The hall stretched vast before them, its high ceiling adorned with banners bearing the crests of both old and new noble houses. The flickering candlelight in iron and gold sconces cast restless shadows across the marble floors, reflecting against the unreadable expressions of those already seated—members of the court, advisors, and powerful figures whose mere presence carried the weight of expectation. At the head of the long table, Michaelli sat unmoving, his golden gaze sweeping the room with quiet, imperious control. They had gathered with a singular purpose: to press him into securing the empire's future by producing an heir, now that the war had ended.
The conversation had resurfaced with growing intensity, a demand he had come to loathe.
The air was thick with silent insistence, the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on him. He caught the discreet glances exchanged among the nobles, their anticipation cloying like the scent of wax and oil burning in the sconces. But it was not their expectant eyes that drew his attention—it was Tuk, the historian.
He stood by the door, stiff and uncertain, his dark eyes darting from one official to another as though searching for an anchor in unfamiliar waters. Michaelli had deliberately left him uninformed of the meeting's true nature. He wanted to see how Tuk would navigate this. Would he falter? Would he prove useful? More importantly, could he do what Michaelli himself had no desire to do—redirect this conversation entirely?
A councilman cleared his throat, slicing through the silence. "Your Highness, it is imperative that we secure the line of succession. The empire must have an heir, and your reluctance to choose a suitable match is… troubling. The people are growing anxious. We urge you to consider Lady Aurelia of Solmont, a perfect candidate of noble blood—"
Before the man could finish, Michaelli's gaze flicked toward Tuk, silent but deliberate. The atmosphere in the room shifted, tension thickening like a tightening noose. A command without words. A test.
Tuk blinked, visibly thrown. The weight of the room pressed against him, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he hesitantly opened his mouth—only to close it again. His confusion was tangible, but there was something else beneath it. A spark of defiance.
The councilman, oblivious to the silent exchange, pressed on. "The lady is young, of a suitable age, and well-acquainted with royal customs. Surely, Your Highness, it would be—"
"Um…" Tuk's voice broke through the tense air, hesitant but clear. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the prince needed to love, as the Arcanographica says; isn't making an heir supposed to be mutual? If you're talking about something as important as an heir, shouldn't feelings matter too?"
A ripple of disbelief coursed through the hall. A noblewoman seated nearby arched a thin brow, her voice laced with condescension. "Feelings?" she echoed. "This is a matter of the empire's future, not some fleeting romance. What does love have to do with it?"
Michaelli leaned back, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair as he watched the scene unfold. Tuk was floundering, grasping for words, but his interruption had achieved precisely what Michaelli intended. He had cracked the carefully laid foundations of the discussion, injecting unpredictability into the court's well-rehearsed arguments.
Tuk cleared his throat, pressing forward despite the incredulous stares. "Well, uh… as I said, it was written in the scroll of Arcanographica that His Highness is interested in acquiring for its power. Also, where I'm from, love kind of makes everything work better. You know, happier relationships, happier kids? It's not just about making heirs—it's about making sure the family thrives. Isn't that important too?"
Silence stretched between them. Michaelli could almost hear the gears turning in the officials' heads, their rigid mindsets struggling to process the notion that something as intangible as love could hold weight in matters of succession. The councilman, visibly flustered, turned toward Michaelli in appeal. "Your Highness, with all due respect, we cannot rely on such… whimsical notions in matters of state. The empire's legacy is at stake."
Michaelli exhaled softly, his expression unreadable. But inside, his mind was already weaving the next thread in this intricate game. Tuk had unwittingly done exactly what he needed. Now, it was his turn to strike.
"You speak of legacy," Michaelli murmured, his voice cutting through the hall like the edge of a blade, "as if it can only be secured through blood. But what use is an heir born into a world of chaos? Or perhaps you wish me to create another monster like myself. I wonder if any of you could survive that." His golden eyes darkened. "The empire reeks of filth from within, and you expect me to throw a child into that?"
A heavy silence followed. The councilman's complexion paled, his lips parting but offering no rebuttal. Michaelli reached for the ancient scroll resting on the table, his fingers tracing the worn parchment. The officials followed his movements, eyes narrowing as he skimmed over a passage inscribed in an ancient language.
"This," he continued, his tone softer but no less dangerous, "is a chronicle of a time when love was not treated as a mere transaction but as a force—true power that shaped empires. The scroll speaks of love's ability to conquer, to alter the fate of entire nations." A slow, cruel smirk touched his lips. "And yet, you sit here, demanding an heir without understanding the very force that could make or break this empire. If you still insist, then show me a power greater than what this scroll describes. Ah… but of course," he added, the smirk deepening, "not that anyone here could read it, except for my historian."
Tuk's breath hitched. He could see it now—Michaelli wasn't merely wielding the scroll as an artifact but as a weapon, using its words to manipulate the room. He wasn't rejecting their demand outright; he was shifting the battlefield, bending the conversation to his will.
Michaelli's gaze flickered briefly to Tuk, something almost unreadable passing through his eyes before he spoke again. "Love," he said, his voice smooth, deliberate, "is not just about reproduction. It is about control, influence, and loyalty." His expression turned cold. "Love can be wielded, just as this scroll's power can be wielded. And those who fail to see that… will be left behind."
Unease rippled through the gathered officials. They were not accustomed to having their traditions questioned, least of all by the prince they sought to command.
Michaelli pushed his chair back, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. "The future of this empire rests not on an heir, but on its strength and stability. My priority is neither marriage nor children—it is power. When the empire is secure, when threats from within are eliminated, then, and only then, will heirs be a matter for discussion."
Tuk's stomach twisted. This wasn't just a meeting—this had been a performance, a battlefield without swords, where words had become weapons sharper than steel. And Michaelli had won.
Tuk swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He had managed to shift the conversation, but not in the way he'd intended. He had no doubt now—he wasn't just an observer in Michaelli's game. He was a piece being moved across the board.
"This meeting is over." His voice was final, brooking no argument.
As Michaelli strode past Tuk, his coat trailing behind him like a shadow, his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Tuk swallowed hard. He had bought the prince time. But how much longer before the empire demanded more than words?
And how much longer before Michaelli's secrets unraveled completely?