Chapter 007 – Envy
The room was adorned with decorations that spoke of power forged through years of influence. A large window overlooked a vast landscape, yet the space felt contained—like a life lived beneath the shadow of an unending authority. The long table at the center was surrounded by finely carved chairs, each a symbol of unwavering luxury. But behind the splendor, tension lingered—undeniable and sharp.
The Margrave sat calmly in his chair, his piercing eyes fixed on Davion, who stood across the table. This room was their only sanctuary for undisturbed conversation, though the closeness once found in family ties now felt increasingly distant. The Margrave was older, wiser—his calm demeanor often concealing grander ambitions. Davion, his grandson, was younger, more direct—quicker to speak, quicker to act.
"So, what are we going to do?" Davion asked, his voice firm, filling the room. "Time is running out, Grandfather. Our enemies have already made their move. We have to act now."
The Margrave inhaled deeply, his voice measured and deliberate. "Patience is key, Davion. If we move too soon, we give them the first strike. Nothing is more foolish than acting out of haste."
Davion met his gaze sharply, though he knew raising his voice wouldn't sway his grandfather. "But we can't keep waiting. They're calculating our every move. If we delay too long, we'll be too late."
The Margrave remained unshaken. "We will act—but we will do so properly. There's no gain in striking before the time is right. Every step must be meticulously planned."
Davion began pacing, his movements betraying a frustration long buried. "Have you ever considered that we've spent too long planning and not enough doing? Every opportunity might just slip away."
Still seated, the Margrave was unmoved. "Your thinking is too narrow, Davion. This world is no place for reckless moves. We must tread carefully. One small mistake can cost us everything."
Davion paused, staring at his grandfather with a defiant glint in his eyes. "But sometimes we have to act, even without all the pieces in place. If we keep waiting, others will seize the lead."
The Margrave raised an eyebrow and gave a faint smile. "Others are always trying to get ahead. But only those who are patient will win in the end."
Silence settled over the room once again. Davion stood still, yet within him, anger and frustration burned fiercely. He knew his grandfather's words carried truth—but he also believed that power required boldness. Waiting too long could mean losing everything.
But the Margrave remained composed, his gaze locked on Davion, eyes calculating, ever calm. "Move too soon, and we hand them the advantage. Patience is a strength few of the hasty possess."
Davion scoffed. "You always say that, Grandfather. But what if those who act first end up with everything? What then?"
The Margrave regarded his grandson with an inscrutable gaze. "We will act, Davion. But we will do so wisely—subtly, strategically. When the moment is right."
Davion looked out the window, his heart pounding. Every second felt like a missed opportunity. Yet, he knew—his grandfather always had a plan. But those plans often came with a cost. And it was a price that had to be paid for the power they sought.
Outside, the world kept turning. But inside this room, the silent war between Margrave and Davion had only just begun. And no one could say who would win in the end.
---
The air in the room grew heavier with every word spoken. The Margrave remained seated, composed, seemingly unbothered by the weight hanging over them. In contrast, Davion stood restlessly. Every movement betrayed his tension, like a man aching to move yet restrained by something unseen.
"Athaleyah Galina," the Margrave said slowly, his voice laden with calculation. "She is part of our plan. You know exactly what we hope to gain from that marriage."
Davion nodded, his eyes flicking with curiosity and doubt. "I know, Grandfather. We've discussed this countless times. But… how much longer must we wait? She's little more than a rumor. We don't even know who she truly is."
The Margrave's gaze sharpened, though it remained calm. "We know enough, Davion. There's no need to rush. This journey takes time, and we must play carefully. Acting on incomplete knowledge would be folly."
Davion frowned, unable to suppress his frustration. "Grandfather, we must act swiftly. Time isn't on our side. If we wait too long, we'll be left behind. Every step we take now could determine our future."
The Margrave gave a faint smile, his eyes still sharp. "Too much haste will kill us faster than caution ever could. Our plan is carefully crafted. If we move too early, we risk ruining everything."
Davion felt his blood boil. "I understand your need for caution, Grandfather. But this isn't a chess game. This is about power—about our standing before Duke Hugh and the entire kingdom."
The Margrave lowered his head for a moment before speaking, his voice low but firm. "It's not a game of chess, Davion. But in many ways, it is just like it. Every move must be deliberate. One wrong step, and we fall."
Davion's curiosity burned stronger. "I get that, Grandfather. But there's something more important here—something we need to secure our hold. We can't give others the chance to outpace us."
The Margrave nodded slightly, though his expression remained unchanged. "We'll continue to watch. I know what Athaleyah is capable of. She may appear as nothing more than gossip, but she is far more than that. She's a threat we cannot ignore."
"A threat?" Davion asked, his voice rising in alarm. "Are we really going to wait until something bad happens? Why not take action now?"
The Margrave met his gaze with quiet severity. "No, Davion. We will use this situation wisely. Our priority is to understand the full picture. This is more than just a marriage or a political tie. This is about securing far greater power."
Silence blanketed the room. Davion sensed deeper meaning in his grandfather's words, an unease beneath the surface. "Grandfather, I can't just stand still. If we don't act, we'll lose the chance to control this outcome."
The Margrave slowly rose, studying his grandson's stormy expression. "And I won't allow that to happen. Remember, Davion—we measure every step we take. In this world, victory doesn't belong to the swift, but to the wise."
Davion drew a long breath, finally taming the storm within. He knew his grandfather was right, yet the urgency still gnawed at him. "Very well, Grandfather. But we must make sure we always stay one step ahead of the rest."
The Margrave looked at him one last time, then lowered his head with a faint smile. "We are always one step ahead, Davion. But sometimes, that step needs space to unfold on its own."
The skies outside the Grand Duke Margrave's private chamber were clearing after a night of torrential rain. The remnants of the storm left a fine mist hanging in the morning air. But within the chamber, the atmosphere remained cold—reflecting the quiet tension between its two occupants.
Davion stood by the tall window, gazing across the vast eastern lands. His posture was rigid, his fists clenched—a reflection of his long-held frustration. The Margrave sat by the fireplace in his grand chair, absently twisting the ring on his finger, a habit when deep in thought.
"You're not listening to me," Davion finally said, his tone sharp. "Every day we wait, Cavero strengthens his hold. Am I to remain his shadow forever?"
The Margrave raised an eyebrow, then gave a faint smile. "Davion, I always listen. But not every matter demands immediate action. You're too hasty."
Davion turned, his eyes narrowing. "Too hasty? You haven't even tried! I've been patient long enough, Grandfather. Cavero must be removed—now—before it's too late."
The Margrave leaned back, his gaze now cold. "You speak of patience, yet you've not truly learned its meaning. Politics isn't a battlefield, Davion. It's about timing and opportunity—not fury and vengeance."
Davion stepped to the table and slammed his hand against the polished wood. "This isn't just politics—it's my right! I am Silvia's son—your grandson. That throne should be mine. But now Cavero has it all, just because he was born first to a mother beneath my own."
"And that," the Margrave replied coolly, "is why you lose. Your rage is your weakness, Davion. If you want Cavero to fall, show the world you're better—not merely angrier."
Davion exhaled harshly and turned away, pacing the room again. The Margrave remained motionless in his chair.
"What is your real plan, Grandfather?" Davion asked at last, his voice lower, but still charged. "Do you truly want me to win—or are you just playing your own game?"
The Margrave rose slowly and approached his grandson. "Davion, you are the heir I have chosen. I've fought longer and harder than you know to secure this chance for you. But if you can't master yourself, then all I've done will be for nothing."
"So I'm just supposed to wait?" Davion asked quietly. "When, Grandfather? When will I finally claim what is rightfully mine?"
"When Cavero makes a mistake," the Margrave answered, resting a hand gently on his grandson's shoulder. "And trust me, Davion—everyone makes a mistake eventually. We just need to be ready when he does."
Davion said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his lingering dissatisfaction. The Margrave returned to his chair and picked up the glass of wine waiting beside him.
"Be still, my grandson," he said, raising the glass. "This game is far from over—and we will win. But only if you learn not to let your anger rule you."
Davion gave his grandfather one last look before leaving the room without a word. The Margrave exhaled slowly, eyes lingering on the door that had just closed.
"Time, Davion," he murmured. "Time is the deadliest weapon of all."
---
At a Different Time
Torrential rain lashed the windows of Grand Duke Margrave's council hall that night. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the vast room. At the center stood a grand oak table, its intricate carvings a testament to the Margrave family's legacy. Yet the atmosphere inside was heavier than the storm outside.
Grand Duke Margrave sat at the head of the table, draped in a thick black coat trimmed with silver along the collar. His right hand slowly turned the ring on his finger, while his sharp gaze swept over the faces around him. Seated before him were three Counts, each with a different expression: Markus Hazen looked anxious, Frendel Belatrix remained alert and composed, while Dalmar Yegev wore a faint, almost mocking smile.
"My lord Grand Duke," Markus began hesitantly, his voice uncertain. "Prince Cavero's official appointment as Crown Prince has severely weakened our position. Should the king die soon, Prince Cavero will ascend the throne—unchallenged."
Margrave looked at Markus without expression, then lifted his wine glass. "I'm well aware," he said, his voice low but weighty. "We've let the king move his pieces for too long. But as in chess, it's the final move that determines the outcome."
Frendel Belatrix, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "With all due respect, my lord. I agree a careful plan is essential, but each day we delay is another day Prince Cavero consolidates power. We must strike first."
Margrave leaned back in his chair, as if savoring the tension growing among his allies. "A first strike means nothing unless it's fatal, Frendel. And for that, we must be certain. I've already placed men inside the palace. They will ensure Prince Cavero never feels safe upon his throne."
"And what of Queen Silvia?" asked Dalmar Yegev, his sly grin widening. "The Empress is our greatest asset. If she declares her support openly, we won't have to wait long."
"Silvia knows what must be done," Margrave replied curtly. "She's played her part perfectly. We won't lay all our cards on the table, Dalmar. Even you should understand that."
Dalmar chuckled softly, raising his hand in mock surrender. "Of course, my lord. I only meant to ensure that all our strengths are put to good use."
Markus, now visibly more tense, looked at Margrave with a furrowed brow. "And if the plan fails? What becomes of us?"
Margrave placed his wine glass gently on the table, the soft clink echoing unnaturally loud in the hushed room. "If you doubt our victory, Markus, then you've already lost. If you're afraid, then be silent. Fear is of no use here."
Markus lowered his head, his face flushed. Frendel appeared deep in thought, while Dalmar masked his amusement behind a raised hand.
"Prince Cavero may appear strong on paper," Margrave continued, his tone once again calm, "but he is just another piece on this board. We'll bring him down—not through strength, but through time. Let him feel secure. Then we strike when he least expects it."
"Enough," said Margrave at last. "We've spoken long enough. Carry out what I've instructed. And remember, every step must be deliberate. There is no room for error."
One by one, the Counts rose, bowing respectfully before exiting the hall. Once the last door closed, Margrave settled back into his seat, eyes fixed on the large map of the kingdom hanging on the wall. His left hand touched his chin, and a faint smile played on his lips.
"The game has only just begun," he murmured.
---
Morning at the Royal Palace
The morning air at the Royal Palace felt unusually still, as if time itself slowed with every passing second, gnawing away at the calm inside Grand Duke Margrave's study. This room was more than a place of strategy—it was the nerve center where the Grand Duke's sharp mind dictated every critical decision. Large maps sprawled across the table, surrounded by scrolls filled with meticulous calculations. Margrave sat in composed silence, eyes scanning every detail before him, as though he could foresee the political tides with terrifying precision.
Across the table sat Davion, his expression betraying a sense of urgency. His fingers tapped restlessly, and though his ambition was restrained, his impatience was obvious. He waited, barely able to contain the urge to speak, while Margrave remained silent—a silence that exuded dominance.
"What are your thoughts on Darius?" Margrave's voice was calm, almost unshakable. He never rushed his words. Each one was a hidden weapon, striking without haste yet with deadly precision. He knew how to read people—faster and more accurately than most realized.
Davion, despite himself, couldn't hold back for long. "He's cunning, Grandfather. But we can't ignore the fact that Darius is a tool to be reckoned with. He has extensive connections and doesn't hesitate to use them for his own gain. We can't rely on him too much."
Margrave leaned deeper into his chair, eyes never leaving his grandson. "And you believe we should confront Darius directly, rather than waiting for his next move?"
Davion bowed his head slightly, gathering his thoughts before replying with conviction. "I believe we should act soon. Too much depends on who gains the upper hand in the capital. If we wait too long, we risk losing our edge."
A faint smile played at the corner of Margrave's lips—not threatening, but carrying a weight of warning. "Opportunity, yes. But remember, Davion, opportunity isn't something that simply arrives. It must be seized at the right time—controlled with patience. Move too fast, and we lose our footing."
Davion felt the urge to argue but held himself back. "But Grandfather… we can't be too slow, either. The Galina family—especially Athaleyah—they've already begun moving. And the Viscount surely knows it."
Margrave regarded his grandson, reassessing his words. "Athaleyah, indeed. We know more about them than they suspect. But the Galina family is a trap more complex than their ambition alone. They're riddled with hidden snares."
Davion shifted uneasily. "And Baron Galina? He's just a loud coward—but—"
Margrave raised a hand, signaling him to stop. "Baron Galina is a tool. Nothing more. Darius uses him to mask his true intentions—that's what we must be wary of. But… Athaleyah, she's more than a pawn. You must be especially cautious with her."
There was a warning in Margrave's voice—subtle, but laced with the weight of experience. Something deeper than strategy—instinct forged by years of surviving court intrigue. Davion swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety beneath his resolve.
"So… what should we do now?" Davion finally asked, his tone filled with determination, though still tinged with haste.
Margrave looked at his grandson with unreadable eyes. "We wait… Wait for them to overstep, to become too sure of themselves. When that moment comes, we strike—with a force they will never expect."
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