The grand office of the Viscount was quiet now. The echoes of earlier conversations had faded, leaving only the soft crackling of a fire in the hearth and the faint rustling of papers on the desk. Reinhardt sat slumped in his chair, his elbows on the polished oak surface, and his hands covering his face.
The weight of the past few days had finally caught up to him.
His daughter was safe—thank the heavens—but it didn't feel like a victory. Not when the cost was the loss of peace he had so desperately tried to preserve for his family.
He let out a long, slow breath, lowering his hands to stare at the collection of maps, letters, and reports scattered across the desk. His gaze lingered on a map of their territory, the borders marked with precise ink lines. To most, it was nothing more than a representation of land.
To him, it was a reminder of his responsibilities.
"Reinhardt…"
He looked up as Elara stepped into the room. Her expression softened as she saw the tension in his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes. "You should rest," she said gently, walking toward him.
He shook his head. "I can't. Not yet."
Elara sighed, moving to stand behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, her touch warm and comforting. "You've been carrying this burden for years, Reinhardt. You don't have to bear it alone."
Her words made his chest ache. He reached up, covering one of her hands with his own. "You've always been my strength, Elara," he murmured.
"And you've always been mine," she replied softly.
They stayed like that for a moment, the silence between them heavy but comforting.
"I never wanted this life," Reinhardt admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "When I inherited the Viscounty, I thought… maybe I could keep us safe. Maybe I could shield you and Cecilia from the ugliness of politics."
Elara squeezed his shoulder gently. "You've done your best, Reinhardt. No one could ask for more."
He let out a bitter chuckle. "And yet it wasn't enough. Cecilia was almost taken from us. And now we're caught in a web of power struggles that will only get worse."
Elara moved to sit beside him, her hands resting on his arm. "Reinhardt… what happened wasn't your fault."
"Maybe not," he said quietly. "But it's my responsibility to make sure it never happens again."
He looked down at the map, his fingers tracing the borders of their territory.
"Our lands were supposed to be a place of peace," he said. "A quiet corner of the kingdom where we could raise our daughter without fear. But peace is an illusion, isn't it?"
Elara didn't answer immediately. She knew that Reinhardt wasn't looking for reassurance—he was voicing a truth they had both come to understand over the years.
Nobility wasn't about peace. It was about power.
Reinhardt had inherited the title from his father, who had ruled their lands with a steady hand but little ambition. Their family had always been loyal to the crown, content to remain in the shadows of the Grand Dukes and the High Nobility.
But times were changing.
The kingdom was no longer a place of stability. Tensions were rising, alliances shifting, and every noble house was preparing for what many believed to be inevitable:
A power struggle for the throne.
Reinhardt's thoughts turned to the Imperial Court, where the aging Emperor's weakening grip on power had thrown the realm into uncertainty.
For forty years, the Emperor had ruled with strength and wisdom, maintaining a delicate balance between the noble factions that vied for influence. But now…
Now, the Emperor was old.
Now, the great houses were beginning to position themselves for the future.
"Do you think the Emperor will survive the coming years?" Elara asked softly, as if reading his thoughts.
Reinhardt shook his head. "It doesn't matter if he does. The court is already at war. The moment he takes his last breath, the real battles will begin."
Elara frowned. "And the Crown Prince? Isn't he the rightful heir?"
"He is," Reinhardt said. "But succession is never about who is 'rightful.' It's about who has the power to claim the throne and hold it."
The Crown Prince had the strongest claim, but his position was far from secure.
The Emperor's wives—each a queen in her own right—had been quietly maneuvering to place their sons on the throne. Each faction had its own strengths, its own allies, and its own ambitions.
The First Queen, mother of the Crown Prince, held the support of the ancient noble families who valued tradition above all else. Her faction was the most powerful, but it was also the most rigid—unable to adapt quickly to changing circumstances.
The Second Queen, whose son was also in the line of succession, had the backing of the wealthiest merchant guilds in the kingdom. Her influence lay in gold, and she wielded it like a weapon.
The Third Queen had allied herself with the military elite, using her connections to the generals and commanders of the kingdom's armies to strengthen her position.
And the Fourth Queen…
Reinhardt frowned as he thought about her.
She was the most dangerous of them all, not because of her strength, but because of her unpredictability. She had no strong backing from the nobles, the merchants, or the military, but she had woven countless alliances in the shadows.
"She's the spider in the web," Reinhardt muttered.
Elara tilted her head. "The Fourth Queen?"
"Yes," he said. "Her faction is the smallest, but it's the hardest to pin down. No one knows who she's allied with or what her true goals are. She could strike at any moment, from any direction."
Elara's expression darkened. "And the Princess?"
Reinhardt let out a slow breath. "She's the only one not involved in this mess."
The Imperial Princess had no mother to guide her, no faction to support her. She was a forgotten daughter in a court consumed by ambition and greed.
"She's an orphan in all but name," Reinhardt said. "Her mother died in childbirth, and the Emperor… Well, he has more important things to worry about than a daughter who will never sit on the throne."
Elara frowned. "That's tragic."
"It is," Reinhardt agreed. "But it also makes her dangerous."
Elara blinked. "Dangerous? How?"
"Because she's a blank slate," Reinhardt said. "She has no ties, no alliances, no loyalties. If someone were to take her under their wing, she could become a powerful tool—or a threat."
Elara's eyes widened slightly. "Do you think someone will try to use her?"
"It's only a matter of time," Reinhardt said grimly. "And when that happens, the entire court will have to decide—will they support her, or will they eliminate her?"
He tapped the map in front of him, his gaze distant. "And if the court collapses into chaos, the ripples will reach even the furthest corners of the kingdom."
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. "Including us."
Reinhardt nodded. "Including us."
House Aetheria was not a Grand Duke family. They didn't hold vast territories or command legions of soldiers.
But they controlled something just as valuable
The trade routes that connected the western cities to the capital.
Their lands were a lifeline for merchants, a gateway for goods, and a key to economic power.
That made them a valuable ally.
But it also made them a target.
"The attack on Cecilia wasn't just about us," Reinhardt said quietly. "It was a message."
Elara's grip tightened on his arm. "A message to who?"
"To anyone who stands in the way of whoever orchestrated it," Reinhardt said.
The pieces were starting to come together in his mind.
The timing of the attack, the mercenaries' coordination, the fact that they had been ordered to take Cecilia alive…
It wasn't just about House Aetheria.
It was about the bigger picture.
The kingdom was on the brink of chaos, and their family was caught in the crossfire.
---
The flickering candlelight barely touched the darkness that had settled in Reinhardt's mind. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed on the grand map of Aetheria that lay sprawled across his desk.
His mind was no longer on the court alone—it was on House Aetheria's place in the growing conflict.
Elara, seated across from him, had gone quiet, watching him with the same sharp eyes she always had when he was deep in thought.
Finally, she broke the silence. "You're not just thinking about the Emperor anymore."
Reinhardt exhaled slowly. "No. I'm thinking about us. Where we stand."
Elara frowned slightly. "We've always been neutral. Why would that change now?"
"Because neutrality," Reinhardt said, his voice heavy, "only works when the kingdom is stable."
And the kingdom was anything but stable.
Reinhardt tapped his fingers against the desk. "We are a Viscount House, Elara. Strong, but not unshakable. Respected, but not untouchable." His gaze darkened. "And worst of all, valuable."
Elara nodded slowly. "Because of the trade routes."
"Yes," Reinhardt muttered. "Our lands are not vast, but they are crucial. We control the main western trade artery to the capital. Every shipment, every caravan, every merchant traveling from the border cities to the heart of the empire passes through Aetherian land."
It had always been House Aetheria's greatest strength.
And now, it was their greatest vulnerability.
"Whoever controls the trade routes," Reinhardt continued, "controls the flow of wealth. The war chests of noble houses. The supply lines of armies. The merchants who fund the Imperial Court's lavish politics." He met Elara's eyes. "And in a time of war, those supply lines will become priceless."
Elara's expression hardened. "So we're a prize now."
Reinhardt nodded grimly. "More than that. We're a battleground."
House Aetheria had always been careful—always balanced on the knife's edge of politics.
Unlike the Grand Dukes, whose power was undeniable, and unlike the merchant families, who wielded influence through gold, Viscounts like Reinhardt had survived by playing the long game.
By not taking sides.
But now, sides were being forced upon them.
"The Grand Dukes," Reinhardt muttered, dragging his fingers across the map. "They'll be the ones making the first move."
Aetheria's kingdom was ruled by the Emperor, but beneath him, the Grand Dukes controlled the four major territories of the empire. Each Duchy was nearly a kingdom of its own, with its own armies, laws, and allegiances.
And if the Emperor's throne was about to be contested, then the Dukes would be choosing their kings.
Elara watched him carefully. "Who do you think will make the first move?"
"The Duke of Evernold," Reinhardt said immediately. "He is the Emperor's most loyal subject. If war breaks out, he'll throw his weight behind the Crown Prince without hesitation."
Elara frowned. "And the others?"
"The Duke of Velmira controls the eastern ports. He'll back whoever gives him unrestricted naval trade." Reinhardt's voice was cold. "The Duke of Thornvale… I suspect he will align with the Second Queen's faction. He's always been close to the merchant guilds."
Elara hesitated. "And the last?"
Reinhardt's jaw tightened.
"The Duke of Vuldar."
Duke Vuldar was the most ruthless and unpredictable of the four. His lands stretched across the northern borders, where the empire met the warring barbarian clans. He was a warrior first, a noble second. A man who had built his power through conquest, blood, and absolute control.
"He'll wait," Reinhardt murmured. "He won't move first. He'll watch, and when the time is right, he'll strike."
Elara shuddered slightly. "He frightens me."
"He frightens everyone," Reinhardt admitted.
If war broke out over the throne, Vuldar would not hesitate to march his legions south, carving a path through the empire until he stood before the capital gates.
And House Aetheria, sitting in the heart of the western trade routes, would be directly in his path.
"We cannot let ourselves be swallowed up in this war," Reinhardt said firmly. "We must prepare."
Elara's expression grew tense. "By doing what?"
Reinhardt exhaled slowly. "By making sure we are not easy prey."
Elara's fingers curled into fists. "Cecilia will be dragged into this, won't she?"
Reinhardt hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. The moment noble houses start arranging marriages and alliances, she will be considered a valuable piece."
Elara's face darkened. "She's just a child."
"The court doesn't care," Reinhardt said bitterly. "To them, she is House Aetheria's future. And in a world like ours, that means she is a pawn to be traded."
Elara clenched her jaw. "We need to protect her."
"We will," Reinhardt assured her. "But we need to be smart about it."
He leaned forward, tracing the map with his finger.
"There are three ways we can ensure Cecilia's safety."
Elara's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"First," Reinhardt began, "we strengthen our military. If House Aetheria becomes a fortress, no noble house will attempt to force our hand. The stronger we are, the less we will be seen as a pawn."
Elara nodded. "That will take time."
"Time we may not have," Reinhardt admitted. "Which leads to the second option: securing a powerful ally before war erupts."
Elara hesitated. "You're thinking of an alliance marriage."
Reinhardt exhaled. "If it comes to that, yes. But I'd rather not."
He would not let Cecilia be reduced to a bargaining chip.
Which left the third option.
"We find a way to stay neutral while making it clear that attacking us would be a mistake."
Elara frowned. "And how do we do that?"
Reinhardt's fingers tightened on the table.
"That," he muttered, "is what I need to figure out."
Because right now, every path led to danger.
Cecilia was growing up, and soon, she would no longer be able to hide in the safety of childhood. The noble houses would start looking at her as a prize, and if House Aetheria wasn't prepared…
They would lose everything.
Elara reached for his hand. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
Reinhardt looked at her, his expression softening.
"Yes," he murmured. "Together."
---
A/N: Hello everyone, hope you're having a good day! Sorry for not uploading any chapters—I'm still sick, but since I've got nothing better to do, I'll try to write when I can. Just a heads-up, uploads might be late. Thanks for understanding!