The luxurious white hall of House Valenhold stood in silent tension, its ivory walls now echoing with the aftermath of an impact no one had anticipated. The golden chandeliers above trembled faintly, casting rippling light across the long polished floor. Where there had been calm deliberation minutes before, now lay debris, and in the middle of it all—Callen Valenhold, collapsed and groaning atop the council table.
Lady Serina Valenhold, seated at the far edge of the room, her platinum silver hair shimmering in the light like woven starlight, rose from her seat with an urgency unbefitting her usual elegance. Her deep violet eyes scanned her son's bruised, unconscious body as she rushed forward, her flowing violet and cream gown brushing over the shattered wood and dust. The moment she confirmed his breathing, she turned sharply, her voice laced with restrained fury.
"What's the meaning of this, Prince Fortis? The respect I have... it is not for you. It is for the King. You better have a reason for making my son like this."
Before the silence could settle, Eliera stepped forward, voice clear and controlled. "Mother, stop. The prince only acted accordingly."
Serina narrowed her gaze. "What?"
"He insulted the royal princess in front of Prince Fortis by calling her a... bitch. He even gave him a second chance before acting. But my brother just had to keep running his mouth."
"Pft."
The scoffing laugh came from Fortis himself.
Serina's head snapped toward him, fury rising again. "Are you making fun of our family now?"
Fortis held up his hands in mock defense. "No, no, no. I was just thinking... your daughter has a good head on her shoulders."
"What?!" Serina gasped.
Fortis turned slightly toward the Fourth Sword. "She said I acted accordingly. I don't know much about the royal rules myself, but an act of slandering a royal is... what was it again, brother?"
Ervian Halbrecht answered immediately, voice steady. "Immediate execution. Not bounded by status."
"Right, right," Fortis nodded. "Something like that."
For a moment, Serina saw it. A subtle shift in Fortis's gaze. The calm, composed blue-pitch-black eyes glanced down at her, not in aggression, but in weight. For a single moment, she felt smaller than the boy standing before her.
She exhaled and bowed her head. "I am truly sorry for my son's behavior. I plead you to overlook this—just this once."
Fortis didn't respond immediately. When she looked up, she saw him still peering down with that indifferent edge, the air around him heavier than his frame should allow. Then, without warning, he chuckled.
"It's fine. It's fine," he said, waving a hand lazily. "I overlooked it once, it's fine to do that one more time. But remember this—I am only overlooking it because this is Valenhold. If it were any other family... he would have died by now."
Gasps rippled across the table.
Fortis continued, voice calm but unshakable. "I heard from my father your family is the most loyal to him. Once. From him. If it were to happen again, I'd take Valenhold as a whole. Do you understand?"
The same nobleman who had earlier mocked Fortis now visibly swallowed a thick lump in his throat. Serina nodded slowly, voice low. "It won't happen again, Prince Lactresia."
"Well then. Now that's settled... I should join the meeting too. From the look of the estate, things seem urgent."
All eyes followed him.
Fortis gestured casually toward the unconscious Callen. "Even if he's not dead, you should treat him immediately. If you guys want him to walk again. The kick to his gut was really strong, if I have to say so myself."
Lady Serina clapped her hands once. Servants entered swiftly and carefully lifted Callen's body onto a stretcher. A trained healer from Valenhold's house staff followed closely behind, his leather pouch clinking with alchemical vials.
Serina turned. "I will have a personal meeting with the prince for now. Please wait here."
All of the nobles bowed their heads. "Yes, Milady."
Fortis shook his head. "I'm fine here, though."
"But it's messy now," Serina replied softly.
Fortis looked at the debris, the broken door, and the stunned nobles still seated. "That's fine. I'm the one who caused the mess. Besides... they should hear what you have to say to me. And the response I'm going to give."
He turned his back on the gasps and whispers, walking slowly toward the end of the long, blackened table. One side of the table was cracked where Callen had landed, and Fortis sat calmly just beside the damage, folding one leg over the other. His cloak settled like a shadowed mantle across the chair.
"Let's sit down, all of you," he said, not loud—but the tone brooked no refusal. "We will talk now."
Ervian stepped in behind him like a blade drawn without sound.
The nobles looked around, hesitant, but one by one, they returned to their seats.
And those who had always walked tall as nobles now began to sweat.
Not because of fear.
But because of presence.
Fortis didn't raise his voice. He didn't unleash any power. But his very presence—silent, unwavering, absolute—felt heavier than authority. The weight of someone who spoke only when necessary. And when he did... the world listened.
Lady Serina, now composed, sat at the opposite end once more. The rich violet embroidery on her sleeves seemed to glint with each breath. Her silver hair cascaded down like molten silk, her gaze now measured, respectful.
The sunlight from the tall windows flickered against the tension in the air.
And there, seated in the shadows and gold of Valenhold's hall, the second prince sat silently.
His eyes—deep blue-black, like polished obsidian reflecting starlight—gleamed faintly.