The air in the Grand Hall of Aethelgard was thick with the scent of burning wax and unspoken fear. At the head of the chamber, seated upon a throne of cold, black iron, was Emperor Stephen Alistair. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass, watching the assembly of ministers, generals, and court officials who stood in absolute silence.
Near the throne stood his younger son, Prince Ezekiel Alistair, his posture straight and his eyes reflecting a quiet, dangerous ambition.
At the center of the hall, the Grand Advisor unrolled a massive leather map across the stone table. He cleared his throat, dipping his head respectfully toward the Emperor.
"My Lord," the Grand Advisor began, gesturing to the ink-stained territories on the map. "Thanks to the unmatched brutality of our legions, and the brilliant tactical leadership of Prince Ezekiel, the map of the known world has been rewritten in our favor."
He traced his finger across the sprawling center of the map.
"The entire center of the continent is now under the direct rule of the Supreme Kingdom. To the North, seventy-five percent of the land has bent the knee. In the North-East, we have conquered seventy percent, and in the North-West, fifty percent. Moving down, we hold thirty percent of the West and twenty-five percent of the East. And finally, in the South-East... we have secured a foothold of five percent."
The Emperor's eyes darkened. A heavy silence fell over the hall before his voice boomed, echoing off the high stone arches.
"Are you telling me," Stephen Alistair hissed, his voice laced with venom, "that despite everything, you have only managed a miserable five percent in the South?!"
The Grand Advisor bowed his head lower, his voice calm but measured. "My Lord, the South is not like the other realms. Their military is fiercely powerful, and their defenses are absolute. Furthermore, our empire relies heavily on the South for our medical supplies and herbs. Launching a full-scale invasion there is not just a battle; it is a direct threat to our own survival. To make matters worse, the common folk there are fanatically loyal to their crown."
"And who rules this South?" the Emperor demanded, leaning forward. "King Arthur Edward, is it not? His kingdom is strictly in the South. If attacking him directly is too costly, then bypass him! Crush the South-East and South-West instead!"
"It is not that simple, Your Majesty," the Grand Advisor countered cautiously. "We cannot strike them easily. King Arthur Edward is a master of diplomacy. He has formed a grand coalition with the kings of the South-East and South-West. If we march on even the smallest southern territory, we will face the combined might of all their armies at once."
Stephen Alistair tapped his fingers on the iron armrest of his throne, his mind working rapidly. "I have heard whispers that King Arthur has three daughters and a single son. Is that correct?"
"It is, My Lord," the Grand Advisor confirmed.
A slow, cold smile spread across the Emperor's face. "Then we shall fight them with ink before we use steel. Send a royal messenger to the South. Propose a marriage alliance between his daughters and my sons. Tell King Arthur that if his daughters marry into the Alistair bloodline, the Supreme Kingdom will halt all military aggression toward the South."
The Grand Advisor bowed deeply. "An ingenious move, My Lord. As you command, I shall dispatch the messengers immediately."
The Emperor then turned his gaze toward Ezekiel. "You and your older brother, Orzedstar, will travel to the South yourselves. You will meet with King Arthur face-to-face, and by whatever means necessary, you will ensure he agrees to these marriages."
Stephen's eyes scanned the room, narrowing as a sudden realization hit him. "Speaking of your older brother... where is he? Why is he absent from today's council?!"
"Your Majesty," the Grand Advisor quickly interjected, "the Crown Prince is currently away on a military campaign, commanding the frontlines alongside the Commander-in-Chief."
Ezekiel stepped forward, bowing to his father with a confident smirk playing on his lips. "Do not worry, father. I can handle this mission alone. Have faith in me. I swear to you, I will not return without his daughters."
The Emperor stared at his younger son for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing down on the young prince.
"Very well," Stephen said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling register. "Do whatever you must. But never forget why we are bringing his daughters here. Never lose sight of our true motive."