An Engagement. Or rather, three engagements.
The very thought had once seemed absurd to me—outlandish, even. And yet, here I was, not only prepared to make such commitments but also entirely at peace with them. Rachel, Cecilia, and Seraphina had made their expectations quite clear over the years. They were not women to settle for ambiguity, and their intentions were as sharp and defined as the blades they wielded in battle.
The notion wasn't one I resisted. In truth, I had long been planning to propose after we graduated from Mythos Academy. But circumstances had accelerated my plans. There was a storm on the horizon, and before I could take the next pivotal step in reshaping this empire, I needed the unwavering strength of the bonds I shared with them.
Two reasons compelled me to act now—one deeply personal, the other strategically necessary. The first was simple: I didn't want any of them to question my feelings for them, especially given the contentious move I was about to make. Doubt, after all, is the slow poison of any relationship. And in the tempest that was to come, I couldn't afford hesitation or mistrust between us.
The second reason was born of strategy. As the Guild Grandmaster, with Noctalis now sitting atop the guild hierarchy and shaping economies across continents, I was already a force to be reckoned with. But becoming the fiancé of not one, but three princesses—each representing the most powerful factions in the world—rendered me untouchable. Even the strongest would think twice before crossing me. Power in love and politics often walks hand in hand.
Still, the proposals themselves had been a surprise—a rare moment of pure spontaneity amidst the meticulous plans I always crafted. I'd told them my intentions to prevent Elara Astoria's future engagement with Valerian Slatemark, but I hadn't told them when, or how, I planned to ask for their hands. Some secrets, I thought, were worth keeping.
As the memory of their radiant smiles from earlier that evening lingered in my mind, my eyes drifted over the crowd. The banquet hall was alive with laughter and conversation, a tapestry of noble finery and political intrigue. And then I saw her.
Elara Astoria.
Her auburn hair caught the golden light of the chandeliers, framing her face like a halo. Her violet eyes—striking and otherworldly—shone with an innocence that seemed almost out of place in this world of schemers and tacticians. She was an angel among mortals, her presence exuding a quiet, almost ethereal grace.
For a moment, I let my thoughts wander. Elara Astoria. The mere name stirred something in me—a fondness not for the person she was now, but for the character she had been in the Saga of the Divine Swordsman.
In the novel, she was a beacon of purity amidst chaos, a character so wholly good that her mere existence felt like a reprieve from the moral ambiguity of the world around her. Her role had been small, her moments fleeting, but impactful nonetheless. And now, standing before her in this banquet hall, I couldn't help but marvel at how life had breathed color into the black-and-white sketches of fiction.
But this wasn't a novel anymore. This was reality. A harsh, unforgiving reality where Elara Astoria's story ended not in light, but in tragedy.
Her engagement to Valerian Slatemark—Quinn's son and a man whose cruelty born out of inferiority knew no bounds—was the spark that would ignite the civil war tearing the Slatemark Empire apart. Elara, a symbol of innocence, would become a catalyst for devastation. Valerian's abuse, hidden behind the gilded walls of the imperial palace, would break her. Her father, discovering the horrors too late, would rage against the empire, fracturing it in his grief. And so, an entire nation would bleed for the sins of one man.
That future couldn't be allowed to happen. I wouldn't let it happen.
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I watched her laugh softly with a group of her friends, unaware of the storm brewing around her. Once, I might have called her my favorite character, her brief moments on the page a balm to my weary mind. But now? Now I understood the weight of responsibility, the gravity of lives intertwined with my own. My admiration for her had shifted, no longer that of a reader for a beloved character, but of a man determined to protect her from the tragedy she didn't yet know awaited her.
Rachel, Cecilia, Seraphina—they stood by my side, their support unwavering. Together, we had shaped Noctalis into a force that rivaled even the emperor's authority. And with them beside me, I had the leverage to challenge even Quinn's ambitions.
My lips pressed into a thin line. Stopping this engagement wouldn't be easy. But then, nothing worth doing ever was.
"Arthur," Rachel's voice pulled me from my thoughts. She stood beside me, her sapphire eyes studying me with quiet concern. "Are you all right?"
I nodded, my smile returning as I took her hand in mine. "I'm fine. Just... thinking."
"About Elara," she said knowingly, her gaze flicking briefly toward the auburn-haired girl before returning to me. There was no jealousy in her voice, only understanding.
"Yes," I admitted. "This will be the hardest thing I've ever done."
Rachel's grip on my hand tightened, a reassuring warmth grounding me. "But you'll do it," she said simply. "Because that's who you are."
I looked at her, at the quiet conviction in her gaze, and felt a surge of gratitude. She believed in me—in my plans, my ambitions, my heart. And for that, I would succeed.
Because I had to.
For Elara. For Rachel, Cecilia, and Seraphina. For the future of this empire.
I straightened my shoulders, my resolve hardening. The game was set, the pieces moving. It was time to rewrite fate.
It was time to ensure that no one—not Quinn, not Valerian, not anyone—could stand in my way.