Victor stood before the ornate mirror in his chamber, tracing each bruise with a finger. Every discoloured patch on his skin screamed a tale of duty at odds with desire. His father's punishment had left marks deeper than skin; they were scars on his very soul.
As frustration boiled beneath the surface, Victor clenched his fists, momentarily rebelling against the relentless pressure of his family name. In a fleeting moment, he had dared to imagine a life free from the shackles of tradition, where he could carve his own path. But the suffocating reality of his responsibilities extinguished that flicker of hope.
The council meeting was about to begin, and Victor knew all too well what awaited him—another round of strategising for a war he wanted no part in. Sitting among men who saw him merely as a tool to wield, he felt like a living emblem of the legacy he was bound to serve. Each meeting felt like a betrayal of his true self, leaving him hollow.
Steeling himself, he stepped out into the corridor. The cool air brushed against his skin, a brief relief from the heat of his simmering anger. His footsteps echoed through the halls, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. As he approached the grand doors of the war room, the murmur of voices inside swelled, a cacophony of strategy and ambition that contrasted with his internal turmoil.
He paused for a moment, breathed deeply, and gathered his resolve. He couldn't afford to show weakness, not in front of the council, not in front of him.
The council chamber loomed before him, vast and imposing, adorned with the kingdom's banners that flapped in the cool air. The scent of polished wood mingled with the faint trace of oil from flickering lamps, filling the space with a heady mixture of power. As Victor stepped through the grand doors, a sharp pain shot through his side, igniting memories of his forced punishment. He compelled himself to push past it, but the pain served as a harsh reminder that he was still ensnared in the family's machinations.
All eyes shifted toward him, assessing, before returning to the maps sprawled across the table, each marked with the blood of countless lives at stake. At the far end of the table, Prince Darius Ebonmere sat, his presence commanding yet laced with an air of cold indifference.
Victor's breath hitched as Darius's gaze locked onto him, a familiar disdain flickering in his eyes. In their younger days, Darius had always been the loyal heir groomed to succeed his father, earning admiration and reverence. Victor, on the other hand, was often seen as the black sheep—a less worthy son of a lesser house.
"Ah, Lord Arenthis," Darius spoke, his voice sharp and cutting through the hum of conversation. "I trust you've recovered from your... distractions." His words dripped with arrogance, intentionally provoking a response.
Biting back a retort, Victor forced his expression into one of neutrality, steadying his voice as he replied, "I am here to serve the empire, as always." The storm inside him raged on, a battle of wills threatening to spill over.
Across the table, Victor's father, the Duke of Arenthis, cleared his throat, his gaze sharp as he addressed the council. "We cannot afford weakness in these times. The fate of our house depends on our resolve."
The tension in the room thickened as the council began discussing war preparations. A senior general, his face lined with years of experience, spread a map across the table.
"We need to fortify the eastern borders. Reports indicate that enemy forces are massing near the river. We cannot afford to underestimate their advance."
Another council member, the Duke of Lichten, nodded. "Agreed. We should send reinforcements immediately. We need to show strength before they have a chance to strike."
Darius leaned forward, his expression calculating. "But what about our supply lines? We risk leaving our main cities vulnerable if we stretch our forces too thin. We must strategise carefully."
Victor seized the moment, feeling a flicker of defiance. "Then perhaps we should focus on securing our resources first, ensuring that we can sustain our troops in the long run. If we lose our supply routes, we'll be fighting a losing battle."
The room fell silent, the eyes of his peers turning toward him in surprise. Darius raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Interesting suggestion, Victor. But perhaps a bit too idealistic? You're forgetting that a show of force is crucial. The enemy needs to see our power to be deterred."
Victor felt the heat rise in his chest, a sharp pain radiating through his ribs as he stood his ground. "And how many lives are we willing to sacrifice to maintain that illusion of power? We need to be smart, not just bold."
Lord Arenthis's voice thundered, cutting through the tension. "Victor, this is war; sacrifice is necessary for victory. You must understand the stakes."
The tension in the room escalated, the air thick with unspoken animosities. When the meeting concluded, Victor remained behind, watching as the others filed out of the chamber, their chatter fading into the distance. Darius lingered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he approached.
"Your loyalty is admirable, Victor," Darius said, his voice low and mocking, a predator toying with its prey. "It's a shame your father has to remind you of it so often."
Victor's jaw clenched at the insult. "You know nothing about my family."
"Oh, Victor, I know more than you think," the prince replied smoothly, his confidence unwavering.
"You've always been trapped, bound to your duty like a caged animal. Tell me—do you ever wonder what freedom feels like?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.
Victor's eyes darkened, the truth of Darius's words slicing through him. "I have no interest in your games, Darius."
The prince's smile widened, a cruel twist that sent a shiver down Victor's spine. "We'll see, Victor. War has a way of testing loyalties. I wonder which of us will emerge unscathed."
As Darius turned to leave, Victor stood in silence, the weight of the looming war pressing down on him. The Duke of Arenthis watched Darius depart, his brow furrowed.
"Keep your wits about you, Victor," he warned. "Darius is not to be underestimated. He may be the prince, but he is still a rival."
Victor nodded, the weight of his father's words settling in his chest. Darius's taunts lingered, a dangerous temptation he refused to acknowledge. But deep inside, Victor couldn't help but wonder. What if? What if he could defy it all? What if he could escape this gilded cage?
At that moment, Victor realized that the true battle was not with others but with himself. The choices ahead would shape his future and determine the fate of countless lives caught in the wake of war.
And what about Verina? We just gave each other hope and now we will lose it again?
Meanwhile, in a kitchen not far from the palace, Sofia carefully sprinkled the last of the powdered sugar over the freshly baked cake, her hands moving with precision and grace. Verina watched from across the kitchen, the scent of chocolate and vanilla filling her senses.
"So, how was your evening?" Sofia asked, putting the finishing touches on the cake. Her curiosity was clear.
Sofia's question hung in the air, causing Verina to freeze. How was her evening? She wanted to say it was perfect, that she had a great time trying new foods and dancing under the stars. But then the image of Victor's troubled expression flashed through her mind, and she hesitated.
"Truthfully, it felt strange to break away from my routine after so long," she admitted. "But I think I enjoyed it."
Memories briefly warmed her heart before the weight of reality set in.
"I told you it would be fun! Your eyes are glowing," Sofia said playfully, giving Verina a knowing wink.
"Yeah..." Verina's smile faltered, her thoughts shifting to Victor. The change in her expression didn't escape Sofia's notice. "Something else has happened?"
"No, not really... Just, you know how it is with nobles. So many duties, meetings, and expectations." Verina had no intention of revealing Victor's troubles, wanting to brush the topic aside.
"Well, it depends on who we're talking about. I doubt Lady Blackthorn has much to keep her busy. Although, I'd say ruining the mood is her full-time job." Sofia quipped, prompting a shared laugh.
Still, beneath the laughter, Verina couldn't shake a sense of unease. A lingering worry gnawed at her—would Victor meet her after his father discovered his secret escape? Verina sat in the silence, absentmindedly smoothing the tablecloth as Sofia returned to her cake. She hadn't told Sofia everything—how could she?
"You've gone all quiet on me," Sofia teased lightly without turning around. "Still thinking about those fireworks, or something else?"
Verina hesitated before responding, "Maybe both."
Sofia glanced over her shoulder. "Hey, whatever it is, you'll figure it out. You always do." She wiped her hands on her apron and faced Verina fully, her tone now more sincere. "Victor seems like a decent guy. If he's worth it, he'll find a way through his mess."
Verina offered a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Deep down, she wasn't so sure. It wasn't just about Victor. It was the world he came from. Could someone like him break free from that? Or was he already too entangled in the life his father had carved out for him? Sofia went back to her cake, but Verina's thoughts spiralled. She couldn't stop thinking about the tension in Victor's eyes when he walked her home.
"Well, enough about my evening," Verina forced herself to say, desperately trying to steer her thoughts away. "How about you? How's your cake coming along?"
Sofia raised an eyebrow at the abrupt change but didn't push. "A masterpiece in the making," she replied with a grin, "but it still needs your expert approval once it's done."
"Of course," Verina agreed with a soft smile, but inside, her mind was still racing with doubts and fears.
As they continued to chat and laugh, Verina's gaze drifted to the window, the light fading into twilight. The soft hues of dusk painted the sky in shades of lavender and gold, casting a serene glow across the room. Yet, as the light diminished, a sense of unease settled over her. The night will come and her dream too.
[Tonight, I must confront the shadows within and find the courage to light my own path.]
She thought, but a flicker of resistance sparked within her.
[Perhaps I can just ignore them a little longer. Maybe they're just dreams,] she reassured herself, [nothing more than nightmares waiting to be forgotten…]
But deep down, she knew they were not ordinary nightmares. It was a message that Virena would need to receive eventually. But did she want to accept it? She had always preferred the safety of routine over the chaos of the unknown. After all, she was content living on the fringes of nobility, watching from the sidelines rather than stepping into the spotlight. It's always been like that, right?
She took a deep breath and looked at Sophie with a soft gaze.
[I'll deal with the dreams when they become unbearable. For now, I'll embrace the laughter and the warmth, and leave the shadows for another day.]