Alexius swirled the water in his cup, trying to wash away the syrupy aftertaste of Castellan's Red. It wasn't just the wine that left a bad taste—Lord Titus Cornelius's oily flattery still clung to him like damp smoke. He set the cup down, the faint clink of glass on wood louder than it should've been in the quiet solar. His nerves were frayed, buzzing like a laptop running too many processes at once. Titus had been a test, sure, and he'd dodged the man's clumsy overtures, but it didn't feel like a win. More like sidestepping the first swing of a drunk brawler. The real fights were still coming.
Elias moved silently, clearing away the remnants of the last meeting—goblets, a half-eaten plate of fruit, the faint scent of Titus's overdone cologne. "Baroness Althea Varro is here, Your Highness," he said, his voice calm but precise. "She's waiting in the Green Salon."
Alexius raised an eyebrow. "Not the antechamber with the rest of the petitioners?"
Elias's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "The Baroness is… particular. Duke Thorne's niece doesn't take kindly to being treated like common nobility. She's sharp, direct, and fiercely loyal to her uncle's interests."
"Direct, huh?" Alexius muttered, a flicker of unease stirring in his chest. Directness sounded refreshing after Titus's slimy word games, but it also scared the hell out of him. Michael Sano, the programmer who'd spent his life debugging code in a dimly lit apartment, wasn't built for this. Direct meant no hiding behind the bumbling prince act he'd been leaning into. He'd have to be on. "Let's have her in the solar, Elias. And… maybe the chilled pear cider? The Autumn Harvest one. Something light, not too showy."
Elias gave a small nod, his eyes glinting with approval. "A good choice, Your Highness."
When Baroness Althea Varro stepped into the room, she was everything Titus wasn't. No gaudy silks or cloying perfume here—just crisp, no-nonsense elegance. She was tall, with a posture that screamed discipline, like a soldier standing at attention. Her forest-green gown was simple but perfectly cut, with a single silver badger clasp at her shoulder—House Thorne's sigil, understated but impossible to miss. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, and her gray eyes, sharp as frost, seemed to take in everything: the sparse bookshelves, the plain furnishings, and Alexius himself. She curtsied, precise and respectful, but there was no trace of Titus's groveling.
"Your Royal Highness," she said, her voice clear and steady, like a bell cutting through fog. "My uncle, Duke Marius Thorne, Warden of the Eastmarch, sends his greetings. He offers his loyalty and his guidance during these… uncertain times."
Loyalty and guidance. Not "undying devotion" or promises to "ease the Crown's burdens." Her words were careful, measured, like a chess player placing a knight just where it could do the most damage.
"Baroness Varro," Alexius said, nodding and gesturing to the chair across from him—the one Titus hadn't slouched in. "Welcome. I'm grateful for your uncle's commitment to Leo. Please, sit."
Elias poured the pear cider into slim crystal goblets, the liquid catching the light like pale gold. Althea took hers with a quiet "Thank you," her gaze flicking over the room one last time before settling on Alexius. Those eyes didn't waver, and he felt like a bug under a microscope. He took a sip of his own cider—crisp, clean, just enough bite to keep his head clear.
"Duke Thorne is worried about the realm's stability," she began, her tone matter-of-fact. "The Grand Prince's illness casts a long shadow, and the Principality's welfare is a heavy burden for my uncle. His family has defended Leo's borders for centuries, and that duty weighs on him."
A jab, subtle but sharp, at newer nobles like Valerius, who'd probably never seen a battlefield unless it was to pose for a portrait. She was reminding him of Thorne's deep roots, their blood-soaked loyalty to Leo.
"I respect Duke Thorne's dedication," Alexius said, choosing his words like he was picking his way through a minefield. "His concern for Leo mirrors my own. The treasury's stretched thin, the borders are restless, and we need the noble houses pulling together if we're going to get through this."
A tiny smile flickered across her lips, gone as fast as it came. "Unity is a fine goal, Your Highness. But it's only possible when all the great houses feel their rights and responsibilities are respected—and their voices heard."
There it was. Thorne wasn't gunning for the throne like Valerius, but he wanted his seat at the table, a loud voice in how Leo was run. He didn't want a king who ruled over the nobles—he wanted one who ruled with them, bound by tradition and mutual obligation.
"Your uncle's experience is a resource I value," Alexius said, trying to sound diplomatic without giving too much ground. "The Royal Council needs to be a place for real debate, for good decisions. But when push comes to shove, the Regency has to act fast, decisively. That's what keeps Leo standing."
Althea nodded, her expression unreadable. "Decisive action has its place, Your Highness, as long as it's rooted in Leo's laws and traditions—and comes with proper consultation. My uncle fears rash moves, or ones that seem to favor one house over others, could upset the balance our ancestors died to protect."
A warning, plain as day. Don't cozy up to Valerius. Don't try to grab too much power too fast. And don't forget who holds the Eastern Marches, the shield against the wild lands—and sometimes even the Empire's greedy reach.
"I hear your uncle's concern," Alexius said, keeping his voice steady. "I have no intention of playing favorites or rushing into decisions that hurt Leo. In fact, I'm wondering how we can make sure all the houses who care about Leo's independence get a say—especially against those who'd rather sell us out to foreign powers or line their own pockets."
He was taking a risk, nudging at Valerius's shady deals with the Kalian Empire and his corruption. It was a calculated move to appeal to Thorne's pride in Leo's sovereignty.
Althea's eyes narrowed just a fraction, like a camera lens adjusting focus. "My uncle has always stood against anyone who'd weaken Leo or turn it into a puppet state," she said, her voice cool but firm. "He believes our strength comes from standing on our own, from the old compact between the Crown and the houses sworn to protect it." She took a small sip of cider, then set the goblet down. "He's also concerned about the Eastern forts. With all the unrest in the capital and… certain unpredictable elements, the Marches need to stay secure. He trusts the Crown will ensure his forces are well-equipped and his authority there unquestioned."
A lot was packed into that. She was asking for supplies, reinforcing Thorne's control over his territory, and maybe warning him not to meddle in the East. It was a tightrope, and Alexius was starting to feel the sway.
"The borders are my top priority," he said, trying to sound confident without stepping on Thorne's toes. "The Eastern March is critical. I'll make sure it's got what it needs. And I trust Duke Thorne will keep me in the loop on defense matters." He was aiming for a balance—acknowledging Thorne's role without surrendering too much control.
The System, which had been quiet, finally pinged in the back of his mind, like a notification he couldn't quite ignore. It fed him a quick breakdown: Duke Thorne. Threat: moderate, but only if you cross him. Goal: keep his power and Leo's independence intact. Loyalty: shaky, tied to how much you respect tradition. Leverage: he hates Valerius's corruption and foreign ties as much as you do. It also dropped a new goal: The Grand Concord—find a way to work with traditionalists like Thorne, or figure out how to sideline them without starting a civil war.
Alexius barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. The Grand Concord? Sounded like a fantasy novel title, not a realistic plan. Sidestepping Thorne's influence without a fight felt about as likely as debugging a million lines of code in an afternoon.
Althea wasn't done. "My uncle also believes a strong Noble Council, with all the major houses represented, is the best way to keep things stable," she said. "Especially during a Regency."
There it was—Thorne's counter to Valerius's plan to stack the Chancellery with his own people. A bigger, messier Noble Council would give Thorne more sway, since he had the old families in his corner. It'd also make Alexius's life harder, tying his hands with endless debates.
Alexius leaned back, pretending to mull it over. He couldn't just hand Thorne the keys to the kingdom, but he also couldn't afford to piss him off. "The Noble Council's important," he said carefully. "Its wisdom needs to guide us. Maybe we could streamline it a bit, make it more effective, so the Crown gets clear advice when things get rough."
He decided to push his luck, just a little, to show he wasn't just a figurehead. "Baroness, Duke Valerius's man was here earlier, talking about filling offices and tweaking tariffs. Big ideas. Your uncle's focus on the Council and the Marches is… a different angle. It feels like Leo's being yanked in every direction. My job, as I see it, is to keep it from falling apart. That means everyone—every house—has to put the realm first, not just their own slice of it. Don't you think?"
Althea held his gaze for a long moment, her face a mask. But there was a flicker in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or a reassessment. She hadn't expected the "useless" Prince Alexius to cut to the heart of things like that, to talk about the realm like he actually cared.
Finally, she nodded, slow and deliberate. "A ruler who puts Leo's unity first is one my uncle would back, Your Highness. But loyalty goes both ways. It's built on respecting the rights and duties of the houses." She set her goblet down, barely touched. "I'll tell my uncle about this… openness of yours. He'll value it."
Openness. The word lingered, heavy with layers. Was it a compliment? A test? He couldn't tell.
"Thank you, Baroness," Alexius said, keeping his tone warm but firm. "Give my regards to your uncle. I'm counting on his advice moving forward."
She curtsied again and left, her steps as precise as her words. The room felt quieter without her, but the tension didn't fade.
Elias slipped back in, like he'd been waiting just outside. "She's a force, isn't she, Your Highness?"
Alexius let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, slumping a little in his chair. "Yeah. Formidable's the word. Thorne's not trying to steal the throne like Valerius, but he wants me on a leash—tied to tradition, to the nobles. Valerius is a wolf, all teeth and greed. Thorne's a badger—stubborn, digging in, ready to fight if you push him too far."
The System pinged again, updating its analysis, but Alexius barely registered it. He was too tired, too overwhelmed. Two meetings, two minefields navigated, and he was still standing. Barely. He stared out the window at the gray sprawl of the capital, the weight of it all pressing down on him. Valerius wanted to eat Leo alive. Thorne wanted to lock it in a cage of tradition that might suffocate it just as surely.
"Elias," he said, rubbing his temples. "The Nightwatch. We need to find its leader, now. I need people I can trust, people who aren't playing someone else's game."
"Understood, Your Highness," Elias said, his voice steady. "We're working on it."
Alexius nodded, his eyes fixed on the city below. He was balancing on a knife's edge, and one wrong move could send him—and Leo—crashing down. But somewhere deep inside, past the fear and the exhaustion, a spark flickered. He wasn't just a pawn—not anymore. He had his wits, his weird System cheat code, and a stubborn streak that had gotten him through late-night coding marathons back in his old life. Maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start fighting back. (Continue....)