The grand hall of the palace, adorned with gilded walls and enormous crystal chandeliers, seemed to have turned into a sea of fire under the sunlight. The light refracted through the chandeliers, scattering thousands of sparkles across the marble floor, filling the hall with a breathtaking splendor. Portraits of the former dukes of the East hung on the high walls, silently reminding everyone of the power and glory of the past.
Noblemen and noblewomen, dressed in silk and velvet, whispered among themselves, their voices carrying gossip throughout the hall. The murmurs were laced with curiosity and mockery:
"Did you hear? He's an illegitimate son…""His father was a slave, and his mother the former duke… Do they really think he deserves this title?""A ten-year-old child, ruling the East's powers?""Ha, he only got this title because of his father's legacy, he has no other abilities at all!"
The whispers echoed briefly through the stone ceilings, creating a weighty tension in the hall. Everyone waited eagerly for the doors to open, the anticipation thick in the air. The crystal chandeliers' light seemed to turn the murmurs into a piercing hum; no one could fully quiet their voices, yet all eyes were fixed on the doors.
Before the empress, seated with a faintly raised brow and a sly, mocking smile, a mixture of curiosity and scorn was clear. Each whispered comment around the room seemed to merge with her thoughts, her eyes gleaming with both derision and cautious intrigue.
Then, the heavy doors slowly opened. Silence fell; everyone held their breath.
The announcer's voice echoed:
"The son of the former Duke, Luka Aiterner, enters!"
Before them stood a small child, dressed in the East's black uniform adorned with jewels. Despite being only ten years old, Luka's face showed no sign of excitement or fear; he ignored the whispers and mocking glances around him. His steps were measured and firm, each one echoing on the marble floor.
The empress squinted at him, a mocking smile on her lips as she spoke:
"Ah, so the new Duke of the East is this tiny child. Ten years old, is that it? I hear his father was a slave, his mother a former duke… And of course, he has no abilities, no power. Does anyone here really think he deserves this title?"
Some of the nobles tittered nervously, others chuckled along with her biting words. She continued:
"Power? What power… At his age, the only thing he might manage is walking across the marble floor. And with such a tiny body, he is to carry the legacy of the East? How curious… Let's see what his first order will be. Will he play with toys, or give us more gossip to spread?"
Luka continued to walk silently. His small frame seemed to dismiss both the whispers of the hall and the empress's mocking gaze. Bowing slightly to her, he gave a faint, respectful but confident smile. His voice was soft but clear:
"You say? Let's see."
Then, he rose and walked toward the exit. Just as he moved, a nobleman whispered mockingly with a chuckle:
"What can he do? At most, he'll cry to make us pity him."
Luka glanced at him silently. Then, with a faintly mocking smile, he left the hall. The nobleman felt utterly humiliated, his face a mix of shock and disbelief.
As Luka passed through the doors, his inner voice echoed, calm and determined:
"Let's see."
Thus, the new Duke of the East departed, leaving behind the hall filled with doubt, mockery, and whispers—his presence already commanding attention far beyond his years.
The long marble corridors of the imperial palace echoed with the sound of Luka's footsteps. His chin was raised, his small frame held with unnatural confidence, as if he were not ten but twenty. Two imperial guards followed behind, silent and obedient, their armor glinting in the torchlight.
When he reached the great oak door at the end of the hall, Luka stopped. Without turning his head, he spoke with a voice calm and steady:
"Wait here."
The guards bowed, staying behind as the boy pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
The moment the door closed with a dull thud, the mask shattered. Luka's knees buckled, his small hands trembled as he clutched the fabric of his uniform. His breath came quick and shallow. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold floor, his shoulders shaking.
The great hall he had just left—the whispers, the laughter, the empress's scorn—still echoed in his ears. He buried his face in his palms, whispering to himself.
"Calm down… breathe… You cannot let them see…"
For all his sharp eyes and steady steps, he was still only a child, terrified of the wolves that circled him.
But he was not alone.
From the shadows of the room, a man's voice emerged, smooth and dripping with mockery.
"Well, well… the great Duke of the East, trembling like a frightened rabbit."
Luka flinched, his head snapping toward the figure seated comfortably in a chair by the fire. A tall man with piercing eyes raised a silver goblet of wine, smirking as the crimson liquid swirled inside.
It was his uncle by blood, but his mother's brother—his uncle.
"Did you think I didn't know?" The man chuckled, leaning back lazily. "Out there you act like a lion, boy, but in here… you're nothing more than a child playing dress-up."
Luka clenched his fists, forcing himself to his feet though his body still shook.
"You… forced me into this," he whispered. "I never wanted the title."
His dayı laughed bitterly, the sound sharp as a blade.
"Of course you didn't. But do you think anyone else could carry it? You're useful to me, Luka. Nothing more. A puppet with the right blood, raised to silence the whispers. And you will play your part."
The goblet was raised again, the wine catching the firelight. The man's eyes narrowed with cruel amusement as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper that slithered into Luka's ears.
"Remember our agreement. Don't ever forget it… or you'll regret being born."
Luka's jaw tightened, his fists trembling as he lowered his gaze. But deep within his young eyes, a flicker of defiance began to burn.