on my body, bit by bit," the Duke replied, his voice steady, though the exhaustion was evident in his tone. His body bore the marks of battle, every step he took weighed down by the aftermath of his power's unleashed fury.
They had been through wars, lost comrades, and exchanged countless silent glances filled with understanding and bitterness. They were different in many ways—one an emperor, the other a war hero—but beneath it all, there lingered the bond of brotherhood, however complicated and fractured it may be. The Emperor had never been one to show affection, but there were moments where his actions spoke louder than words.
The ceremony continued, the Emperor presenting the Duke with awards and gold—riches that, to both men, held little value beyond the facade of honor and tradition. Gold, land, power—things they both had in excess. But for the Duke, and perhaps for the Emperor too, there was something more behind this formal exchange.
The Duke accepted the rewards without a flicker of emotion, knowing full well that this display was just part of the grand dance of politics they both played so well. What use was gold to him, when he had already seen what true power and sacrifice entailed?
"It's good to see you, brother," the Emperor finally said, his voice softer, though the words carried no warmth. To him, the Duke was a tool, a weapon, but also a reminder of their shared bloodline—one they both pretended to forget, even if, deep down, neither truly could.
The Emperor then waved dismissively, signaling the end of the meeting.
"Now get out," he commanded, his tone hardening once more. The words stung, but the Duke didn't flinch. He had learned long ago that the Emperor's affection, if it ever existed, was a rare and fleeting thing. Still, he respected the man for what he was, despite everything.
The Duke stood, his movements slow but resolute, and turned to leave. As he walked out, he could feel the weight of the gold and the Emperor's words on his shoulders. The ceremony, the rewards—they were nothing. The true battle was yet to come.
....................................
Alaric glanced sideways at the Duke as they walked through the hall, the weight of their recent encounter with the Emperor still hanging in the air. His brow furrowed slightly, sensing a deeper strain in his lord's expression.
"How is he? The Emperor, I mean," Alaric asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and caution.
The Duke's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk, his eyes unwavering as they moved ahead. "Cunning as usual, old fox," he replied, his voice low but carrying the unmistakable edge of both disdain and respect.
The two stopped in their tracks as they felt the presence of another, something—or someone—drawing closer. It wasn't the usual hum of energy that accompanied most individuals; this was something far more subtle, and far more dangerous. Both the Duke and Knight Commander shared a silent glance.Then, a figure emerged from the shadows.
"I can help you with taking care of father," the mysterious figure said, his voice smooth but edged with an underlying menace.
The Duke's cold eyes narrowed as he took in the young man standing before him. The figure wore the unmistakable crown of the prince—Prince Ian.
"Well, a crown prince should not be talking like that, Your Highness," Alaric said sharply, his voice more formal than usual. "Greet the Duke properly."
Ian smirked, unfazed by the Knight Commander's words. "Hah, HAHAHAHA, you surely know how to make a joke," he replied with a mocking laugh. "I could have you and your duchy executed for treason against the Emperor, you know." His tone was biting, his confidence almost palpable.
The Duke didn't flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. He looked at the prince as though he were a mere nuisance. "And with what power will you execute me with?" he asked coldly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who knew no one could touch him.
Both men laughed wholeheartedly, the tension between them briefly dissipating. For all of Ian's bravado, they both knew how fragile his position truly was. Fewer than three entities in this world could even hope to challenge the Duke. The Prince was not one of them.
"Well, my offer stands," Ian said, his voice carrying a new, more serious edge as he prepared to leave. "If you ever need help—and trust me, you will—I'll be here."
The Duke watched the prince turn and walk away, his expression unreadable, before he looked to Alaric. "4 stars at 23 years old," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "Even a young cub is still a tiger."
Alaric smirked, a rare flash of amusement in his normally stoic face. "Perhaps, sire. But a tiger in the presence of a lion may find himself devoured."
The Duke didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on where the prince had vanished. There was something unnerving about Ian's ambition—and the fire behind his eyes. The Duke knew one thing for certain: this war had not only been fought on the battlefield, but also within the palace's walls, where the true power would eventually rise.