Count Ted Palaptine had once stood among the most formidable men in the realm, his dominion over the trade routes unrivalled. Through shrewd dealings and monopolistic control, he governed the flow of precious gemstones, rare goods, and even illicit war matériel—much of it trafficked unlawfully from the Wraisan Empire. His influence was such that even the Emperor himself had, on more than one occasion, been forced to weigh decisions carefully when they concerned the Count. With his charm and formidable network of alliances, Ted Palaptine had become an indispensable figure at councils with foreign dignitaries and rulers.
But as is often the fate of men who soar too high on borrowed wings, his fall was sudden and ruinous. The truth of his transgressions was unearthed not by spies or jealous rivals, but by none other than Prince Flavian, the then-heir to the imperial throne. Through diligent investigation and moral resolve, the young prince exposed the Count's clandestine dealings, laying bare his betrayals before the court and the Emperor himself. Ted Palaptine was branded a traitor to the Empire. His rights to the coastal trade lands were stripped, his influence severed at the root. The Emperor, in a swift and unflinching decree, dissolved all monopolies and redirected all major trade through the capital, where shipments would now undergo rigorous scrutiny under the eyes of the Crown.
Disgraced, the Count fled the Empire and sought refuge in the Wraisan court, where the Emperor of that land, driven by his own ambition, welcomed him as a guest, if not an honoured pawn. The shame of the scandal weighed heavily on his household. Countess Courtney Palaptine, unable to bear the disgrace of her husband's downfall, took her own life. Their only son, Dale Palaptine, was left in the care of his uncle and aunt, Marcel and Amelia Palaptine, who inherited the Countship in the wake of Ted's exile.
From his exile in the Wraisan Empire, Ted began laying the foundation for his vengeance. He could not touch the prince through force—his armies were gone, his ships seized, his influence severed. But he could still act from the shadows. Together with Marcel, Ted conspired. Assassins were hired in secret, their blades meant for Prince Flavian's throat. But time and again, they failed. The Prince lived, untouchable.
Then, as if conjured by fate, three cloaked men appeared—assassins once again—but this time, they bore news that would set Ted's heart ablaze: the Crown Prince had been taken. Kidnapped. Alive. Ted had first suspected a trap, but Marcel assured him the news was genuine. Proof was provided. The impossible had happened.
For Ted, it was a triumph. Years of humiliation would be repaid, not in silence, but in vengeance. The downfall of Prince Flavian had begun—one orchestrated not by armies or empires, but by the long shadow of a family betrayed.
Back in the capital, Dale Palaptine had already been dragged through the gates of the Imperial Palace, bound and beaten, the wealth and arrogance he once wielded stripped away like a rotting coat. Under the torch-lit arches of the prison dungeons, Leesa walked silently down the long, stone corridor where the worst of the empire's criminals were kept. Behind the iron bars were hollow men, whispering curses, begging for forgiveness, or murmuring their final prayers.
She stopped before one particular cell and looked into it. There, chained to a heavy chair, was Dale Palpatine. His fine clothes were torn, his hair matted with sweat and blood. He looked up at her with one good eye, the other swollen shut. Leesa did not speak immediately. She only looked at him. The once-proud merchant Lord, whom she fought to get to this very position she had, was now nothing more than a husk of power.
Without a word, she unlatched the gate and stepped inside. The clank of the iron behind her sealed them both in shadow and silence.
Dale stirred, groaning, his wrists chained high and raw. When his blurred vision focused and he recognised the woman before him, he instinctively recoiled. Leesa, daughter of the Duke, and commander of the elite Imperial army. Her name alone made lesser men tremble, but Dale had seen her fight—had heard the torturous tales whispered by assassins who'd fled her wrath. She was no noblewoman today. She was an executioner in waiting.
Her gaze bore into him, impassive as cold iron. "Did you truly believe you could steal from the Empire and vanish into smoke, untouched?"
A cold shiver coursed through Dale's body. He had once stood beside her in battle. Now, face to face once more, he found himself on the edge of begging. But something bitter within him stirred, a last shred of pride, a stubborn flicker of the old Palpatine name.
"I was not aware the Empire sent royalty to chase petty crimes," he sneered weakly. "Is it Lady Marlene now? Or should I call you Commander—as they do among the common ranks?"
Leesa tilted her head, unmoved. "Since you know why I am here. That will make it easier. Tell me—what are Ted and Marcel Palpatine planning?"
Dale forced a chuckle, though it came out as more of a cough. "Do you imagine I am privy to their councils? Even if I were, why would I betray my own blood for you?"
A sigh escaped her lips—calm, deliberate. "You made me do this."
Without another word, she drove her boot into his face. Blood burst from his nose as he howled in pain. He slumped, dazed, only for her to step behind him. From her pocket, she produced a thin, wicked-looking tool. Before he could flinch, she seized his hand and ripped a fingernail free.
His screams tore through the dungeon.
"You will answer," she said coldly, "or you will die without your tongue and your fingers."
Dale writhed, breathless, broken. And slowly, as the torment continued, so too did his resistance. Between ragged sobs and tortured gasps, the truth came pouring out like blood from an open wound.
"My father… Ted Palpatine… he ordered me into the Imperial Surveillance team. He told me to turn a blind eye whenever a certain ship passed."
Leesa's lips curled. "So while your family plotted, you lined your pockets."
"No… please, I—"
She struck him again, this time in the stomach. His body jolted. Tears streamed down his cheeks now, mixing with the grime and blood.