But it wasn't over—not yet.
I'd defeated Baron Cedric, left him humbled and shaken, but the true problem remained. This wasn't the work of a mere baron. How could someone like him, known for unsavory rumors that even my tutor was aware of, slip past the watchful eyes of the Grand Duchy?
There was a larger scheme at play, one that led me back to the person who had overseen it all.
"Mother, I need to speak with you." I didn't wait for permission, striding into her office with purpose.
Instead of scolding me for the intrusion, she merely nodded, a subtle gesture to close the door. The air shimmered as she cast a noise-blocking spell around us, her crimson eyes calm and watchful.
"It was you," I said, my tone steady, though the accusation hung in the air like a blade.
She met my gaze, her expression unfaltering, as if daring me to challenge her reasoning. "Yes," she replied, a single word loaded with understanding and unspoken burdens.
"Was it to test me?" The question burned on my tongue, half-demand, half-plea for clarity.
She sighed, the sound barely disturbing the silence, and a rare, almost imperceptible weariness touched her eyes. "Yes," she said again, this time softer, the admission carrying an edge of reluctance.
Thoughts spun through my mind, piecing together the implications of her choice. I stepped closer, my own resolve hardening as I reached out to embrace her.
She stiffened at first—years of composure slipping for just a moment—before she allowed herself to relax into the touch. For a heartbeat, we stood there, two figures bound by blood and a thousand unsaid words. Perhaps she had thought I'd be angry, feel betrayed. If I were an ordinary child, perhaps I would have. But I understood.
This wasn't cruelty; it was necessity. She hadn't chosen a harsh tutor to break Celia's spirit or mine, but because of me—because I had been holding back, wary of exposing my abilities too soon. My mother, with all her power and strategic mind, had been forced to take measures to push me forward, to ensure that I would step into the light.
Though I couldn't fully grasp the reasons for her urgency, I could see she hadn't wanted this—not any of it. Her actions had come not from a lack of love, but from the weight of responsibility.
"It must be difficult," I murmured, feeling her soften as I held her close. She didn't speak, but the silence spoke of a thousand burdens she carried, ones she would shoulder alone if she could.
For now, I wanted her to know she didn't have to.
"I'm sorry," I said softly as I stepped back, meeting her eyes. "I didn't realize you had to bear this burden because of me, Mother."
She pulled back, looking at me with eyes that were both fierce and gentle, as though I had handed her a gift she hadn't known she needed. "It's not your fault, Lance," she murmured, pressing a light kiss to my forehead. "Forgive me for not being… better."
"You don't need forgiveness, Mother," I said. "But I won't tell Celia. One day, she'll understand why you did this, and it's better she finds her own path to that understanding. So, please, don't tell her either."
A faint relief softened her face as she nodded, then pulled me close once more, whispering, "Thank you, my little genius."
'Little genius,' I thought to myself, the words holding a quiet weight. The truth was, I was still years away from being able to shoulder any true responsibility. For now, I had nothing to do but wait, to grow, to bide my time until I could be of use.
__________________________________________________________________________________
My mother didn't leave Baron Cedric's disgrace at a mere dismissal. With the full force of the Grand Duchy's authority, she dismantled him—his influence, his connections, his very standing, stripped bare until there was nothing left of his once-proud name. It was a reminder of the power she wielded and a testament to the lengths she'd go to for her family.
Soon enough, our studies expanded to cover more than etiquette and combat. A new round of lessons began, and among them was a shared session in which we were introduced to the intricacies of politics and geography.
'It seems that mother doesn't want Celia to be afraid,' I thought. It was a wise decision.
Our tutor, Viscountess Rivelle, was the same one who was teaching Celia etiquette—a precise woman with an ever-discerning gaze and an intimidating air of authority. Today, she stood before us, a map unfurled on the table, pointing out the vast territories of the Killion Empire.
"My Lord, my Lady," she began, her voice as crisp as morning frost. "As direct descendants of the Grand Duchy of Silvaria, your station holds considerable weight. There are few who would dare challenge you. In the Killion Empire, there are only two other dukes and one archduke, in addition to the Grand Duchess herself. This means that within our lands, only the Archduke's family and the Imperial family rank above you."
Her eyes glinted with a kind of quiet satisfaction as she continued, "Understand this hierarchy well. In this empire, power is not merely a matter of rank but of influence, alliances, and perception. You are learning not just your own places but the delicate web of loyalties that holds the empire together."
The two pillars of nobility in the Killion Empire: the Grand Duchy of Silvaria and the Archdukedom of Ardenfall. These two families stood at the very pinnacle of power, just a step below the Imperial family itself.
They were known as the White Wolf and the Black Lion, symbols that had come to embody each house's distinct legacy. The White Wolf of Silvaria, proud and watchful, was a lineage steeped in tradition, its knights renowned for their honor and skill. The Black Lion of Ardenfall, fierce and unyielding, was known for its relentless strength and commanding presence on the battlefield.
Their knights and swordsmen held near-mythical status, each house cultivating a legacy of martial prowess that few dared to challenge. The current Archduke of Ardenfall was reputed to be the only swordsman to rival my mother in skill—a title few could even dream of attaining. Together, they were the finest warriors of the Empire, each a testament to the power and discipline of their bloodlines.
The two other ducal houses, though powerful in their own right, could not claim the same ancient prestige or unyielding strength of Silvaria and Ardenfall. These founding families of Killion, alongside the Imperial family, formed the bedrock of the empire's might and honor.
"In fact," Viscountess Rivelle smiled knowingly, "the Grand Duchy of Silvaria is currently in a position where it need not bow to the Imperial family."
Her words immediately piqued my interest. I leaned forward, intrigued.
"Does that mean the Imperial family is… weak?" I asked, hesitant yet curious.
She inclined her head in a subtle nod. "It's a reality that you both should be aware of. The Imperial family, while still powerful, has been waning over time. Their strength is no longer absolute. In truth, they now lack the power to subdue either the Grand Duchy of Silvaria or the Archdukedom of Ardenfall, even should the need arise."
My eyes widened as I took this in. This was no small revelation. Traditionally, the ruling family must maintain supremacy over all its vassals, or risk losing loyalty to independence. Yet here, two noble houses stood strong enough to defy the empire itself—a precarious balance indeed.
The notion struck deep, reshaping my understanding of power within Killion. It seemed that even the throne was not as unassailable as it appeared.