Callian sat calmly in the grand drawing room, his golden eyes lazily drifting over the intricate décor.
Velvet drapes, delicate porcelain vases, and golden chandeliers—all excessive in his eyes. He had seen wealth before, in his past life and now. But nothing in this room impressed him.
He had expected to meet some old, wrinkled elders—the true power of the Asheville Duchy. Instead, he found himself staring at three well-dressed women, each radiating noble arrogance.
The first wife, Lady Evelyne, sat in the center. She was the most elegant of the three, dressed in deep blue, her silver hair neatly pinned up. Her sharp blue eyes watched him with quiet disdain. She was the Grand Duke's first wife, the mother of the official heir. To her, bloodline and noble prestige were everything.
To her left sat the second wife, Lady Odette, draped in silks of emerald green. She was a beauty, though her soft smile held no warmth. She played the part of a kind noblewoman, but her eyes flickered with amusement—as if she found the situation entertaining rather than offensive.
And then there was the third wife, Lady Marianne, Julianna's mother. She was the oldest, with silver hair streaked with white. Unlike the others, her expression was twisted with anger. Callian could feel her hatred the moment she laid eyes on him.
So this was Violet's grandmother.
And she already despised him.
Violet sat beside him, her tiny legs swinging beneath the chair. She nibbled on a cookie, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. Her silver hair shimmered under the chandelier's light, and Callian noticed how the three women's gazes kept flickering toward her.
She's the real reason they're here.
They didn't care about him.
They only cared about the silver-haired child sitting at his side.
Evelyne was the first to speak.
"So, you're the commoner my husband went out of his way to meet," she said, taking a sip of her tea. "And here I thought you'd have some dignity. But it seems you can't even bow properly."
Callian tilted his head slightly. "I wasn't aware I needed to bow to someone who isn't my superior."
Odette chuckled softly, hiding it behind her fan. "How bold."
Marianne, however, wasn't amused. She glared at him with open hostility.
"You have some nerve sitting there so casually. A commoner with no name, no family, no honor—yet you speak as if you belong here."
Callian simply picked up his teacup and took a sip. "I belong wherever my daughter is."
The air grew heavy. Evelyne's fingers tightened around her cup, and Marianne's lips curled in disgust.
"Daughter?" Marianne spat. "That child is an Asheville. Not the offspring of some nameless rat."
Violet, who had been quietly eating, blinked in confusion. "But I am Papa's daughter."
"Sweet child," Odette cooed, smiling at Violet. "You don't understand these things yet. Your father is a—"
"Violet Evanthiel," Callian interrupted smoothly. He set his cup down. "That is her name."
Evelyne scoffed. "Evanthiel? A name you made up?"
Callian shrugged. "In my homeland, last names are not reserved for nobles. Every person has a right to one."
Marianne's laughter was sharp and cruel. "Homeland? You mean whatever filthy village you crawled out of?"
Callian remained unmoved. "If I were looking for wealth or status, I would have left Violet here long ago and walked away with a bag of gold. But I didn't, did I?"
The room fell silent.
Evelyne narrowed her eyes. "Then what is it you want?"
Callian smiled slightly. "Nothing."
They stared at him, expecting more.
He offered none.
Marianne clicked her tongue in irritation. "Even a starving dog knows when to beg. But you act as if you're above it all."
Callian exhaled through his nose, amused. "You assume I'm starving?"
Odette chuckled again. "I must admit, you are quite entertaining. But you are also arrogant."
Evelyne tapped a single finger against the armrest of her chair. "Fine. If you do not want to beg, then let me be generous."
A single clap. A servant entered, carrying a small chest.
Evelyne gestured lazily. "Inside is enough gold to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Take it, and leave Violet here. She belongs with her family."
Callian didn't even glance at the chest. He simply leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes unreadable.
"No need."
The three women stared.
Marianne was the first to break. "You're refusing money?"
Callian nodded. "That's right."
Odette's smile widened. "Are you waiting for a better offer?"
Callian's lips twitched. "I told you. I don't need anything from you."
Marianne slammed her teacup onto the table. "You insolent—!"
Violet flinched at the loud sound.
Callian's smile vanished.
His Monarch Aura flared—not by choice, but by instinct. The air around him shifted, his presence suddenly suffocating.
Marianne, Odette, and Evelyne stiffened. The sheer weight of his presence pressed against them. It wasn't magic, nor was it physical power. It was something far more overwhelming—authority.
A ruler's presence.
Even the butlers and maids standing by the walls turned pale, their hands trembling.
Callian sighed internally.
Damn system.
He had meant to sound calm, polite even. But thanks to his Monarch Aura, his words carried a weight that twisted them into something far more threatening.
Evelyne recovered first. She forced a smirk. "You act like a king, but you're just a commoner."
Callian sighed, rubbing his temple. "And yet, you all seem to be struggling to breathe in my presence."
Evelyne's smirk vanished.
Marianne turned red with rage. "You are nothing but a disgusting, arrogant peasant—"
"Grandmother."
Everyone froze.
Violet, who had been silent, looked up at Marianne. Her violet eyes were large and bright.
"Should we leave?" she asked.
Marianne's face twisted. "What?"
Violet turned to Callian. "Papa, they don't like us here. Do you want to go home?"
Callian nearly laughed. His sweet daughter, oblivious as ever, had just delivered the final blow.
Marianne, Evelyne, and Odette stiffened. The child they had been arguing over, the girl they wanted to claim—had just chosen the commoner.
"Violet, dear," Odette said gently. "Your father—"
"I need Papa," Violet said firmly. She grabbed Callian's sleeve, her tiny hands clutching the fabric. "I don't need anyone else."
The room fell into a deep silence.
Callian could see it—the way Marianne's expression shattered, the way Evelyne's grip on her chair tightened, the way Odette's fake smile froze.
They lost.
And they knew it.
Marianne stood abruptly. "Do as you please," she hissed. "That child is not my granddaughter."
She stormed out, her heels clicking against the marble floors.
Evelyne followed, her expression unreadable.
Odette, the only one remaining, took a long, deep breath. Then, with a graceful nod, she stood. "Based on the Patriarch's will, you will remain here," she said coolly. "Do as you like, Sir Evanthiel."
She turned and left, her green silk dress swaying behind her.
The heavy doors slammed shut.
The grand drawing room, once filled with tension, was now eerily quiet.
Callian sighed and reached for a cookie. "That went well."
Violet giggled. "Papa was really cool!"
Callian hummed, biting into the sweet treat. "I was just sitting here."
Violet happily took another cookie and swung her legs. "Then I like Papa sitting here!"
Callian chuckled, patting her head. At least one person in this house loves me.
And that was enough.
*****
The Imperial Court was in an uproar.
Voices clashed, nobles argued, and tension crackled in the air. The grand chamber, lined with golden pillars and draped in the finest Orphean silk, was filled with lords and ministers—each fighting for their own selfish cause.
At the center of it all stood Grand Duke Damien Asheville.
His silver hair was tied back neatly, his piercing blue eyes sharp as he sat beside the Emperor himself. Sathian Orphea, ruler of the empire, leaned back on his throne, listening in silence as the nobility bickered.
"—Taxes must be raised to accommodate the increased costs of imports! The merchants demand compensation—"
"The farmers already struggle as it is! Raising their taxes will only worsen our food supply—"
"We must prioritize trade over agriculture—"
The court continued to argue.
Until Damien cut them down with a single glance.
The moment his cold voice echoed through the chamber, the nobles fell silent.
"I see," he said. "So, what you're asking is to punish the weak for the greed of the strong."
The man who suggested the tax raise paled. "T-That is not what I—"
"You ask to increase taxes on farmers, yet your own territories produce nothing." Damien's blue eyes darkened. "You import grain, then demand compensation when prices rise—who do you think will pay that cost?"
The noble swallowed hard. "T-The commoners, of course, but—"
"And if they cannot?"
No one answered.
Damien smiled coldly. "Then they starve. Then your lands become useless. Then your coffers dry up. Then you return here, demanding solutions for a problem you created."
The chamber was silent.
Emperor Sathian smirked slightly. The Grand Duke never needed a sword to kill his enemies—his words were sharp enough.
Damien leaned back. "The proposal is denied."
With that, the discussion was over. The nobles, though displeased, did not dare argue.
Sathian stood, and the court session was adjourned.
The grand doors closed behind them.
As the last of the nobles departed, only three remained in the Emperor's private chamber.
Emperor Sathian.
Empress Adelaide.
Grand Duke Damien.
The room was warm, with golden candlelight reflecting off the polished marble floors. A servant poured tea into fine porcelain cups, the aroma of citrus and honey filling the air.
Adelaide took a delicate sip, her golden curls shimmering under the light. Despite her soft, refined beauty, she was a woman of intelligence and ambition. A daughter of the Holy Empire—one who knew far more than she let on.
She smiled at Damien. "Another battle well fought, Grand Duke."
Damien exhaled, rubbing his temples. "A never-ending war."
Sathian chuckled. "You are more feared than I am."
Damien smirked. "Then perhaps you should let me rule, Your Majesty."
Sathian laughed but did not argue.
Instead, he turned to the matter at hand. "I heard you have a new granddaughter."
Adelaide paused mid-sip.
Damien nodded. "Yes. My daughter Julianna had a child—though she refused to acknowledge her."
Adelaide sighed. "Julianna always was a foolish girl."
"She married Marquis Hansford and had another daughter," Damien continued. "But my granddaughter… she is not his."
Sathian raised an eyebrow. "Then who is the father?"
Damien's lips thinned.
"A man named Callian Evanthiel."
The porcelain cup slipped from Adelaide's fingers.
It shattered against the marble floor.
The room froze.
Sathian turned sharply. "Adelaide?"
The Empress did not answer. Her usually composed expression was gone—her wide blue eyes stared at Damien, shock and something else—something close to fear—flickering within them.
Damien frowned. "Do you know the name?"
Adelaide's hands trembled slightly as she gripped her dress.
"Evanthiel," she whispered. "His name is really… Evanthiel?"
Damien's gaze sharpened. She knew something.
Adelaide closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. When she opened them again, her usual grace had returned, though her hands remained clenched in her lap.
She asked, carefully, "Did Julianna marry him?"
Damien scoffed. "No. She left the child with him and ran off."
Adelaide's expression twisted with frustration. "What a waste."
Sathian narrowed his eyes. "Adelaide. What do you know?"
The Empress bit her lip. She wanted to answer.
But she also didn't dare to.
She was a daughter of the Holy Empire.
And she knew why no noble bore that name.
Because they couldn't.
Because it was forbidden.
Because that power—that bloodline—could not be bound by aristocracy.
A family name for those who stood above kings.
A name that should have never appeared here.
She took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "It's nothing."
Damien did not believe her.
Sathian did not believe her.
But they knew better than to press her.
Instead, Adelaide turned to her husband, quickly changing the subject.
"The crown prince is eight now, is he not?"
Sathian nodded. "Yes."
Adelaide smiled. "Then he can be Violet's friend."
The emperor raised an eyebrow. "You wish for them to meet?"
Adelaide stood up. Her eyes sparkled.
"No." She smiled, a little too brightly. "They can get married."
Silence.
Damien and Sathian stared at her.
"…What?" Sathian finally said.
Damien frowned. "You expect a commoner's daughter to marry into the imperial family?"
Adelaide laughed.
"Oh, my dear husband. Oh, dear Damien." She clapped her hands together.
"You are both thinking too small."
She turned to Damien, her eyes gleaming.
"You do not understand what kind of man has appeared in your house."
Damien stiffened.
Adelaide placed a hand over her chest. Her heart raced—not just with excitement, but also with awe. With fear.
"The royal family of Orphea…" she whispered, her voice filled with conviction.
"…is blessed."
She turned sharply, leaving the chamber without another word.
Sathian and Damien sat in stunned silence.
Then the Emperor sighed, rubbing his temple. "…Should I be worried?"
Damien exhaled. "Possibly."
Sathian nodded. "Yes. Possibly."
Neither of them knew what Adelaide had realized.
But they knew one thing.
Whatever it was, it would change everything.