Four years had passed since Rael Veyron Ravenclive had knelt on marble and been crowned Count of Ravenclare—a ruined title for a ruined land.
Once a desolate graveyard of crumbling villages and starving children, Ravenclare had slowly begun to stir beneath his rule.
Now, he stood behind the doors of the Imperial Audience Hall again, boots still dusted and drenched with ashes and blood from the siege of Blackmere. The victory was decisive. The cost—unspoken. His crimson cloak bore soot, his armor still dented. He hadn't even changed before being summoned. The Emperor wanted his warhound to look the part.
The grand doors of the throne room parted with a groan of ancient wood and metal. Count Rael Ravenclive strode forward, his black cloak torn and dusted with the ash of battle, still muddied from the siege lines. He halted before the gilded dais, where the Emperor Lucien IV, sat like a god on high.
Without waiting for a command, Rael knelt. The cold marble bit into his knees, but it was the silence that struck hardest—an expectant, watching silence as courtiers leaned in, eager for spectacle.
"Count Ravenclive," the Emperor said, voice rich and slow, "our victorious hound returns. We are grateful."
Rael kept his head bowed. "It was my duty, Your Imperial Majesty."
"Indeed. And has our hound fetched us glory?"
A ripple of laughter passed through the nobles. Rael's jaw tightened.
"I bring word of victory. The enemy garrison has surrendered. The southern pass is ours again."
The Emperor descended the steps, each footfall deliberate. He stopped just short of Rael and circled him like a lion eyeing prey.
"You kneel well," he murmured, loud enough for all to hear. "It suits you."
Another round of soft chuckles. Rael remained still, fists clenched against the polished floor.
"Tell me," the Emperor continued, voice silken, "what boon does our loyal dog seek in return for this service?"
Rael lowered his head, fists clenched against the bitter chill in his gut. This moment—this begging—was the price of survival. " Your Majesty ,Ravenclare was ravaged during the rebellion. We've stabilized, but the northern winters are harsh. Ravenclare is unprepared ,My lord. Supplies are thin, roads impassable. I humbly request additional funds to ensure my people survive the season"
Silence stretched. Rael didn't lift his head. He hated this. The taste of it in his mouth—humility laced with resentment. But Ravenclare was his mother's land. It had once known warmth, and if he had to kneel before the man he loathed to restore even a spark of that warmth, then so be it.
The Emperor's voice was silk over steel.
"So the Bloodhound begs Again now. How poetic."
He turned to the court. "You see, lords and ladies? Even heroes bow when they hunger."
Laughter erupted now, louder, freer. Rael's ears burned with the sound, but he did not rise. Not yet.
Rael remained bowed, swallowing the shame. "I only ask for the people of Ravenclare, Your Majesty."
For Four years, Rael had bled on foreign soil—marching into wars not his own, sieges where he was used like a blade others didn't want to tarnish. In return, Ravenclare received the barest scrap of coin and grain—just enough to keep its children breathing and its fields from starving. And every time, he had to kneel before this court of silk and sneers, parading his need like a beggar with a crown-shaped bowl.
This time was no different.
The Emperor walked back towards his throne, hands clasped behind his back.
A pause.
A hush.
Then the Emperor's smile widened as he turned back to the court from his dias.
"You return with blood still drying on your blade, and yet your concern is fodder and firewood." He leaned forward.
"You've done well, Ravenclive. Loyal. Useful just like dog should be. You have been so useful, in fact, that I've decided to reward you. I shall grant you something greater."
Rael's chest tightened. This wasn't how the script went. He asked. They scoffed. He groveled. They relented—barely.
The Emperor's next words silenced the hall.
"You shall marry Lady Ariana Lesley Trimene. The Rose of the Empire. A noble far above your station... but consider it a price for your valor."
The breath left Rael's lungs.
He raised his head—only slightly—eyes wide in disbelief. The court buzzed behind him, like crows circling fresh carrion. Lady Ariana? The Duke's daughter? This wasn't a reward. It was a trap dressed in silk.
He bowed his head swiftly, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "Your Majesty… Lady Ariana is a jewel of the Empire. She does not deserve to be tied to a ruined count, to Ravenclare's ashes. I beg you to reconsider."
The Emperor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Are you defying me, boy?"
A chill worse than any northern wind curled in Rael's spine.
"No, your majesty" he said, voice steady now, the last flicker of resistance snuffed.
"Good," the Emperor said. "Then serve with grace. The engagement will be announced before the court. You may take your leave."
With a flick of his robe, he resumed his throne, and only then did Rael rise—slowly, stiffly. His pride lay shattered on the floor, yet he stood straight, gaze forward ,every movement controlled. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.
He bowed again as he turned, cloak trailing like a shadow, and walked out of the hall. Rael's boots echoed against the marble as he left the Audience Hall, the heavy doors shutting behind him like the final note of a dirge.
He didn't make it far before familiar footsteps approached—two of his closest aides, Sebastian and Eldric, falling into step beside him.
Sebastian, ever the bolder of the two, raised an eyebrow. "Did it go as planned, my lord? Was the Emperor merciful this time?"
Rael said nothing.
Eldric glanced at the soot still clinging to Rael's cloak and frowned. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Did he deny the request again?"
Before Rael could answer, another figure emerged from a side corridor—Leon, the youngest of his inner circle and sharp-tongued as ever. He folded his arms with a wry smirk. "Not exactly. Seems we're not getting coin or grain this time. We're getting a bride instead."
The other two stopped in their tracks, turning to Rael in disbelief.
Sebastian blinked. "A bride?"
Eldric's brow furrowed. "Is that true?"
Rael gave a slow nod, his jaw clenched. "Lady Ariana Lesley Trimene. The Rose of the Empire. The Emperor has declared our engagement before the court."
A stunned silence followed.
"I don't know what game the Emperor is playing," Rael said quietly, "though he has never been predictable. But this time... this is more than a slight. Duke Trimene is no ordinary noble. He wouldn't even have me as Lady Ariana's knight, let alone her husband."
Sebastian exhaled. "That makes no sense. The Duke's connected to the Empress by blood. He's been the loudest voice of opposition in court for years."
Eldric nodded grimly. "There's more to this. The Emperor's making a statement—dressing up humiliation as honor."
Rael's expression was hard. "Exactly. Binding his daughter to the red-eyed mutt he despises... it's a leash. One for both me and the Duke."
A moment passed in heavy silence before Leon, leaning against the cold stone wall, asked, "So... what now? What do we do about the funds?"
Rael paused, then looked down, the weight of the question clear in the tension of his shoulders. He met Leon's gaze.
"Honestly? I don't know. But I'm sure there'll be some way—there has to be. We still have three months before the cold truly sets in. All I know is that we'll have to work harder than ever. And I... I'm sorry for being so incompetent. But I ask for your support."
"Incompetent?" Eldric scoffed. "What nonsense. You've bled in trenches, marched through blizzards, and drowned yourself in mud and fire for this land. Since you came to Ravenclare, our children have food. We're alive. We're grateful, my lord—and loyal. It's our honor to stand by you."
Sebastian gave a curt nod. "Eldric's right. This is the King's cruelty, not your failing. We'll find a way. We'll make sure no one dies of cold."
A faint smile touched Rael's lips, worn but sincere. "Thank you. Truly."
Then Eldric, clearing his throat, asked, "When's the wedding, anyway?"
Rael hesitated only a beat. "Next week."
Silence returned—sharper, more solemn than before.
And then they walked on, toward the chambers that had grown colder.
............................
Ariana Lesley Trimene, now twenty and more regal than ever, sat in the sun-drenched parlour of House Trimene, surrounded by the Empire's most prominent noble daughters. The lace hem of her gown kissed the marble floor as she lifted her teacup with effortless grace, her poise now ingrained into her very bones.
"Lady Trimene, you are the Rose of the Empire," purred Lady Lydia Ferdinand, leaning forward. "Surely the Crown Prince has noticed."
"Indeed," chimed Mariane, brushing a curl behind her ear. "They say he kept glancing your way during the Solstice Ball."
"Oh, I'm not one to pry," added Marybeth with a coy smile, "but anyone below the rank of Duke is unworthy of you, My Lady."
Ariana offered a polite smile, her voice gentle. "You're all too kind."
"Did you hear? Count Ravenclive returned from the siege. They say he didn't lose a single man." said Lydia.
"Marybeth might know," She teased. "Her brother's been haunting the Imperial Court more than usual."
"Sir Mackael?" Ariana tilted her head.
"Of course," Marybeth said with pride. "He's always been obsessed with politics. He mentioned that the infamous red-eyed Count returns today. Apparently, he captured Blackmere. Some victory that opens up trade routes—whatever that means."
"Count Ravenclive?" Lydia scoffed. "The Bloodhound of Ravenclare?"
"They say he'll go groveling to the Emperor again," added Mariane with a snide chuckle. "Same as every year."
"Yes," Lydia agreed, sipping delicately. "Ravenclare is a beggar's wasteland, and he's made a tradition of it—pleading for funds. My father says it's disgraceful."
"My brother thinks he's squandering the crown's coin," Marybeth said. "Either that, or hiding behind tall tales of ruin."
Mariane lowered her voice dramatically. "Some say he has demon blood. That he's ruthless—cruel. But isn't he just Around 21 or 22 years old?"
"Yes, you are right , My cousin was in the war," Lydia added. "He said Ravenclive shows no mercy. A beast, not a man. Even at that tender age. It must be in his blood."
Ariana's fingers stilled around her teacup.
"Sounds like a man desperate to uphold duty," she said softly, her gaze thoughtful. "But mocking someone whose burdens we barely understand—that's rather unladylike, wouldn't you agree? But I do agree that we need to be a bit vary of him"
The ladies paused, exchanging glances.
"Sympathetic, are we, Lady Ariana?" Marybeth said dryly.
"Only observant," she replied smoothly with an elegant smile . "Indeed !" Lydia exclaimed, "as always lady Ariana , you remain virtuous".
The room fell momentarily silent, discomfort rippling beneath powdered smiles.
Before another word could be exchanged, a maid rushed in and bowed. "My lady, the Duke summons you."
Ariana's stomach knotted at the mention of her father, but outwardly, she remained composed.
Ariana nodded gracefully and rose from her seat, her silk skirts whispering across the marble as she left the parlour—elegant, composed, and very much unreadable.
Ariana knocked softly on the towering mahogany doors. The moment they creaked open, her father's voice thundered from within.
"Come in!"
She entered with her head bowed, skirts whispering against the marble, and curtsied gracefully. " Father. You summoned me."
The Duke of Calvans didn't look at her. His hands were clenched behind his back as he stared out the tall window, voice venomous.
"A disgrace," he muttered. "A deliberate insult."
He spun around, eyes blazing. "That bastard of an Emperor dares to mock me! Me, Duke Trimene—pillar of the realm, the only man who dares question his decrees! And why does he get to humiliate me so publicly? Because of you!"
Ariana remained still, heart hammering. Her voice was calm, too calm. "I... I don't understand. I am sorry if I've disappointed you, but please—tell me what has happened."
He scoffed, throwing his arms out. "You are to wed the Count of Ravenclare."
He slammed the goblet of wine in his hands against the desk, not hard enough to shatter, but enough to make her flinch. "You. You let this happen. I told you—no, I warned you—stay close to the Crown Prince. Charm him. Win him. You could have had the throne at your feet. But instead?"
Her breath caught. The words hit her like ice water. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression calm. But when he spat out the words 'you are to wed the Count,' her legs buckled beneath her. She fell to her knees.
"All the wealth I gathered for your dowry—years of careful planning—now handed over to a beggar! A red-eyed brute who licks the Emperor's boots for alms because he cannot even keep his own province alive!" The duke continued.
His fists slammed against the table. "That pitiful wretch... And I am powerless to stop it! The King calls it an honor—'the privilege of gaining a war hero as a son-in-law.' As if I should thank him!"
Ariana , on her knees pleaded. "Father, please. I don't want to marry him."
"You should've thought of that when I told you to pursue the Prince. You had one task—to elevate this house to the highest seat in the realm—and you failed."
His voice turned cold.
"To defy the Emperor now would be treason. The wedding is set. One week. Do not show me your face until then."
She remained kneeling as he turned away, his footsteps echoing out of the room. The door closed with a hollow click.
............................
In her room, Ariana sat curled on the floor of her chambers, leaning against the side of her bed, the door locked behind her. The silence roared.
Her eyes were dry—but burning. Her pride, her dreams, her autonomy—all handed off like a bargaining chip in a game she'd never agreed to play.
She wanted to scream. To break something. To tear down the satin curtains and shatter every glass trinket. But she couldn't. Not here. Not under her father's roof. Not with the ever-watching eyes.
Instead, she clutched the silver locket at her throat—the only thing her mother had left her. Her fingers trembled as they curled around it, pressing it to her heart.
"Mama… what do I do?"
Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and scalding. She had defended Count Ravenclive earlier, believing it a mark of grace not to mock a man she barely knew. But marriage? Marriage was another kind of chain. And now, the chains were tightening.
"I won't be his pawn forever," she thought, even if she couldn't yet see how to escape.