Prince Elmond was the ninth prince of the Turall Empire, and the youngest among them. The empire also had fourteen princesses, yet no woman had ever ascended to the throne. Thus, the princesses had no claim to succession.
There had been exceptions, of course, such as when a young emperor's mother temporarily ruled on his behalf, but in general, within this empire, women had no rightful authority.
That left Elmond with eight rivals. Yet he harbored no desire for the throne. From childhood, the First Empress, Celestina, who was both his mother and the mother of his elder brother Marcellion, had raised Elmond with one command: to stand faithfully by his brother's side.
Celestina's intent was not cruel. By both law and tradition, an emperor of Turall possessed the sacred right to kill his own brothers or sons. This decree, first issued by the founding emperor who had raised Turall from a mere kingdom to an empire, was meant to prevent rebellion and civil war, ensuring the dynasty's survival. After all, the life of a few princes weighed less than the fate of an entire empire.
Thus, Celestina had shaped her younger son into a loyal shadow, a shield to protect his elder brother from such bloodshed.
But now, Marcellion's future was imperiled, and he heeded no warning. His danger lay not only in the looming struggle for succession, but in whispers that had begun to echo through the marble halls of the palace. Once hushed gossip, those whispers now carried the weight of open warnings.
Elmond, as always, preferred to remain in the shadows. Though barely in his eighteen, he had already mastered the delicate art of palace politics: to stay silent, to be the wall, to speak only the right word at the right time. But this time was different. Marcellion's name was being spoken as the foremost heir to the throne, and that forced the other eight brothers into motion.
The First Empress Celestina, despite the weight of years, remained a figure of awe. Her veil of black lace did nothing to dim the sharpness in her eyes. With a single look, she could command not only her sons, but the empire itself. At least, that's what they used to say about the first Empress, until that concubine became the Emperor's favourite.
She usually resided at Marcellion's side, but a few days ago, she had come to Elmond. That night, she entered his chambers unseen. The soft hiss of silk gowns broke the young prince's thoughts as the door closed quietly behind her. When he lifted his gaze, it met hers.
"Elmond…" Celestina's voice was as low as a prayer, yet as final as a judge's verdict. "We must speak."
Elmond frowned slightly, already knowing what she wished to say. "Mother… I have always done as you asked. I have remained loyal to my brother. I have tried to show him the truth. But you know as well as I do, Marcellion listens to no warnings."
Celestina stepped closer, her slender yet unyielding fingers resting on his shoulder. "He will listen. He must. For if you do not act… that harlot will have him killed. She has ensnared the emperor's mind, weaving new intrigues each day. I no longer have the strength. I have lost my power in the court."
Elmond's voice grew cold. "What do you want me to do?"
Her face hardened in the shadows. The words she spoke froze his blood: "To save Marcellion, you must be ready to stand before the emperor himself. Do not look into his eyes, look at his hand. And should that hand ever rise to take Marcellion's life… it is your duty to strike it down."
Elmond's chest tightened. "That would be a defiance of the emperor. The law—"
"The law?" Celestina cut him off, her voice rising in fury. "That law exists only to pit my sons against one another! If you do nothing, Marcellion's blood will stain stones or dirt. My son… not for me, but for him. When he ascends the throne, he must have one ally he can trust. Otherwise, that concubine will not only destroy your father but drag the entire dynasty into the grave."
Her eyes blazed with iron resolve. Elmond shrank under their weight. What could he do? With a word, the emperor could summon an army of a hundred thousand and crush him. If only Marcellion would rebel, then the army would rally behind him, the favored prince, and the coup would be swift.
But Elmond was no favored prince. His mother had kept him hidden in the shadows, raised him to remain unseen.
He lowered his gaze, tracing his fingers across the carved patterns on the table, as though they held some escape. But no design could map a way out of his dilemma.
"Mother…" he whispered. "You raised me as a shadow. That was your wish. But if I step into the light now… who do you think will be the first to crush me beneath their heel?"
Celestina's eyes gleamed like steel. "Then cover them with that shadow. Let it become their grave. Elmond, you have been silent for years. Now your voice must echo once. For if it does not, your brother's screams will fill our ears."
The prince fell silent. For a moment, the moan of the night wind seeped through the stone walls, howling like a ghost. Beneath that sound, Elmond could hear his own heartbeat.
"I cannot…" he finally said. But the tremor in his voice betrayed the war within his heart.
Celestina bent close, whispering into his ear: "You can. For my blood runs in your veins. I, a woman left in the shadow of the throne, still make men tremble. You are a Man! You cannot afford the luxury of fear. If you falter, you will not only seal your own end, but your brother's as well."
She rose, her heavy gown whispering as she moved toward the door. Elmond could only watch. He know, his mother was not merely an empress. She was the keeper of the empire's darkest secrets, and its last safeguard.
Before the door closed, Celestina spoke once more: "Remember, my son… Marcellion's life rests upon your courage."
And then she was gone, leaving only silence in her wake.
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The princes of Turall each ruled their own provinces. As the youngest, Elmond had been given the worst of them, far from the capital's splendor.
His domain was a land of misery, pressed against the empire's borders: villages sinking in swamps, rotting wooden piers, and a half-ruined castle whose broken towers could not touch the sky. This wasteland was deemed fit for the empire's ninth prince.
Yet from the day he set foot in that mire, Elmond had sworn one thing: "Those who wish to see me rot here… will one day serve as the steps of my ascent."
While his sister wove intrigues in the palace, drinking wine from golden goblets, Elmond had forged quiet order. He rebuilt the castle, bound the sinking villages with stone roads, and crushed the petty lords who bled the peasants dry. Either by hanging them or forcing their submission.
At first out of fear, later out of admiration, the people began to whisper his name. They called him the Iron Prince. He was neither adorned with gold nor softened by wine; he bore the hardness of stone, the coldness of iron.
But Elmond did not embrace the title out of pride. It was a weapon. To the people, he was a savior. At the palace, he remained "the insignificant prince." That was his greatest advantage. The more they dismissed him, the stronger he became, weaving invisible webs.
One night, standing on his castle walls, he gazed beyond the swamps at the distant stars. His lips curved in a grim smile. Before him lay only choices, all of them bitter.
If he rebelled, as his mother urged, he would die before he ever tasted victory. Even Marcellion would not stand at his side. Yet he knew why Celestina pressed him: even a failed rebellion would weaken the emperor's power, and by extension, the concubine who held him in thrall. It would buy Marcellion time.
To Celestina, Elmond was nothing more than a sacrifice, a shield to prolong her favored son's life.
Elmond's lips curled into a sorrowful smile. The moonlight draped the swamp in silver, frogs croaked like priests of some cursed liturgy, and wolves howled in the distance. Amid that sinister choir, only one thought burned within him:
His mother sought to turn him into his brother's shield. The palace had cast him aside. His brothers mocked him.
But in Elmond's veins did not run mud.
It was fire.