The soft hues of pastel pinks and blues danced at the edges of Valeryon's vision, blending with the faint scent of warm milk and freshly baked bread that wafted through the air. A gentle touch grazed her cheek, warm and comforting.
"There you are, my darling princess," a voice cooed, dripping with affection.
"It's alright, sweet princess," the voice urged, as smooth as honey. "You can do this."
"If there is only one thing you will remember of this time in your life, Your Highness, I hope it is that you were loved dearly."
Then, as quickly as the warmth came, it was torn away, leaving only bitter cold.
"No! Not my children, you foul beast!"came a scream, an echo of despair reverberating in her mind.
The cold was merciless, all-consuming.
Blood pooled against a backdrop of pure white snow. Lifeless grey eyes. The gashes across a torso jagged and deep.
Valeryon woke abruptly to the warmth of morning light spilling through her window. She blinked, her cerise and peridot eyes adjusting to the familiar surroundings of her room as she lay in the softness of her bed. She took in the sight of the elegant canopy above her bed, the silk curtains billowing gently in the breeze that cape through the open window. Sitting up slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet below.
With a practiced ease, Valeryon stripped off her nightgown, her movements slow and deliberate. She crossed the room to the adjoining bath chamber, where a large tub awaited her, already filled with steaming water. The castle's intricate autonomous rune system ensured her needs were always met.Steam rose from the lavender-scented water, curling enticingly into the cool air. As she stepped in, the heat enveloped her, soothing her tense muscles as she sank beneath the surface.
For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, to indulge in the fleeting comfort of the bath, before she mechanically went about cleaning herself.
Once finished, she emerged from the bath, her hands glowing faintly green as she used her powers to pull the water from her skin and hair. The water twisted and shimmered, condensing into droplets that she directed back into the tub. The runes embedded in the stone walls glowed briefly before dimming again, cleansing the space of any evidence of her bathing.
Valeryon returned to her room and slipped into a flowing black gown with long sleeves. The gown's fabric shimmered with iridescence. Around her waist, she secured a diamond-encrusted belt. She then draped the iridescent black veil over her head, fastening it with a golden circlet intricately designed to resemble twisting vines and diamond asphodel blossoms.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her quiet preparation.
For a fleeting moment, she thought of Lady Daphne, the only person with the authority to move freely in this part of the castle.
However that was impossible.
Valeryon stared at the door, her hand hovering inches from the handle. Who could possibly be knocking?
Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door.
Relief flooded her as she saw Laurel's familiar face, but that comfort quickly turned into concern. He looked pale, gaunt even. The usual dark circles beneath his eyes were even more prominent now, like bruises smeared with ash. He swayed on his feet as if a gust of wind could topple him.
"Laurel…"
He didn't say anything, simply stepping inside as Valeryon reached out to support him guided him to her bed. Laurel collapsed onto the mattress, his body limp and cold to the touch. Valeryon hurried to cover him with the thick quilt, activating the seldom-used heating rune embedded in the headboard. The room was kept cool to combat Valeryon's excessive body heat, but Laurel's body had insufficient thermoregulation and she knew how much he hated the cold so appropriate measures must be taken to ensure his comfort.
He lay there, his eyes half-closed but still focused on her. His hand reached out, gripping her bare hand gently in an icy grip.
"The funeral…" Laurel's voice was hoarse, breaking the silence between them.
Valeryon pursed her lips. She had not attended.
"They were all talking, Val," he continued, bitterness lacing his words. "They think you don't care. That you didn't even—" His frustration boiled over, but exhaustion pulled him back down. "How dare they! They have no idea!"
She remained silent uncertain how to respond, opting instead to rub the back of his hand gently with her thumb. As his breathing slowed, the weight of exhaustion finally claimed him, drawing him into sleep.
Valeryon had anticipated such a reaction when she sent her letter declining the invitation to Daphne's funeral, but she could not afford to let public opinion dictate her choices.
Her decision to not attend the funeral had not been made lightly.
The laws of the Valeryon clan were clear: no royal heir could come into contact with the leader of a Vassal House before their fifteenth birthday.
Attending would have barred Daphne's mother from participating in her own daughter's funeral and would prevent any other Vassal House leader from paying their respects as well.
Thus, Valeryon had penned a polite letter of rejection to the Vesalius family and instructed the castle's accounting department to cover the funeral costs on behalf of the royal family.
Valeryon glanced at Laurel's face, softened by sleep. She leaned down, pulling the thick quilt over him to ensure he was fully covered.
She grabbed the Valeryon insignia engraved pocket watch Laurel had gifted her from the bedside table and did a quick check of the time. It was still early, but not so early that she could afford to linger here.
Moving quietly, she fetched a clean glass and filled it with conjured water, the liquid shimmering as it filled the crystal-clear vessel. After placing it gently on the bedside table, she retrieved a small piece of parchment from her desk. Pausing momentarily, she unstoppered the purple lavender-scented ink, inhaling its calming aroma. Dipping her golden quill, she penned a brief note in neat, flowing script:
'At a meeting. Remember to eat something.'
She placed the note above the lip of the glass on the bedside table, the lavender scent lingering faintly in the air. With a final glance at Laurel, she pulled on her boots and gloves, her fingers adjusting the fabric with meticulous care. The door closed with a soft click behind her as she stepped into the quiet corridors of the Castle.
The hallways of the castle were quiet this morning, the silence broken only by the rhythmic echo of her boots against the polished stone floors. She passed under towering arches where vines, enchanted to remain ever-blooming, twined along the walls, their blossoms perfuming the air with a soft, sweet fragrance. The intricate mosaics lining the corridors between glittered in the soft morning light, reflecting stories of her predecessors, scenes that she had stopped to reflect on countless times throughout the years.
As Valeryon approached the castle's grand dining hall, the knights, posted at intervals, stood at attention as she passed.
The doors to the dining hall swung open as she approached, revealing golden filigree running like veins through the walls, catching and refracting the sunlight that poured through the arched windows. A lavish spread covered nearly the entire length of the long, mahogany table at the centre, burdened by an array of food. Platters of roasted meats, bowls brimming with spiced stews, baskets of freshly baked bread, and intricately arranged towers of fruits and pastries covered every inch of the table. It was an absurd amount for a single person.
Valeryon took her seat at the head of the table, the action itself triggering a swift and silent flurry of movement from the servers. hey placed dishes before her without a word, their faces expressionless, their movements as smooth as water flowing over stones. The first course was light—delicate slivers of fruit, cheeses that melted on the tongue, pastries so fine they crumbled at a mere touch.
Each movement was deliberate, her posture impeccable as she ate. The servers efficiently cleared away empty dishes, seamlessly moving new ones closer as she continued her meal.
As the courses piled on, a faint cramp began to form in her stomach, but she pushed through it. The discomfort was nothing new. The excessive calories were necessary to sustain her body's unusual metabolism, which burned energy at an alarming rate. Still, the pain sharpened with each bite, her stomach protesting the amount of food it was being forced to contain.
Fork after forkful disappeared in methodical rhythm. By the time she finished the last dish, her body felt heavy, weighed down by the meal, but she showed no sign of it as she wiped her mouth delicately with the embroidered cloth napkin folding it neatly and setting it aside.
Valeryon stood, pushing her chair back gently as she made her way out of the hall.
As Valeryon stepped into the hallway, her eyes instinctively fell on the imposing figure of Lady Ophelia Vesalius, or rather, the marble sculpture that now bore her likeness. The marble statue, carved with stunning precision, captured every detail of the late Chamberlain's presence: the flowing robes, the intricate arrangement of her hair, and the composed serenity in her expression.
Yet this was no ordinary sculpture. As Valeryon approached, the marble softened into motion; the serene features shifted into a gentle smile, before Ophelia's lips parted to speak. "Good morning, Your Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon. I trust you found your breakfast agreeable?"
Valeryon inclined her head, as if her stomach did not currently ache unbearably from the ordeal. "It was sufficient, thank you."
"Then we should proceed," Ophelia said, her arm sweeping gracefully as she motioned for Valeryon to follow.
As they walked, Ophelia's movements were fluid, betraying none of the rigidity expected from a figure once cast in stone.
Ophelia was an Immortal Remnant, a construct imbued with the magic, memories, and essence of the late Lady Ophelia Vesalius, once the Chamberlain to King Vilram. Now, after the sudden passing of Lady Daphne, Ophelia had been activated to temporarily fulfil the role of Chamberlain until a successor was officially appointed.
"You're quiet today, Your Highness," Ophelia observed as they descended the wide stone staircase. "Has something been weighing on your mind?"
Valeryon considered her response for a moment before answering. "The matter of selecting a new Chamberlain."
Ophelia slowed her pace as they neared the Chamberlain's office, the emblem of a winged key etched into the wooden door before them. "That is understandable, Your Highness. May I offer some advice?"
"Certainly."
"No candidate is without their flaws. You must decide which strengths are most essential and which weaknesses can be addressed over time. There's no perfect choice—only the best available one."
As Valeryon ruminated on her words, Ophelia pushed the door open, revealing a room thick with the smell of parchment and ink. The space was lined with shelves overflowing with ancient books and scrolls, evidence of the Vesalius family's long history of record-keeping within this space.
Valeryon seated herself behind the grand desk, its polished oak surface reflecting the soft, filtered light from the tall windows. In front of her lay a folder embossed with the Vesalius sigil, filled with documents she had studied meticulously over the past week. Each profile detailed the strengths, weaknesses, and histories of the Chamberlain candidates. She had approached this responsibility with the same rigour that she did with any of her studies—but knowing the theory did not lessen the burden of making the right decision.
"All the candidates should have arrived now, Your Highness," Ophelia announced. "Shall we begin?"
Valeryon took a breath and nodded. "Yes. Please send in the first candidate."
The door swung open with a low creak, revealing a tall, striking woman. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a severe bun, each strand meticulously in place, framing her sharp, aristocratic features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and thin lips set in a firm line. Her porcelain skin contrasted sharply with a deep midnight blue sheath dress, cinched at the waist by a simple silver belt. A matching pointed hat completed her austere ensemble.
This was Lady Daphne's elder sister.
"Heiress Evelina Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second," Evelina announced, her voice clipped and formal. She offered a shallow bow, her indifferent silver eyes flicking over Valeryon before settling on Ophelia, the Immortal Remnant of her venerated ancestor. This time, she bowed deeper, a gesture of reverence that Valeryon chose to overlook for the moment.
"Please, take a seat," Valeryon said, gesturing toward the chair across from her.
Evelina glided into the chair with poised grace, her back perfectly straight. "Under my leadership, the Vesalius estates across the Archipelago have thrived. I have overseen assets totalling four hundred thousand gold annually, with a 15% increase in productivity in the last quarter alone. We've optimised operations across the board—"
Valeryon raised her hand, interrupting her. "Your accomplishments are well-documented, Heiress Evelina, and I am familiar with them. What I wish to understand is your philosophy regarding the handling of the people behind those numbers. How do you approach staff management?"
Evelina spoke without hesitation, her tone cool and confident. "Efficiency is paramount. If individuals cannot keep pace, it is essential to replace them with those who can. A streamlined operation maximises profitability and minimises waste, Your Highness."
"And what about loyalty and morale?" Valeryon pressed, recalling the late Lady Daphne's emphasis on these aspects during her tenure as Chamberlain. "How do you inspire unity among your staff with such a philosophy?"
Evelina's silver eyes narrowed slightly, and a furrow appeared between her meticulously manicured brows. "Competency drives success, not camaraderie, Your Highness. If the staff understands that their positions depend on their performance, they will be motivated to excel. A productive workforce is inherently loyal, provided their interests align with the objectives of the estate."
Valeryon considered this, her brow furrowing slightly. "Surely, fostering a sense of community can enhance performance, too."
Evelina inclined her head. "In theory, Your Highness, but emotional ties can lead to complacency. While fostering a collegial atmosphere has its merits, it can distract from the primary goal: efficiency. I have witnessed systems far too many systems falter due to misplaced priorities. My approach ensures alignment with our objectives at all times."
Valeryon frowned. "Does that not risk a high turnover rate? The constant pressure might lead to burnout, which ultimately affects productivity."
Evelina's gaze was steady, but her lips tightened. "A higher turnover rate can be a sign of a competitive environment. Those who cannot meet the demands are simply making way for those who can. It cultivates resilience and adaptability among the workforce. If they are invested in the goals of the estate, they will see this as an opportunity for growth."
Valeryon leaned back in her chair, considering Evelina's words. "Thank you, for sharing your perspective Heiress Evelina, that will be all," Valeryon said, dismissing her with a nod.
Evelina rose from her seat with practiced elegance, bowing once more—this time a touch deeper than before. Ophelia, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, stepped forward to escort her out. Valeryon watched them leave with a frown.
Next came Lady Daphne's younger brother. His resemblance to his sister was unmistakable: white hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, silver eyes, and elegant features. His entrance was accompanied by an air of casual arrogance. His posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed for the gravity of the situation.
"Heir Silas Vesalius of House Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second," he announced with a flourishing bowing so dramatic it bordered on mockery.
Valeryon resisted the urge to sigh. "Please, begin."
Silas grinned. "I must say, Your Highness, you look much younger in person," he remarked with a wink. "Height-wise, that is. Not that I can see your face to determine your age with that veil on, of course!" He laughed, as though his comment were the pinnacle of wit.
"Your qualifications, Heir Silas?"
Heir Silas leaned back, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he launched into a lengthy account of his travels across the magical world. Recounting how he had "rubbed elbows" with influential merchants and noble families, collected rare artefacts, and made "valuable connections."
When there seemed to be no sign of him stopping, Valeryon cut him off. "And how does that translate to managing the castle staff and operations?"
Silas waved a hand as though the question was inconsequential. "Connections, Your Highness. It's all about who you know. The Chamberlain needs to be someone who can negotiate the best deals, secure rare resources—"
"Thank you, Heir Silas," Valeryon interrupted, her voice curt. "Ophelia will see you out."
Silas's grin faltered slightly, but he left without protest.
The endless parade of candidates that followed blurred into a dreary procession of mediocrity, each more underwhelming than the last. Valeryon shifted in her chair, exhaustion pressing down on her like a physical weight.
The door creaked open once more. Valeryon glanced up, suppressing a sigh. "Last one," she muttered, relieved the ordeal was almost over.
A woman stepped in—entirely unremarkable at first glance. Short brown hair, silver eyes, and a surprisingly ordinary face. Valeryon skimmed the notes before her: youngest sibling of Lady Daphne, recent graduate of Forester Academy, no notable achievements or prior work experience.
Elora hesitated in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room nervously, but she eventually stepped inside and gave an awkward bow. "H-Heiress Elora V-Vesalius of House Vesalius greets Her H-Highness, Crown P-Princess Valeryon the Second."
"Sit," Valeryon instructed, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
Elora obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale with tension.
Valeryon studied her briefly, then spoke. "What's your approach to staff management?"
"Staff are... the backbone of any estate, Your Highness," Elora began.
Valeryon's fingers tapped lightly on the armrest. "Go on."
Taking a steadying breath, Elora continued. "Constantly replacing staff is costly. Recruitment, retraining, and adjustment periods strain resources. It's far more beneficial to invest in current staff—develop their skills, support their growth, and create a stable environment."
Valeryon's fingers stilled. "How would you suggest implementing that?"
"By introducing regular training programs for all staff," Elora explained, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "For example, Mediator-psychics could lead workshops on stress management, communication, and teamwork. It wouldn't just improve staff efficiency under pressure, but it would also foster an environment where staff are equipped to grow into more complex roles. This way, the need for replacements is reduced, and long-term stability of the royal estate is maintained."
Valeryon considered this. "And how would you handle underperforming staff?"
Elora paused, carefully choosing her words. "Dismissal should be a last resort, reserved for cases of misconduct or irreparable failure. If someone is underperforming, the first step should be identifying the cause. It could be a lack of training, unclear expectations, or personal struggles. Addressing the root of the issue would not only help that individual but would also inform systemic improvements to prevent similar problems in the future."
Valeryon studied her for a moment. "You've never managed staff before. Why are you confident this approach would work?"
Elora straightened, her posture more assured. "While I don't have direct experience, Your Highness, I've had the opportunity to observe and hear about the management methods used by my House closely over the years. The management style I have often witnessed is rigid, prioritising control over development. I have seen firsthand how this leads to high turnover and dissatisfied staff. My approach builds a system that adapts to changing circumstances and gives people the tools to succeed. It's less about immediate results and more about long-term sustainability."
There was merit in her approach. Rather than relying on a constant cycle of hiring and firing, addressing inefficiencies at the source could lead to a more stable system.
"That will be all," Valeryon said finally, nodding curtly. "Thank you for your time, Heiress Elora."
Elora rose quickly, bowing once more before Ophelia escorted her out, the door closing softly behind them.
Left alone, Valeryon flipped through the candidate profiles. Evelina Vesalius, Elora's oldest sister, had been the obvious choice. A seasoned professional with a clear-cut approach: remove under-performers, recruit competent talent, and maintain a seamless operation. It was a straightforward, efficient strategy.
Yet Evelina's approach, though practical, overlooked a crucial issue. The talent pool was not infinite. Eventually, constant recruitment would drain available resources, and the estate would be left with a declining quality of staff. Elora's suggestion to invest in current personnel and address systemic problems at their source was potentially much more sustainable.
Ophelia re-entered the room, a soft smile on her lips. "It seems Heiress Elora made quite the impression on Your Highness."
Valeryon glanced up from the notes. "She is inexperienced."
"Inexperience can be remedied with time and proper guidance," Ophelia replied gently. "There's no need to rush her official appointment. We could extend her training until she's fully prepared."
Valeryon frowned. "If I delay her appointment, her competence will be questioned."
Ophelia nodded thoughtfully. "There will always be doubt, no matter who you choose. The real question is whether you believe she can grow into the role. Capability silences doubts—not haste."
"How long before you go dormant again, Ophelia?"
"I will remain active until the new Chamberlain is officially appointed, Your Highness."
"So that's why you suggested delaying it," Valeryon murmured.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Valeryon let out a long breath. "What if she proves completely unsuitable?"
Ophelia's smile deepened with a touch of amusement. "There's always a risk of failure, even with the most experienced candidates."
Valeryon closed her eyes, her mind working through the implications. Elora was a gamble, and Valeryon despised gambling. Yet there was something about her that appealed to Valeryon more than any other candidate had. A system that adapted, evolved, and nurtured its components rather than discarding them recklessly—it was a risk worth considering.
"Very well," she said at last, her decision made.
Valeryon rose, feeling the stiffness in her limbs from sitting too long. She resisted the urge to stretch. It would not do to appear undignified in front of Ophelia. Together, they left the chamber, their footsteps echoing through the grand marble hallways. The faint murmur of voices from the waiting room grew louder as they approached. When Ophelia quietly pulled the door open, their presence went completely unnoticed.
"I'm telling you, it's between me and Evelina," Silas declared, his tone dripping with arrogance. "We're the only ones qualified for this role. What about Elora? Please. She's no sister of mine—just a charity case. Look at her! Does she even resemble a Vesalius? Mother wouldn't trust her with a shack, let alone an estate. The idea of her as Chamberlain is utterly ridiculous."
A few relatives, lounged lazily on nearby velvet-cushioned benches, chuckled in agreement. "Honestly, what does she think she's doing here?" one sneered, flicking a hand dismissively. "This is a position meant for true Vesalius heir, not commoners masquerading as one of us."
Evelina, seated slightly apart from the group, remained quiet, her gaze flicking between her relatives and Elora. A slight smirk briefly touched her lips, only to be quickly masked with a facade of disinterest.
Elora, seated at the far end of the room, calmly flipping through a book. If she heard their taunts, she gave no sign.
Ophelia's voice cut through the chatter like a blade. "The Crown Princess has arrived."
All the candidates scrambled to their feet, bowing hastily. Silas's bravado vanished, his face flushing a deep crimson.
"I... I was just joking," he stammered, forcing a laugh. "Sibling banter, you know?"
No one else joined him this time.
Evelina stepped forward. "I apologise on behalf of my family, Your Highness. They are still young and have much to learn."
Her words, though sweet on the surface, were barbed, and Valeryon saw the way Silas and the other candidates stiffened under the implicit attack to their credibility. Yet, none of it mattered to Valeryon. The decision had already been made, and these petty squabbles were of little consequence to her.
"The successor for the next Chamberlain has been chosen," Ophelia announced, turning to Valeryon with a respectful bow. "If you will, Your Highness."
Valeryon stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the candidates who straightened up expectantly. "Heiress Elora Vesalius."
The silence that filled the room following her announcement was deafening. Many smug smiles evaporated, replaced by expressions of disbelief as they exchanged shocked glances.
Heiress Elora herself looked taken aback, but she seemed to have los a lot of the nerves from before and composed herself quickly, bowing deeply to Valeryon.
"Thank you, Your Highness Crown Princess Valeryon. I will work hard to ensure that you will not regret your choice."
Valeryon nodded, "See that you do."