DUKE CEDRIC BROWN The air in my office feels heavy as Malzareth lounges across from me, his aura of darkness dominating the space. His horns glint faintly in the candlelight, and his crimson eyes burn with amusement. He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as though this is a casual visit instead of a critical meeting.

"Another Brown I am serving," Malzareth says, his voice dripping with disdain. "Your father was a disappointment. You'd better do a good job this time."

I suppress the irritation rising in me. The demon king's arrogance is insufferable, but his power is undeniable. I need him.

"You have my word, my lord," I reply smoothly, keeping my voice steady. "That wretched Aveline may have magic power, but there's no way she can top you."

Malzareth smirks, his sharp teeth glinting. "It appears to be so, doesn't it?"

I clench my fists under the desk, the thought of that girl filling me with rage. Her rise to prominence, her magical prowess, and worst of all, her alliance with the crown prince—it's all a thorn in my side.

"Next week will be our week, Malzareth," I say, leaning forward. "Prepare to reign. The empire will fall, and with it, the Lytheryss girl."

"Bold words," Malzareth says, raising an eyebrow. "But words alone won't bring results. Do you have a plan, Cedric? Or is this bluster meant to impress me?"

"Of course, I have a plan," I snap, before turning to Harry Thorne, who stands stiffly by the door. "Harry, have you prepared the poison?"

Harry nods quickly, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. "Yes, your grace. I'll instruct one of my maids to slip it into Lady Aveline's cup during the celebration."

"Good," I say, satisfaction curling in my chest. "Well done. If Aveline dies, no strong mage can stand in our way. The crown prince will lose his advantage, and the empire will crumble."

"Hmm, interesting," Malzareth murmurs, tapping his clawed fingers against the armrest. "But let me warn you, Cedric: underestimating your enemies is the fastest way to fall."

"I don't underestimate anyone," I say tightly. "The poison is merely one contingency. Should she survive, I'll deal with her myself. With your power backing me, she won't stand a chance."

Malzareth chuckles darkly. "You speak confidently. But I sense... a hint of desperation."

"Desperation?" I repeat, my temper flaring.

"Yes," he says, his smirk widening. "You fear her. And fear can be both a weapon and a weakness."

I bristle but force myself to remain calm. "I fear no one. Least of all her."

"Then prove it," Malzareth says, rising to his full, imposing height. "Next week, Cedric. Show me that the Brown family isn't as pathetic as it once was. If you fail... well, let's just say your soul will be an acceptable consolation prize."

The room grows colder as his words hang in the air. I incline my head slightly, unwilling to let him see the unease his threat stirs in me.

"You have my word, my lord," I say again.

"Good," Malzareth says, turning toward the shadows. "Do not disappoint me."

The room grows dark as he vanishes, leaving only the faint scent of sulfur behind.

"Your grace..." Harry's voice trembles.

"Speak," I command, my tone sharp.

"If... if this fails, what will we do?" he asks hesitantly.

"It won't fail," I say coldly. "Aveline will die, and the empire will bow to me. That's the only outcome."

But even as I say the words, Malzareth's warning lingers in the back of my mind.

***

XAVIER The National Founding Day is approaching, but instead of excitement, a deep unease settles over me. A day meant to celebrate our empire's unity and strength is now shrouded in whispers of treachery and war.

It's supposed to be a sacred day. A time to honor the history of Quesaria. Yet here I am, watching the imperial knights preparing for battle, their swords sharpened and their armor gleaming in the pale afternoon sun.

I can't shake the bitterness in my chest.

"Your Highness, the next strategy meeting is in an hour," Veltron, my personal assistant and the right-hand commander of the imperial knights, reminds me, his tone as calm as ever.

I glance at him, my jaw tightening. "What's the point of strategy meetings if this sacred day is to be sullied by chaos and bloodshed?"

Veltron doesn't respond immediately. He's always measured with his words, never speaking unless he has something worthwhile to say.

"Your Highness," he finally says, "perhaps that's why we must prepare. To ensure the day remains sacred."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who'll be blamed if this day goes awry. You're not the one who'll face scrutiny if innocent lives are lost."

Veltron tilts his head slightly, unbothered by my frustration. "And yet, Your Highness, you're also the one they'll look to when order is restored. Strength is what they expect from you, not doubt."

His words sting, but I know he's right.

The weight of responsibility feels heavier than ever, but sparring always helps to clear my mind. "Veltron, let's spar," I say abruptly, needing to channel my frustration into something physical.

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Of course, Your Highness."

We head to the training grounds, where a faint chill lingers in the air. The sounds of knights drilling in the distance fill the space, a rhythm of clashing swords and shouted commands.

Veltron tosses me a practice sword, which I catch without thinking. He steps into his stance, his grip steady and confident.

"You've been restless," Veltron observes, his voice neutral.

I swing first, forcing him to block. "And can you blame me?"

"No," he replies simply, deflecting my attack and pivoting to counter. "But restlessness makes you sloppy."

I grit my teeth, meeting his blade with mine. "I don't need a lecture right now, Veltron."

"Then focus," he retorts, pushing me back with a calculated strike. "Channel your restlessness into precision."

Our blades clash again and again, the tension in my chest easing with every swing. Veltron fights like the professional he is—calm, efficient, unrelenting.

After a particularly close strike, I manage to knock his blade aside, forcing him to retreat a step. "Not bad, Your Highness," he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Not bad?" I repeat, smirking despite myself. "I'll take that as high praise coming from you."

Veltron chuckles softly—a rare sound. "Don't let it go to your head."

We spar until my muscles ache and my breathing grows heavy, the frustrations of the day slowly giving way to clarity.

"Veltron," I say as we pause to catch our breaths. "Do you ever wonder why the empire has to endure this? Why people like Cedric Brown can twist a day meant for unity into an excuse for war?"

Veltron looks at me, his expression unreadable. "It's the way of the world, Your Highness. Some see unity as strength; others see it as an opportunity to exploit. But that doesn't mean we stop fighting to protect what's sacred."

His words linger as we return to the castle. I'm still frustrated, still angry that this day has been tainted by politics and scheming. But Veltron's right. I can't afford to let doubt cloud my mind.

The National Founding Day might be in jeopardy, but I'll do everything in my power to ensure it doesn't become a day of ruin. And I trust Aveline to do the same.