The door clicked shut behind Priscilla, her echo a ghost swallowed by the chamber’s silence.
Lucavion stood still for a mont, fingertips resting loosely on the edge of the chessboard. The pieces remained untouched. Illegal. True. And in that strange, wordless configuration—they felt right.
The pawn did not belong beside the queen.
But neither of them had ever asked permission.
A faint smile touched his lips, dry and unreadable.
Then—movent.
The room responded, once again, to his shifting thoughts. The light dimd slightly, coolening to a duskier hue. A breeze flickered across the glass walls, brushing against him like a nod of acknowledgnt.
’Enough symbols for one afternoon,’ he thought, drawing the velvet gloves back over his hands.
Now ca the other part.
The vultures.
The velvet-gloved ones.
—
The next set of guests arrived in pairs and threes—noble sons with inherited smiles, guildmasters with hands heavy from rings and promises, rchant-lords whose robes whispered coin. None of them bore a royal seal. None carried imperial weight.
But the ambitions?
Oh, those still stank of it.
Lucavion let them enter one by one, two by two. Watched them sit with stiff backs and oiled pleasantries. And every single one—
—offered him sothing.
Gold. Vast reserves of it, pulled from ancestral vaults that no longer had heirs worthy of wielding it.
Titles. Baron. Viscount. One even offered him a stripped-down lordship of a borderland province that had been politically stagnant for years. "A quiet seat," the man had called it. "But rich in untapped resources, if managed properly."
Land. Private manors. Mines. Even an enchanted orchard that supposedly bore fruit laced with minor mana.
And all of it—all of it—ca with the sa clause.
"Under our banner," they’d say. "With our blessing."
Which ant obedience.
Leash.
Lucavion smiled through them all. Politely. Noncommittally. He drank tea, nodded at maps, traced the edges of scrolls lined with terms they thought generous.
He gave them nothing.
But he rembered everything.
And of course—because nothing could ever truly stay clean—there were those still clinging to the rot beneath the throne.
House Igraine’s envoy ca next. A young man in silver robes with eyes as sharp as broken glass and twice as hollow. He carried himself like nobility was a birthright and Lucavion’s existence was so charming accident yet to be corrected.
"I must admit," the envoy said with a faint smirk, "for a commoner, you’ve drawn quite the attention. Curious how quickly so rise with borrowed wings."
Lucavion didn’t respond imdiately.
Instead, he turned the teacup in his hand, letting the silence stretch like leather over a blade.
Then: "I’ve never borrowed anything in my life," he said, voice light but firm. "But if I ever do... it won’t be from a house too afraid to stand on its own without the Crown Prince’s shadow."
The envoy stiffened—only slightly. But Lucavion caught it.
Another smile.
Another reminder.
He hadn’t needed fire this ti.
Just words.
But others weren’t quite as smug. The eastern guildmaster—a weathered man with storm-threaded hair and laughter lines that hadn’t dulled his ambition—offered Lucavion a contract sealed with a soul-mark clause. Not ownership, but exclusivity.
"You wouldn’t be a tool," he said. "You’d be a partner. We’d share your findings. Your arcane patents. Your discoveries. You’d be set for life."
Lucavion looked at the man.
Then quietly folded the contract and handed it back, unburned.
"I’ve already set my life," he said calmly. "I’m just deciding how many people will regret not being part of it."
There were no explosions this ti.
No thunder.
No sealing flas.
Just one by one, the sponsors ca... and left.
So with confused flattery.
So with quiet insult.
So with silent, seething pride, already thinking of how to twist his refusal into a challenge.
Lucavion remained still through it all.
Observing.
Listening.
Weighing.
And through it all, one thought kept threading through his mind—
They think I’m hunting security.
But they were wrong.
He wasn’t looking for a net.
He was building the stage.
*****
The dining hall that evening buzzed—not with conversation, but with the quiet hum of minds spinning behind settled eyes. The long marble table was lit low, the chandeliers above flickering with soft, steady illumination from aether-infused crystals. It cast a hush over everything. Not silence, exactly. Just... restraint.
Everyone had spoken with power today.
Now they were tasting the aftershocks.
Mireilla was the first to speak, predictably. She stabbed a piece of roasted ga with unnecessary aggression, then glanced around. "Anyone else get the impression that half the Empire’s sponsors are just different masks for the sa damn face?"
Caeden gave a small nod. "Crown Prince’s faction. They’re consolidating."
"Consolidating," she scoffed. "You make it sound noble. They’re just picking the fastest horses for their parade."
"They’re offering quite a lot," Toven added, though not without hesitation. "I an—titles. Equipnt. Even access to restricted archives."
"And that’s what makes it dangerous," Elayne said softly, setting her cup down. "Too much, too soon. It ans they’re not just interested. They’re committed. And if they’re committed, they’ll expect us to be the sa."
Lucavion didn’t speak at first. He was watching his tea swirl again, the motion slow, idle. Not distracted. Just precise. Waiting.
Toven glanced his way. "How many did you get?"
Lucavion tilted his head as if considering whether to answer.
Then: "Seventeen."
That silenced the table.
Even Caeden looked briefly surprised.
"Seventeen?" Mireilla repeated, incredulous.
Lucavion offered a small, half-lazy smile. "I’m charming."
"Or terrifying," Elayne muttered.
He didn’t deny it.
Caeden leaned forward slightly. "Let guess. Most of yours were from the Prince’s supporters?"
"Nine," Lucavion said. "The others.....They were rather wild."
Toven leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sa for . Almost all of them bore the sun-sigil. So even used the Crown Prince’s rhetoric directly. ’Unified potential,’ ’loyal ascension,’ all that."
Mireilla scowled as she pushed her plate away. "I got seven offers. Five were from houses I’m pretty sure sponsored Vale before Lucavion turned him into soup."
"You an Seran," Elayne said, voice neutral.
Mireilla gave a dry laugh. "Right. His real na. Guess that didn’t work out for them."
Caeden spoke last, quiet but firm. "Ten offers. Eight from the Prince’s bloc. Most subtle. One was not."
They all glanced at Lucavion.
He didn’t gloat. Not aloud.
But his eyes were calm.
Knowing.
And the smile he wore was faint—not mocking, not pleased.
Inevitable.
’So... he moves quickly now. Good.’
He sipped his tea again, eyes lowered to the swirl within, as if the truth of it all lay hidden in the steam.
’When I burned Seran out of the board, he must have realized the flaw. He thought grooming a noble-born underdog would ta the tide. Win him the "common" loyalty.’
His fingers tapped the rim of the cup once.
’But Seran was never common. Just packaged that way. He was raised to serve. To obey. To follow.’
’And I don’t follow.’
He let that truth linger in his mind. Cold. Clean.
’So now the Crown Prince casts a wider net. More offers. More gilded chains. He wants to turn his loss into leverage. Rebrand the mistake. Replace the pawn he lost... with sothing more palatable.’
A slow breath escaped him.
’That much was obvious.’
Just then, the chamber doors opened.
Kaleran entered with the sa precision he always carried—eyes sharp, robes uncreased despite a day of logistics and sponsor wrangling.
He scanned the room with one sweep, noting who was missing [no one], who was alert [few], and who was hiding knives behind their eyes [just Lucavion].
-----------A/N----------
I really am annoyed.
I was unable to post the Chapter yesterday, because it kept giving so network errors all the ti, and I thought the server was down or sothing.
But apparently, it was not the server, since I was able to post Hunter’s Chapters. And I decided to check what was wrong and;
For so reason, in the last paragraph, using () brackets bugged the system. I changed them to [] brackets and everything is now fine!
Zzz.....
That was it....Sorry for the late Chapters.
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