Chapter 3:
Morning arrived in a cascade of golden light, spilling through the grand windows of the Raye estate. Tanver Raye stood before his mirror, dressed in a dark, meticulously tailored coat embroidered with silver accents—the insignia of his house gleaming at his collar. His reflection bore the weight of expectation, yet his gaze remained unwavering.
Today was not a lesson. It was a battlefield where words held the power of swords.
A knock at the door.
"Enter," he said.
Edgar stepped inside, bowing slightly. "Your father awaits you in the courtyard. The carriage is prepared."
Without a word, Tanver strode past the steward and into the marble corridors of the estate. Every step echoed with purpose.
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The courtyard was alive with motion—servants preparing the carriage, guards standing at attention. Lord Varian was already waiting, his imposing figure clad in a dark overcoat. Beside him, Lady Seraphina stood with effortless poise, her presence exuding silent authority.
As Tanver approached, his mother's gaze swept over him, assessing. "You will represent our house today," she said. "Remember who you are."
"I have not forgotten," Tanver replied.
A hint of approval flickered in her eyes before she turned away.
Lord Varian motioned for him to follow, and together they stepped into the waiting carriage.
As the wheels began to turn, Tanver stared out the window. The estate grounds stretched far beyond the horizon, but even the vastness of their domain did not distract him. His mind was already at the negotiation table.
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House Vernhardt's estate loomed ahead—a fortress of wealth and ambition. Unlike the elegant, time-honored architecture of the Raye estate, the Vernhardt stronghold exuded raw power, its walls built to intimidate rather than inspire.
When the carriage came to a halt, Tanver stepped out alongside his father. A retinue of Vernhardt guards stood at the entrance, their eyes sharp and watchful.
A steward escorted them through the halls, past intricate tapestries depicting battles of conquest. Every detail of the estate spoke of a house that thrived on control.
At last, they entered a grand chamber where the meeting would take place. A long table stood at the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs. At the far end sat Darius Vernhardt—a man as formidable as his reputation. His broad shoulders and calculating gaze gave the impression of a seasoned ruler, one who commanded without question.
Seated beside him was Victor Vernhardt, his son and heir, a young man near Tanver's age. Unlike his father, Victor's expression held an air of amusement, as if this meeting was nothing more than a game.
Lord Varian took his seat without hesitation, his movements controlled yet commanding. Tanver mirrored him, settling into place beside his father.
Darius Vernhardt leaned forward slightly. "Lord Raye," he greeted, his deep voice carrying an edge of politeness laced with challenge. "Shall we begin?"
Lord Varian's expression remained impassive. We shall."
The game had begun.
And Tanver was ready to play.