The grand hall of the imperial palace glittered with gold and silk. Rows of long tables stretched across its length, overflowing with nobles, dignitaries, and the students of the Valerian Mage Academy.
At the very end stood the emperor’s table, comically longer and larger than the rest. At its head sat Emperor Xavier Valerian, the weight of his presence felt more keenly than the jeweled crown upon his brow. The princes were seated close to him, followed by the highest nobles of the realm. Further down, the head of the academy presided with the top five students—Serina among them.
When Aric entered, the hall plunged into silence. For one breath, two. Then the whispers began to rise like locusts.
"Isn’t that the forgotten prince?"
"I thought he was bedridden."
"Careful with your words—I heard he killed men for laughing at him earlier today."
Speculation spread across the hall in hissing fragments, but Aric remained utterly composed, his expression unreadable.
Escorted by a guard, he strode toward the emperor’s table. The arrangement was symbolic: the closer one sat to the emperor, the greater their authority. Yet as Aric approached, it became painfully clear—no seat had been prepared for him.
He stopped a respectful distance away, bowing slightly.
"Brothers," he greeted evenly, before turning. "Father."
They returned his greeting with slight nods or gestures, save for the second prince, Sylas, who spoke with polished courtesy.
"Younger Brother, it seems your arrival was unexpected. An extra seat was not prepared, but I’ll have th—"
"No, no." Aric lifted a hand, voice calm. "There’s no need. I’ll sit anywhere. It doesn’t matter."
He walked the length of the table without waiting for permission and chose a seat midway down, deliberately unconcerned. The slight was turned on its head—his poise made it seem as though it was their oversight, not his humiliation.
At the head, Emperor Xavier regarded him. The man was a study in contradictions: hair as white as snow, yet a body brimming with vitality. His aura was so heavy that martial masters claimed it robbed them of breath. He was known for silence more than words, but his eyes lit with faint amusement as he leaned on one arm.
"Tell me, Aric," the emperor said at last, his voice carrying across the hall, "why have you decided to grace us with your presence this year?"
The table fell silent.
Aric reached for the nearest glass of wine, raised it lightly, and sipped before replying.
"I heard the wine was worth the attendance," he said dryly. Then, after tasting, added, "Seems I wasn’t lied to."
For a moment, silence held. Then the emperor’s booming laughter filled the hall, breaking the tension. Sycophantic nobles followed with forced chuckles.
"If that’s not reason enough, I don’t know what is!" Xavier laughed, standing.
At once, the entire hall’s attention bent to him.
"I don’t believe there will be any more surprises tonight, so I’ll address you all now." His jest carried an undercurrent of acknowledgment at Aric’s late entrance.
"You are all welcome. Though I host this every year, this night is not about me. It is about the prides of our empire—the students of the Valerian Mage Academy. For centuries, its graduates have stood as the pillars of our legions, the very foundation of our strength. Tonight, we celebrate not only their skill, but the future of the empire itself."
"To the empire’s future."
The toast was echoed across the room, glasses raised high before the banquet resumed.
The atmosphere buzzed with curiosity. Though music played and servants wove between tables, whispers of the fourth prince persisted, his name a shadow over every conversation.
At the emperor’s table, however, the talk was heavier. From jest to politics, the nobles circled like vultures around matters of state. Aric, as expected, stayed quiet. His absence from public affairs had been absolute until now. Most believed him ignorant of governance, and he played the role with ease—listening, watching, calculating.
It wasn’t long before the topic turned bitter.
"The Byzeth situation grows troublesome," Lord Hozai said, a loyal mouthpiece of the third prince, Darius. "The king fancies himself strong since breaking through the martial master realm. He forgets the empire’s shadow falls long. Still... handling him will require finesse."
"Finesse?" scoffed Sylas, the second prince. "Or we could make a brutal example."
"Surely, your highness," Hozai countered smoothly, "the people of Byzeth are only misguided. A lighter touch could reel them back in—gold, promises of autonomy. Diplomacy achieves what swords cannot."
Then, with deliberate malice, the lord turned.
"And what do you think, Prince Aric?"
The trap was obvious: force the forgotten prince into political discourse, expose his ignorance, let the hall laugh.
All eyes fell on him. Some eager to mock, others—like Sylas and the emperor—curious.
Aric didn’t rise to it. He swirled the wine in his glass, voice level.
"You must believe money solves everything."
"Indeed I do," Hozai replied swiftly. "I pay my guards well. As a result, none dare humiliate me in public."
A thinly veiled jab. A reference to the men Aric executed at his estate.
Aric smiled faintly, cold as winter.
"Let’s say we follow your method. A few bribes, some concessions... Suddenly, the emperor’s authority is up for auction. Any kingdom can revolt and simply be paid to fall back in line. And so we bleed gold until there’s nothing left. Clearly unsustainable."
Hozai shifted, discomfort cracking his polished veneer.
"So what do you suggest?" he asked, forcing composure.
Aric’s answer came sharp as a blade.
"Burn their fields. Raze their city. Hang their leaders. And the world sees what rebellion brings."
A hush swept the table. The hall seemed to lean in. No one had expected such brutal clarity from the forgotten prince. The rumors of bloodshed were no rumor at all.
"And the people?" Darius interjected smoothly, wearing his mask of civility. "Would you advise slaughtering women and children?"
Aric finally looked up, his gaze like steel.
"Survivors live their lives with a lesson. Fear breeds loyalty far better than gold or promises. For example—our lord here boasts of loyal guards. But they’re loyal to his coin, not to him. What happens when someone pays them more? Authority built on gold crumbles. Mine, however..." His eyes sharpened. "...my guards will think twice before betraying me, when the head of their companion decorates my table. Don’t you agree, Lord Hozai?"
The lord’s fist tightened beneath the tablecloth.
"Harsh methods, your highness," he said stiffly. "Some would call it unnecessary cruelty."
"Cruelty?" Aric leaned back with a shrug. "Perhaps. But sometimes cruelty is the truest mercy. Mercy for the empire. When one kingdom rebels, others will follow—unless fear roots them still. End it quickly, decisively, and we spare greater bloodshed later."
He pushed his chair back and rose, glass in hand.
"Terror is a tool, my lord. And unlike loyalty bought with coin..." His gaze locked with Hozai’s, unblinking. "...fear does not forget."
He raised the glass briefly, then set it aside.
"Now, if you’ll excuse me—I’ll take some air."
Without waiting for reply, Aric walked from the table, leaving nobles and princes alike in stunned silence. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝕟𝕖𝕥