Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Your Highness," a voice called out from outside. "I have a letter for you."
George looked up from his desk. "Bring it in."
The door swung open ominously, a butler holding a wierd looking envelop stepped in. He seemed rather tense and irritated, though he also looked like he was somewhat threathened.
Slowly enough, he stepped forward to place it on George's table, and turned around to walk away.
"Wait."
"..." The butler stopped dead on his tracks.
"Why do you look so displeased all of a sudden?" George asked with a tilt of his eyebrows. "Who is this letter from?"
A soft sigh escaped his mouth as he fully turned to face the eldest prince. "I am aware that you will know who it is by reading the letter, your Highness."
"What is that supposed to mean?" He asked again, suspicious about the situation. Then, a hint of concern stormed pass his face. His eyes widening as he hurriedly pried off the wax seal that held the symbol of the duchy.
"Don't tell me... Is it Aefia?" He mumbled, quickly flattening the folds of the paper.
"...I am afraid it is someone else actually." The butler finally answered, hanging his head low.
"I know you had said you can't currently accept letters from commoners no how important. But technically speaking... This person is..."
"I understand..." George's eyes narrowed as he slowly read through the lines.
"Practically speaking... that is the Archduke. Isn't it?"
A moment of silence went by that stretched with a sickening length.
George's fingers tightened against the edges of the heavy parchment, the crisp paper crinkling beneath the sudden pressure. His eyes darted across the sharp, disciplined handwriting—ink strokes so dark and precise they looked like they had been carved into the sheet with a blade rather than written with a pen.
"His Grace..." George murmured, the title tasting heavy and bitter on his tongue.
He didn't need to read the signature at the bottom to know who was truly pulling the strings behind this message. There were very few "commoners" on the continent who possessed the audacity to bypass imperial royal protocol, ignore the council, and deliver a sealed threat directly onto the eldest prince's desk.
"When did this arrive?" George asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerously calm register as he smoothed the parchment flat against the dark mahogany wood.
"Less than an hour ago, Your Highness," the butler replied quietly, hanging his head low. "A courier clad in black riding armor delivered it directly to the outer gatehouse. He left no name, but... he stated that if this letter did not reach your hands before nightfall, the Archduchy of Trinvina would consider the delay a direct act of hostility."
George let out a dry, humorless breath through his nose. Classic.
He leaned back in his high-backed velvet chair, resting his chin on his steepled fingers as he stared down at the contents of the letter. The message was brief—devoid of the usual theatrical pleasantries, empty court flatteries, or diplomatic padding that usually defined high-tier noble correspondence.
It was a direct, uncompromising ultimatum.
"The southern border line is shifting," George read silently, tracing the bold ink. "Mides has severed its communication array, and the new King plays with fire. Secure the eastern border posts immediately. If the Imperial Palace attempts to interfere with Trinvina's troops during the Princess's absence, the Archduchy will close its ports to the Crown."
George closed his eyes for a brief, suffocating second, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a dull headache began to pulse behind his temples.
The Archduke wasn't just making a request. He was threatening a full territorial succession—using Aefia's duchy as the ultimate leverage against the Imperial family. And the fact that he was moving so openly, so aggressively, could only mean one thing.
And now, with Aefia trapped in Mides and the Archduke operating from the shadows, Trinvina was moving like a stray war dog breaking its leash.
"Your Highness?" the butler ventured cautiously. "Should I inform Her Imperial Majesty the Empress? Or should I draft a formal response to the Archduke's estate?"
"No," George said flatly, opening his eyes and folding the letter back into its original creases with practiced, methodical care. "A formal response is exactly what he wants. It gives him time to maneuver."
He stood up from his desk, sweeping his dark royal coat over his shoulders and sliding the letter safely inside his inner pocket.
"Prepare my horse," George commanded smoothly. "If the Archduke is about to cross the Mides border to tear Kazimir's palace apart, I need to reach the eastern line before he starts an unprompted war. And send a quiet message to the captain of the inner guard. I want three discreet squads ready to ride toward the eastern border by midnight."
The butler stood still in confusion. "Your Highness. What do you mean by the Archduke is about to cross the borders and that he is about to throw a war? What was really written in the letter?"
George turned his head over his shoulder, glaring at the old man with dark purple eyes that showed no signs of wishes to explain. Rather, it looked as if he was saying; "keep out of this."
Not even shortly afterwards, the door slammed shut and the room fell back to its usual silence as if nothing had happened. Even the faint ticking of the pocket watch at one corner of the table was excessively loud at that moment.
The butler shurgged, and left the room not so long later. He remembered to lock it up, and kept the key hidden where it would usually be if he was out of his room.
The horses that were docked by the stable seemed to have just been fed and cleaned.
The heavy iron shoes of George's stallion clattered violently against the cobblestones as he tore through the western gate of the imperial palace, well ahead of his inner guard. The cool mid-autumn air whipped against his face, but it did nothing to cool the feverish edge of panic clawing at his chest.
His grip on the reins was tight enough to numb his fingers.
Damn it! When did things get 'this' out of hand?!
It was true that he didn't really read out the exact details of the letter. The Archduke knew a thing or two that needed to only be discussed physically.
He dug his boots deeper into the stirrups, the stallion's frantic gallop echoing like thunder down the dark, tree-lined route. His heart hammered against his ribs in a suffocating, uneven rhythm.
"Faster!" George roared into the air, leaning flush against his stallion's mane as the dark shadows of the eastern border mountains loomed ahead. "Just hold on, you fool... don't do something we can never turn back from! Or this entire Empire is damned!"
Not so long later, the woods cleared to reveal the tall buildings of the Archduchess's mansion. The place was large and at the gates, were planted flowers the colour violet and some were yellow. The leaves shone so bright, that it was unbelievable that autumn was arriving.
Droplets of dew sat on each of them, and in such a place that...
Drip...
...it looked like it represented the precarious position that George was standing on.
***
"Your Grace," a loyal servant bowed. "His Highness the First Prince is here in person."
He looked up from his table, pushing aside his fountain pen as he stood up. An unreadable expression on his face—a smirk that looked kind of unusual and out of place.
"That fast? I wasn't expecting this."
"It is understandable since you said the letter was urgent and to be sent as fast as possible."
"Yes, yes. Now please go and get the meeting room cleared up. Have some tea and snacks prepared, since it is his Highness we are talking about." The Archduke answered in a sarcastic tone.
He stood up from the desk, reaching over to the rack to pull on his coat. He then grabbed the sword resting against the side of the desk before walking towards the door of the office, which quietly shut behind him.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The mahogany doors of the private reception parlor swung open with a heavy, muffled click.
George stepped inside, his dark royal coat damp with the crisp afternoon air, his chest still rising and falling in forced, steadying breaths from the frantic ride. He looked like a man who had galloped through the gates of hell—his dark purple eyes burning with unyielding, frantic intensity.
Across the sprawling, sunlit room, standing by the tall bay window that overlooked the glowing violet flora of the courtyard, stood the Archduke.
Golden blonde hair with green eyes that seemed to be the complete opposite of the dark aesthetics of the Crown Princess. And to think that his personality on the letter was also different from how calm and collected he really looked.
He slowly turned, prying off his white gloves with unhurried, agonizingly calm grace. The faint smirk that had lingered on his face slipped into a posture of smooth, impassive courtesy.
"You ride hard for a prince who claims to ignore letters from commoners, Your Highness," Helio said, his voice quiet, devoid of any theatrical arrogance. He gestured casually toward the low velvet armchairs by the hearth—where a silver tea service gave off a thin, fragrant wisp of steam. "Sit. You look as though you have seen a ghost on the road."
George didn't move toward the chair. He didn't even look at the tea. He took three long, aggressive strides into the room, stopping just five paces short of the man who held both Aefia's heart and the stability of her duchy in his palm.
"I have always been wondering how meeting a royalty in private would feel like. I guess I can finally go around and boast that I have met with the first prince and we had some nice conversation," he offered a smile. "You really don't know how pleased I am to know you have physically reached out of me so urgently. I am truly grateful, Your Highness."
"Drop the facade, Helio," George hissed through gritted teeth—his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. "You knew damn well I would come rushing here right after that letter. What is the meaning of that? Threatening to close the ports? Demanding control over imperial affairs?"
Helio tilted his head slightly, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his teacup. The china porcelain clinked softly against the saucer.
"It is quite simple, George. As you know, Aefia has been out of office for sixty-one days. Two full months without a single word, butterfly, or directive returning to the estate. In her absence—as her betrothed—it is only right that I step up to take over her work and manage the duchy's affairs."
George's jaw tightened. "Taking over her paperwork is one thing, Helio. Demanding full authority over her territory and writing directly to the Imperial Palace is another!"
"Is it?" Helio set the cup down, his green eyes unreadable. "Before Aefia left for Mides, she formally requested a small fraction of the imperial military unit to be given under her control. But what do you honestly thinkt hat meant if she was aware that she couldn't control it across borders. That unit was also assigned under her direct authority as the Crown Princess."
Helio took a step closer, resting his hand against the back of the velvet armchair. "Since she is not here to oversee them, I want that military faction assigned directly to me as her partner. And I expect full cooperation from the Imperial family. Aefia is not just the Archduchess of Trinvina—she is your younger and only sister, and the Crown Princess of this empire. The Palace owes her duchy that much stability while she is away."
"Are you insane?!" George let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, stepping closer until he was staring directly into Helio's calm face. "You think my mother—the Empress—will hand over command of an imperial military division to her daughter's fiancé? A commoner knight who holds no official title in the imperial roster? You have no standing to command imperial soldiers, Helio!"
"I have every standing to protect her interest," Helio replied smoothly, his voice dropping into a flat, immovable register. "And as long as she is absent, Trinvina will act under my direction. Give me the military faction, George. Cooperate with the duchy, and we ensure the border remains peaceful until she returns."
"No," George said flatly, crossing his arms and glaring down at him with unyielding royal authority. "I am not budging on this. I won't let you use imperial troops to play proxy lord over her duchy. You don't know what is happening in Mides, Helio. Moving imperial units under your personal command right now will trigger an international disaster!"
Silence fell over the room, heavy, suffocating, and long.
Helio didn't yell. He didn't throw a fit, nor did his calm demeanor shatter. He simply picked up his fountain pen from the desk, turned it over in his hand, and looked up at George with a slow, chilling smile.
"You are quite stubborn, Your Highness," Helio murmured softly, stepping around the chair until he was standing merely inches away from the First Prince. "Though... I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."
George's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Helio leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a razor-thin whisper that sent an icy surge of horror straight down George's spine.
"You know? I have been trying my very best to not do this, but it seems you are leaving me absolutely no choice." Helio spoke, his voice dropping an octave as he flashed a weirdly familiar voice.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. It truly was." He slowly moved his hand towards the hilt of his sword, slowly pulling it off its scabbard and pressing the tip against George's neck.
"Your Grace... What is the meaning of all this? What is it that you are trying to accomplish here? And why are you involving Aefia into this too? She isn't even here."
Helio slowly leaned forward towards George's face.
"It means... I know who you really are, George," He whispered, his green eyes gleaming with a quiet, dangerous clarity. "I know you are that person... That ###### Aefia keeps hearing... and the one she has even seen."
The word echoed like thunder in the quiet room. A bead of sweat rolling off his forehead.