The dungeon was surprisingly clean—more like a set of basement chambers than a prison.
Sylas was locked in one of the rooms, manacles fastened around his wrists and ankles.
Unable to speak and barely able to move, he could only watch helplessly as the guards left and the heavy cell door clanged shut.
Darkness swallowed him whole. It took a long time for his eyes to adjust, finally making out vague shapes in the faint light filtering through a ventilation shaft.
The length of his chains was precisely calculated to allow him to reach the simple bed in the corner, but no further.
Without a doubt, everything had been meticulously designed.
But Sylas was done playing Isolde's games. He felt he had been reduced to nothing more than a plaything.
What was the point of these mind games?
He had been raised on the works of sages and philosophers. Now, he was being forced to contemplate the art of ingratiation—something he had always despised.
He thought about dashing his head against the wall, but the moment the impulse arose, the energy to act was drained away by the enchanted bracelet on his wrist.
Slowly, he slid down to sit on the cold floor like a broken marionette, leaning against the wall, staring into nothingness.
…
Isolde had won a great victory. A personally led triumphant campaign.
Her return was met with cheers from her ministers and adulation from the common people lining the streets. She was utterly satisfied.
She proceeded to the Royal Mausoleum to present Lyonesse's Royal Seal as an offering to her ancestors.
Conquering Lyonesse and unifying the northern territories had been the fervent wish of Aethelred for generations. This dream was finally realized under Isolde's rule.
At this moment, she stood as the most powerful monarch in Aethelred's history.
She felt intoxicated by success.
But Isolde had one saving grace.
Whenever she started to feel this hubris, she would kneel before her mother's tomb, read her final words, and force herself to regain clarity.
This ability for self-correction was what could make her a truly great ruler.
"All things that make you feel wonderful are poisonous." These were her mother's last words.
The statement was extreme, but Isolde used it to motivate herself, to drive herself to govern diligently and curb her own desires.
It was this discipline that had ultimately allowed her to build a powerful nation and defeat her enemies.
"Wonderful things are all poisonous…" Isolde repeated the phrase silently to herself.
She could easily downplay the achievement of conquering a kingdom; after all, Lyonesse's ledgers had been practically empty.
Defeating such an opponent was merely expected; it wasn't something to get overly proud about.
The real threats were in Ironpeak, in Argenthaven. She needed to remain vigilant.
But…
Sylas's voice and face kept appearing in her mind. Isolde felt she must be poisoned by him.
This infuriating man, always putting on that resistant expression, making her unable to let him go.
This is his strategy!
Despite his constant talk of wanting to die, he surely desired to climb into the imperial bed more than anyone! It had to be! What man wasn't afraid of death? What man could refuse the favor of an Empress?
Hah! Worthy of the Duke's son who matched wits with me—so cunning!
Thinking of him made Isolde smile. But then she caught herself.
She was here to find clarity. Not to dwell on someone! Especially not before the tomb of her predecessor!
"Mother, what should I do?" Isolde knelt on the prayer cushion, watching the incense burn, her mind a blank.
No matter how she thought, she found no answer.
Isolde was not an indecisive person. On the contrary, she had always been absolute in her decisions. Now, Sylas had her thoroughly unsettled.
It genuinely angered her. She wouldn't stay here any longer; the mausoleum couldn't solve her problem.
Isolde returned to the palace immediately. She directly summoned her younger sister, Celeste, to the Royal Study.
Celeste, eighteen years old, was Isolde's full sister, the current Governor of Lorynth, and held the title of Duchess of Arbor.
She was Isolde's right hand—or, more publicly, her heir apparent. Should anything happen to Isolde on campaign, Celeste could immediately ascend to the throne.
Thus, while Isolde was conquering Lyonesse, Celeste had been Regent in Lorynth, securing supply lines for the front and guarding against the western kingdom of Stonewold.
Isolde had just sat down in the study when her sister arrived at the door.
Celeste was dressed in simple black, her face free of makeup, yet stunningly beautiful nonetheless.
This austere style, devoid of jewelry, gave her an air of cold, detached elegance.
An eighteen-year-old girl who should have been lively was instead an ice queen.
"Your subject congratulates Your Majesty on the successful campaign in Lyonesse, fulfilling the dream of generations of Aethelred!" Celeste knelt respectfully in congratulations.
Isolde bent down to help her up, and upon touching her sister's shoulders, couldn't hide her concern. "What's this? You've gotten thinner again?"
Celeste had a reserved personality and didn't like to speak her mind, unlike Isolde's fiery nature.
The two sisters were like the sun and moon—polar opposites in temperament, yet deeply close.
Celeste said flatly, "There were many matters to attend to. I simply ate less."
"That won't do! You must eat more. You're so thin a strong wind could knock you over. How will you manage your wedding night someday?" Isolde teased.
Celeste's pale face instantly flushed crimson. The Regent Duchess, second only to the Empress, could only stammer, "N-not now... not urgent..."
"Heh, still so easily embarrassed. Come, sit. I want to discuss a private matter with you." Isolde pulled her sister down onto the couch.
She first recounted how she took Ravenhold, then how she dealt with the Lyonesse prisoners.
Finally, she said cautiously, "I took the Duke's son prisoner. Have you heard?"
Celeste: "I have heard whispers."
"I brought him into the palace quarters..."
Celeste looked surprised. "Sister, that seems... rather inappropriate. He is, after all, a prisoner of war, a sworn enemy of Aethelred. Even if you... favor him, you cannot give him any status. It would only encourage the Lyonesse remnants."
Isolde immediately grew irritable. "I know! That's why I locked him in the basement. What I mean is, this person has me utterly distracted. I don't know what to do."
She described Sylas's behavior and then asked her sister anxiously, "Celeste, tell me, is he just playing hard to get? I'm sure it's a trick. I've heard that many men in the pleasure houses act like this to keep patrons coming back."
Celeste replied blankly, "What you say is possible, Sister. After all, you are so beautiful and your status so exalted, what man could resist your charm?"
"Right? I think so too." Hearing this from her sister was like a balm to Isolde; she immediately cheered up.
Eagerly, she said, "And he's quite obedient. Drinks whatever I tell him to... Ah, never mind, you're too young for this. Tell you what, shall I take you to see him?"
Celeste quickly waved her hands. "No, no! I wouldn't dream of intruding on my sister's private... possessions."
It was clear the Empress was quite taken with this Sylas.
"Don't be silly. I know you're perceptive and excellent at reading people. Just stand to the side and observe. Tell me if our analysis is correct."