Chapter 28: Swords, Scandals, and Secret Lovers (ii)
Adrian von Shelb strolled into the training grounds with his usual swagger, whistling a jaunty tune as he surveyed the camp. The soldiers, now fully accustomed to his eccentric morale building initiatives, greeted him with casual salutes and grins. A cluster of them, whispering conspiratorially, caught his attention.
"Ah, my beloved soldiers!" Adrian called, clapping his hands together. "What tales are you spinning today? Enlighten me!"
The group hesitated, exchanging glances, until one brave soul stepped forward. "Lord Adrian, it's about Commander Ethan and Dame Vivian."
Adrian's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Do tell."
"Well," the soldier began, lowering his voice for dramatic effect, "they've been in his tent for a while now. There were… sounds."
"Sounds?" Adrian repeated, his grin widening. "What kind of sounds?"
"Clattering. Humming. You know," the soldier said, his cheeks reddening slightly. "And the way they were talking earlier—it sounded personal. Romantic, even."
Another soldier chimed in, nodding vigorously. "He said something about her grip, and she mentioned handling bigger—"
"Say no more!" Adrian interrupted, holding up a hand. "This is fascinating. Please, continue."
"They've been arguing all morning," another added, "but it's the kind of arguing that feels… charged."
Adrian leaned closer, his grin now positively gleeful. "So, you're saying my elder brother, our stoic, disciplined Ethan, who has never shown an ounce of interest in romance, is caught in what sounds like a lover's quarrel with the fearless Dame Vivian?"
The soldiers nodded in unison.
"Oh, this is too good," Adrian said, practically vibrating with excitement. "I must tell Mother at once!"
Inside the Duchess's Parlor
Duchess Eleanor listened intently as Adrian recounted the tale, her teacup poised delicately in her hand.
"They're sparking a connection," Adrian declared with a flourish. "It's undeniable! They were talking about grip, balance, and handling bigger—clearly loaded terms, don't you think? If you don't intervene, Mother, Ethan will end up a bachelor forever."
The Duchess frowned thoughtfully, setting her cup down with precision. "Do you think so, Adrian?"
"I'm certain of it," Adrian replied, nodding emphatically. "Mother, think about it—Lady Vivian is the only woman Ethan has ever spent any meaningful time with! They've known each other since childhood, and she's the only one who can tolerate his disciplined, muscle-headed ways. You must save this relationship before Ethan ruins it with his lack of finesse!"
Eleanor's eyes sparkled with determination. "You're right. I can't let this opportunity slip away. Vivian may be unconventional, but she has the strength to match Ethan's stubbornness. I must help them."
Adrian clapped his hands. "Exactly! Think of it as matchmaking with a dash of diplomacy."
Back at the Training Grounds
The Duchess arrived just as Ethan and Vivian stepped out of the tent, their clothes crumpled and faces glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Vivian had been helping Ethan move a few heavy crates in search of an old sword from his teenage years, but to the soldiers watching from afar—and Eleanor herself—the scene painted an entirely different picture.
"Oh, Ethan," Eleanor began, her voice warm and approving, "how romantic—declaring your feelings through combat! It's like something out of a fairytale."
Ethan blinked, momentarily confused. "Feelings? What feelings? Mother, we were—"
Vivian, smirking but clearly perplexed, interrupted. "We were just discussing… technique."
"Yes!" Ethan added hastily, gesturing toward the tent. "Form and technique. That's it!"
Eleanor's eyes glimmered with motherly pride as she completely ignored their protests. "Oh, Ethan, you don't have to hide your feelings from me. Lady Vivian clearly means so much to you. Just look at the two of you—practically glowing!"
"Glowing?" Ethan repeated, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning horror. "Mother, wait—this isn't—"
Eleanor cut him off, her gaze softening. "Ethan, it's perfectly natural to feel flustered when your first relationship becomes public. You don't need to justify anything to me. I'm so proud of you."
"First relationship?" Ethan spluttered, his face now a brilliant shade of red. "Mother, no! This isn't—"
"You've been so shy all these years," Eleanor continued, her tone warm and encouraging. "But look at you now! Finding someone who truly understands you—why, it's everything I ever hoped for."
Vivian tilted her head, her smirk fading into mild confusion. "Relationship?" she echoed, glancing at Ethan, who looked like he was ready to sink into the earth.
"Exactly!" Eleanor said triumphantly, turning her radiant smile toward Vivian. "You've been so patient with him, my dear. He can be so bull-headed, but your understanding is a testament to your strength. And you didn't even refute me—such grace! Clearly, you see me as a family elder already."
Vivian blinked, utterly baffled. "I… thought this was a complicated noble custom."
Eleanor clasped Vivian's hands with a sigh of relief. "Oh, my dear, you've already shown such wisdom and kindness. Ethan is lucky to have you."
"Mother!" Ethan groaned, his mortification reaching new heights. "This isn't what you think!"
Eleanor's expression softened further, as though she thought his protest came from embarrassment. "Ethan, it's a natural process. Everyone struggles to navigate their feelings at first. I went through the same thing with your father." She turned back to Vivian with a knowing smile. "And you, my dear, have handled this so gracefully. You're already like family."
"Family?" Vivian asked, her sharp tone now tinged with disbelief. She glanced at Ethan, hoping for clarity, but found only mortification. Then Vivian thought back and remembered that Baron Edsel, Ethan' great-grandfather had indeed separated from her noble house of Whitestone.
"See?" Eleanor continued, beaming. "Ethan, you must take her home. It's the least you can do to show how much she means to you."
"Take me home?" Vivian repeated, her emerald eyes narrowing in thought. "I… suppose that's part of the custom?"
"It's settled!" Eleanor clapped her hands with finality, turning to the observing soldiers who were trying—and failing—not to eavesdrop. "And you lot, back to work! I expect my son and Lady Vivian to return with their relationship on solid ground."
Vivian looked to Ethan, her confusion mounting. "Is this… normal for your family?"
Ethan groaned, muttering under his breath, "Nothing about this is normal."
The soldiers exchanged knowing glances, their earlier suspicions now validated by the Duchess herself. One muttered, "I knew it—love triumphs on the battlefield."
Another nodded sagely. "And under a mother's watchful eye, no less."
Location: Imperial Palace – Throne Room
The throne room was bathed in an imposing stillness, the kind that made even seasoned courtiers shift uneasily. Raphael Valoria sat upon his throne, his crimson eyes scanning the array of reports stacked neatly on the table before him. His aura dominated the chamber, a silent reminder of his authority. Advisors stood rigid, their words measured and cautious, each syllable chosen to avoid his ire.
As he read through the latest correspondence, one particular report caught his attention. Count Armond's account from the front lines spoke highly of Micheal von Shelb, detailing his unconventional tactics and unwavering determination during the red-sky and red-fog incident. Raphael's lips twitched—almost imperceptibly—as he contemplated the contents.
"Count Armond has written well of this Micheal von Shelb," Raphael said, his voice smooth yet commanding. "It seems recognition is warranted."
An advisor hesitated before stepping forward, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, perhaps the Count's independent army could be granted a place in the upcoming Flower Parade. To march alongside the Imperial troops—it is the highest honor for such a force."
The suggestion hung in the air, and Raphael's gaze shifted to the advisor. "An honor," he murmured, his tone unreadable. "Ensure it is arranged."
The courtiers exchanged glances, their unease growing as Raphael moved through the remaining matters with uncharacteristic efficiency. There was no room for debate or discussion; his decisions were swift and final. When the last report was presented, Raphael rose abruptly, his black cloak sweeping behind him.
"Court is adjourned," he declared, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the room, his departure leaving a palpable void in his wake.
As the heavy doors closed behind him, Advisor Dion leaned toward a colleague, his voice a hushed murmur. "His Majesty's mood… it's been different lately. Sharper. Colder."
"Perhaps it's the strain of recent events," another whispered back. "The red sky, the fog…"
Dion shook his head slightly, his gaze following Raphael's retreating figure. "It's something else."
Location: Raphael's Chambers
Raphael entered his chambers, the heavy door closing softly behind him. The imposing emperor's shoulders eased slightly as he moved toward the gilded mirror at the far end of the room. With a single, practiced motion, he stepped into the shared domain, the golden light of the realm enveloping him.
Time flowed differently here, a deliberate manipulation that allowed him to balance his duties with his moments as a father. The golden fields stretched out before him, and under the shade of a familiar willow tree, Magda slept peacefully, curled up with a faint smile on her lips.
The harsh lines of Raphael's expression softened as he approached her. The juxtaposition of his roles—the cold, powerful ruler and the gentle father—was stark, but in this space, there was no question which side of him prevailed. Kneeling beside her, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his crimson eyes warm with unspoken affection.
"You'll grow strong again, my little dove," he murmured softly. "And when you do, the world will bow before you."
Magda stirred slightly, her small hand clutching the edge of the blanket. Raphael sat back, his gaze lingering on her as the weight of the throne room faded into irrelevance. Here, in this sanctuary, he found his purpose—not as an emperor, but as a father.
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