The bells of the palace tolled solemnly, their reverberations carrying far across the capital like ripples on quiet water. All the nobles in the Empire already knew what was to befall. The heir of Darsha, Sharath Virayan Darsha — murderer of a noble family, creator of forbidden wonders, the youth who inspired both wonder and terror in equal proportion — was soon to sit in front of the Emperor and the Empress, not as a soldier, not as an inventor, but as a suitor.
He had reached fifteen that morning. Traditionally, his year of coming of age should have been the year that pushed open the gates of political marriage. Traditionally, it was to be a subdued affair, a soft intertwining of bloodlines into stronger weave. But nothing in Sharath's life had ever been subdued.
And so, what was to have been a simple announcement became a war zone.
In the Darsha estate, Lord Varundar Darsha clamped down his son's collar with hands much harsher than the silk they rested upon. "You are not going into a court today," his father announced, his voice crisp. "You are going into a lion's den, surrounded by nobles sharpening their claws. You should recall, one mistake, one error of speech, and they will shred you to bits."
Sharath grinned weakly. "Then I'll ensure they choke on the bite."
"Sharath!" Lady Ishvari snapped, wringing her hands in proximity. Her eyes were puffy from nights spent wakeful. "Do not make light of this. This is not a dungeon where you get to shoot first and pillage afterwards. This is the court. Swords are tempered by words here, and no skill scroll will protect you."
Bassana, his grandfather, spat into his palm, eyes sparkling with amusement despite the seriousness. "Pah. Let the boy jest if it keeps his head cool. Nobles are all hot air and perfume anyway. He's dealt with monsters worse than they are. Literally."
The Princess had not yet been called upon — if indeed she ever was. This was to be his test first.
The hall of the court shone with gold and red, banners hung across vaulted ceilings, light shining through magical crystal windows. All the noble houses attended, and all eyes turned as Sharath arrived. Some with open loathing. Others in curiosity. A few rare ones in admiration grudgingly donned.
The Emperor sat in his high seat, scepter resting across his knees. The Empress sat beside him, her expression unreadable but her presence suffocating in its elegance.
"Sharath Virayan Darsha," the Emperor's voice thundered. "You stand before the court not as warrior, nor inventor, but as suitor. Five years ago, your marriage to the Princess was arranged. But since then, events have… complicated the matter."
A ripple of mutters. Complicated was a polite word for massacre.
One noble immediately stood, robes bristling with indignation. "Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness, but this is madness. How can the Empire's jewel, the Princess, be bound to a butcher of nobility? Shall her dowry be blood and ruin?"
Another lord snorted. "We will not see the throne sullied by a house that makes war without permission. Marriage is not about love, but about stability. What stability does the Darsha bring but gunpowder and dead bodies?"
"Objection!"
The word did not escape Sharath's lips, but the Princess herself. Gasps echoed in the room as she walked forward in disregard of etiquette, skirts fluttering like war banners. Her chin rose proudly. "If you speak of stability, then understand this: I love him, and he loves me. No decree, no conspiracy, no whispering noble will alter that. Shatter this betrothal, and it is not he alone you insult, but me."
The chamber was filled with shocked whispers.
The Emperor tapped his scepter, demanding silence. His eyes flashed to his daughter, and then back to Sharath. "Strong words from a strong daughter. But love is not the answer. The nobles are right in one aspect — the integrity of the realm cannot be swayed by romance. You must demonstrate, Sharath Virayan Darsha, why this match does not compromise the Empire."
Now it was his turn.
Sharath advanced. His boots rang out, deliberate, each step a measured pace as if he were walking the battlefield. He paused at the middle, where light hit him directly, and addressed the hall of sneering nobles.
"You call me a butcher," he started, voice unshakable. "You call me a stain. You call me danger. And maybe I am all of those things."
The concession silenced them into quiet.
"But ask yourselves one thing: who forged that danger? Who had the temerity to defile royal blood — the Princess's family by betrothal — and expected there to be no cost? Not I. Nor the Darsha. It was another noble household. And I responded. With flame."
He gazed out over the throng, fixing them in position. "If being a butcher makes me guilty, then so be it. But it also makes me a bulwark. And if the Princess must marry, should she not marry the man who would burn empires to ashes rather than allow her to be hurt?"
The Princess's fists were clenched at her skirts, her eyes aching with held-back tears.
A few nobles bristled, prepared to shout him down, but others hesitated. His words came too close to a truth none of them could conveniently deny.
Sharath continued. "You are afraid of my guns, my inventions, my brain. Good. You should. For they shall never be employed for the enslavement of the Empire, but to defend it. My territory prospers not because I am greedy, but because I prioritize my people. My inventions are not for monopoly, but for survival. The chill box preserved food from spoilage. The washing machines preserved lives from the rivers. The perfumes… well, those lined your pockets handsomely, didn't they?
A ripple of nervous laughter.
"Each time you declare me dangerous, I remind you: I am beneficial. Each time you declare me a threat, I remind you: I am faithful. And each time you believe you can take this marriage from me, remember — it is not just me you are going against, but your Emperor's own edict from five years ago."
His head dropped slightly, at last dropping eye contact. "I love her. She loves me. That is fact. But if it is not enough to persuade you that it is possible, that it is real, then let my record persuade you. The Empire flourishes because I build. Because I protect. Because I spill my blood when it is needed. If that is not enough to make me worthy, then say it to me: what virtuous among you is?"
The ensuing silence was deafening.
The Empress leaned forward, fingers entwined in a delicate pattern. "Well said, young Darsha. You know that power is always in need of justification. You have offered us loyalty, protection, and. an unwavering tongue. But you have also offered us scandal and violence."
Sharath met her eyes. "And I will keep on offering my life if it safeguards the Princess, the Empire, and my people. That, I swear."
The Emperor drew in breath, slow and measured, as if balancing entire kingdoms on his mental scales. "The nobles have good reasons to fear. But they cannot destroy the fact: you and my daughter are already united, by law and by love. To sever this bond now would cause more chaos than to leave it be."
Gasps.
"The marriage will go ahead."
The chamber erupted into outrage.
"Madness!""Your Majesty—!""This cannot—!
The Emperor thumped his scepter again. "Enough. The choice is mine. Unless you have the temerity to challenge me for the throne, you will be silent."
Not a single person stirred.
The Princess moved forward, taking Sharath's hand before etiquette could intervene. Their hands interlocked, rebellious, unyielding.
Whispers fell in crashing glass. Nobles spat about scandal, tyranny, and destruction. Others, in reluctant respect, grudgingly admitted the Darsha boy had outwitted them all.
The Empress permitted herself a small smile. The Emperor shook his head, muttering something about "fire in the blood."
In the evening, the court was abuzz. Conspiracies grew like weeds. Some nobles swore revenge, others spoke of allying, a few even broached rebellion.
But beneath the commotion, one thing remained fixed:
Sharath Virayan Darsha, killer of a noble family, was no longer merely an inventor, or a scandal, or too much boy.
He was the future Consort to the Empire's Princess.
And the game had forever changed.