Sir Edmund stood in the grand foyer of Violet Flower Castle, his gaze drifting upward to the intricate stained-glass ceiling that bathed the hall in hues of purple and gold. The morning light filtered through the petals of the violet flower emblem, casting delicate patterns on the marble floor. A messenger had just departed, leaving behind a sealed letter bearing the ducal seal. Breaking the wax, Edmund unfolded the parchment and read the words that set his mind awhirl.
Raimon is returning.
A mixture of emotions stirred within him—pride, concern, anticipation. The heir would soon walk these halls again, no longer a child but a young man shaped by five years at the Northern Frontier under Duke Alaric's tutelage. Edmund knew that Raimon's arrival heralded a new chapter for the duchy, one fraught with both opportunities and challenges.
He folded the letter carefully, slipping it into his inner pocket. There was much to be done to prepare for Raimon's return. The castle must reflect the esteem in which the heir was held, and every detail had to be perfect.
"Lucia," he called softly.
A moment later, the young maid appeared, her hands folded neatly before her. "Yes, Sir Edmund?"
"Lord Raimon will be arriving in a week's time. Please coordinate with the staff to ensure his chambers are prepared to his liking. Fresh linens, his preferred furnishings, and see that the library is stocked with the texts he favors."
Lucia nodded, her eyes brightening. "Of course. It will be done."
As she departed, Edmund allowed himself a rare smile. The staff respected him, and he valued their dedication. Under his guidance, the castle operated with the precision of a well-crafted timepiece.
Turning, he ascended the grand staircase, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. Portraits of the Flower family lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow him as he passed. Amidst the familiar faces, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a gilded mirror—a man of fifty-five, his hair touched with silver at the temples, his posture impeccable.
Yet beneath the veneer of the chief butler lay secrets known to few. Edmund was the sole surviving son of House Blackwood, one of the oldest aristocratic families of the empire's southern reaches. His lineage traced back to the ancient panther demon, a heritage that bestowed upon him exceptional abilities. But his family's legacy had crumbled under the weight of his father's unchecked ambition, leading to their downfall and near annihilation.
Memories flooded back—flames consuming his ancestral home, the clashing of steel, the cries of betrayal. He had been a young man then, thrust into chaos. It was Duke Raion who had extended a hand, offering salvation when all seemed lost. In gratitude and repentance, Edmund had sworn eternal loyalty to the duke, dedicating his life to service.
Few knew of his true strength—a Gold Rank 9 knight, the duke's final bulwark in times of peril. Fewer still were aware of his past role as the leader of the family's secret forces, operating in the shadows to protect the duchy from unseen threats. Those days were behind him now, or so he hoped.
Reaching the east wing, he paused outside a set of ornate double doors. A soft knock elicited a muffled giggle from within.
"Enter," chimed the melodic voice of Guillermina.
Edmund stepped inside to find the twins engaged in a game of chess. Edward furrowed his brow in concentration, while Guillermina's eyes danced with mischief.
"Good morning, Master Edward, Lady Guillermina."
"Good morning, Edmund," they replied in unison.
"I trust your studies are progressing well?"
Edward sighed. "Madame Clarisse insists we memorize the lineage of every noble house. It's rather tedious."
Guillermina leaned forward conspiratorially. "We much prefer our lessons with you."
Edmund allowed himself a gentle smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my lady. But knowledge of our history is important."
He observed them closely. Though they appeared lively, he did not miss the slight pallor of their cheeks, the subtle fatigue in their eyes. The twins had been experiencing bouts of weakness lately, a concern he shared with the duke.
"Perhaps a break is in order," he suggested. "Shall we take a walk in the gardens?"
The twins exchanged a glance before nodding eagerly. "Yes, please!"
As they strolled through the meticulously kept gardens, the scent of blooming roses filling the air, Edmund recounted tales of distant lands and heroic deeds—stories that both entertained and subtly educated.
"Will Raimon tell us stories when he returns?" Edward asked hopefully.
"I'm certain he will have many adventures to share," Edmund replied.
"Do you think he's changed much?" Guillermina wondered aloud.
Edmund considered this. "Five years can shape a person in many ways. But at his core, I believe he remains the caring brother you remember."
They reached a stone bench overlooking a tranquil pond. The twins settled down, their earlier weariness seeming to catch up with them.
"Edmund," Guillermina began softly, "sometimes we feel... tired. Is there something wrong with us?"
He knelt before them, his gaze earnest. "Your father is aware of your fatigue. We're taking steps to ensure your health and well-being. For now, rest when you need to and focus on the joys of each day."
They nodded, reassured by his calm demeanor.
Leaving them in the care of Madame Clarisse, who had arrived to escort them back inside, Edmund continued his rounds. He inspected the kitchens, conferred with Sir Roland about security preparations, and ensured that every corner of the castle met his exacting standards.
As evening fell, he retreated to his private quarters—a modest room by noble standards, yet comfortable. He lit a single candle, its flickering light casting shadows that danced upon the walls.
Sitting at his desk, Edmund allowed his thoughts to wander. The return of Raimon signified more than just the homecoming of the heir; it marked a turning point. The empire was changing, tensions simmering beneath the surface. Raimon's presence at the Ducal Institute would place him at the heart of these unfolding events.
"Will he be ready?" Edmund murmured to himself. "Have we prepared him sufficiently for the burdens he must bear?"
He recalled the training sessions he had overseen in secret—the lessons in strategy, the subtle guidance in navigating the complexities of court intrigue. Raimon had always been perceptive, perhaps more so than anyone realized.
A soft knock at his door pulled him from his reverie. "Enter," he called.
The door creaked open to reveal Sir Edmund's reflection in the mirror—a phantom of his past. He blinked, and the vision dissipated, replaced by the familiar figure of Sir Roland.
"Edmund, a moment?"
"Of course. What is it?"
Sir Roland stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "We've received reports of increased bandit activity near the southern borders. Merchants are requesting additional protection."
Edmund nodded thoughtfully. "I'll inform the duke. In the meantime, discreetly increase patrols. We must ensure the safety of our people."
"Understood."
As Sir Roland departed, Edmund felt a familiar tension coiling within him—the stirrings of the protector he once was. Though he had stepped back from direct involvement in such matters, his responsibility to the duchy remained unwavering.
He stood, moving to the window that overlooked the castle grounds. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over the landscape. In the distance, he could see the faint outline of the mountains that separated the duchy's lands from the wilds beyond.
"Father," he whispered, memories of his family's fall surfacing unbidden. "I will not repeat your mistakes."
His father's ambition had consumed House Blackwood, leading to ruin and disgrace. Edmund had witnessed the consequences of unchecked desire for power. It was a path he vowed never to tread.
Instead, he found purpose in service—in ensuring that those under his care were protected and guided. Duke Raion had given him that chance, extending compassion when others would have cast him aside.
"Your grace," Edmund spoke softly into the night, "I remain your loyal servant. As long as I draw breath, I will safeguard your legacy."
The rustle of leaves drew his attention. Below, he saw Lucia leading a group of maids carrying lanterns, their laughter echoing softly as they completed their evening tasks. The sight brought a measure of peace to his restless mind.
Closing the window, Edmund prepared for rest. Tomorrow would bring new duties, new challenges. But he was resolute.
The week passed swiftly. On the day of Raimon's arrival, the castle was abuzz with quiet activity. Flowers adorned the entryway, and the finest tapestries were displayed. The staff moved with purpose, their anticipation palpable.
Edmund stood at the main entrance alongside Duke Raion and the duchess. Edward and Guillermina fidgeted excitedly nearby.
The sound of approaching hooves signaled the carriage's arrival. As it drew to a halt, a footman opened the door, and Raimon emerged. Taller, with a bearing that spoke of confidence and experience, he met their gazes with a warm smile.
"Welcome home, Raimon," Duke Raion greeted, embracing his son.
"Father, Mother," Raimon replied, returning the embrace. "It's good to be back."
The twins rushed forward, enveloping him in a flurry of hugs and laughter.
"Easy now," he chuckled. "I've missed you both."
Edmund waited patiently until Raimon's eyes met his. For a brief moment, they regarded each other—the young heir and the ever-watchful steward.
"Sir Edmund," Raimon said with genuine respect. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Raimon. Welcome home."
As the family moved inside, Edmund oversaw the seamless handling of luggage and coordination of staff. Everything unfolded precisely as planned.
Later that evening, as festivities wound down, Raimon approached Edmund privately.
"May we speak?" Raimon asked.
"Of course, my lord."
They walked along a quiet corridor, the only sound the soft tread of their footsteps.
"I wanted to thank you," Raimon began. "The castle is as welcoming as I remember, perhaps even more so."
"Your words are kind. We endeavored to make your return comfortable."
Raimon paused, his gaze thoughtful. "I sense there's much that has changed, and much that remains the same."
"Change is inevitable," Edmund replied. "But the core of who we are endures."
"Wise as ever," Raimon said with a faint smile. "I hope I can rely on your counsel in the days ahead."
Edmund inclined his head. "It is my honor to serve."
As Raimon departed to retire for the night, Edmund watched him go, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling within him.
"Perhaps," he thought, "the future is in good hands after all."
Returning to his duties, Edmund felt a renewed purpose. The shadows of his past remained, but they no longer weighed as heavily. His path was clear—to protect and guide, to serve with unwavering loyalty.
In the depths of his being, the ancient power of his lineage stirred—not as a harbinger of darkness, but as a source of strength to be wielded judiciously.
The Violet Flower Castle stood as a bastion of resilience and hope, its inhabitants bound by ties of family, honor, and destiny.
And in the shadows, Sir Edmund watched over them all—a guardian unseen, ever vigilant.