Chapter Text
One hundred and twenty-five years ago, the air of the kingdom of Hésilphute was saturated with odors of ashes and of blood. The drums of war resounded in the valleys, making tremble even the stones of the fortresses. Beneath the purple banners of the imperial family Lee, the armies advanced, determined to shatter the unholy alliance of the second empire Sanllunie and of the corrupted religion that had sworn the fall of the monarchy. In the enemy ranks, one spoke with fear of the heir to the throne, bearer of a poison capable of corroding steel and of asphyxiating an entire army. His violet eyes, clear like an amethyst under the moon, and his fingers black like death were the mark of a power that was transmitted only to a single being per generation.
At the sides of the imperial family, the three great duchies had deployed their forces, true pillars of victory.
The house Cha, invincible on the fields of battle, carried in its veins the art of war and physical perfection. Their fighters were the spearhead of the army, striking so fast and so hard that the enemy never had the time to rise again.
The house Yoo, sharp like the wind and quick like lightning, moved within the enemy lines like an invisible storm, leaving behind it a trail of bodies and a terrifying silence.
The house Jung, at last, possessed a weapon more fearsome than all blades: the capacity to tear away the powers of their enemies. Thanks to them, the most powerful mages and summoners of the opposing camp were reduced to mere mortals, incapable of countering the blade and the poison.
This war did not last a few months nor a few years; it was long, exhausting, an open wound that devoured two decades of the continent’s history. But when the ashes fell again, only Hésilphute remained standing, uncontested master of a world on its knees. The family Lee reigned, and with it the duchies that had engraved their name into the eternal chronicles.
Today, one hundred and twenty-five years later, the drums have fallen silent. The fields where once armies clashed have become again green plains where graze the horses. The towers blackened by fire have been covered with ivy. Hésilphute has become a prosperous empire, powerful and pacified, where danger comes less from weapons than from intrigues behind golden walls.
In a castle of white stones bordered by gardens, the morning light slides through tall windows, caressing the long silent corridors. Cha Eui-jae, heir of the duchy of house Cha, crosses these corridors like a disciplined shadow. His ash-gray hair catches the light, taking almost white reflections. His eyes, dark and pierced with blue sparks, seem to observe the world with a calm, almost cold distance. His steps are regular, precise, carried by a body accustomed to effort and to action. He does not speak much. He does not need to speak; in this house, his silence is worth order. His routine is flawless: rising at dawn, physical training, inspection of the guards, strategic readings. The rest of the time, he devotes himself to manual tasks, as if he feared to remain immobile for too long.
Far from there, in the imperial wing, the atmosphere is different. The crown prince Lee Sa-young still lingers in his apartments, stretched out on a couch, the head leaned upon an arm. His tousled black hair frames a face of a beauty almost insolent, softened by a discreet beauty mark under his pale lips. His violet eyes, lively despite their tarnished gleam, slide lazily across the room while he spins absentmindedly a glass between his gloved fingers. The thin layer of black leather hides the danger that smolders under his skin: that hereditary poison which spares no one.
"Your Highness, the ball of this evening is of a capital importance !"
Insists Seo Min-gi, his valet, in a relentless voice. His black eyes, almost extinguished, contrast with the firm tone that suffers no refusal. Behind his impassive mask, he hides nonetheless a feverish worry.
"You speak to me of it as if I were going to die there."
Retorts Lee Sa-young, a mocking smile at the corner of his lips.
"If you do not go, it is worse, replies Min-gi, without raising an eyebrow."
"And I who thought that my absence would improve the evening."
Bae Won-woo, his bodyguard, leaning against the wall, intervenes in a low and deep voice.
"You must go, Highness. If only so that I can finally drink free wine."
Lee Sa-young throws him an incredulous look.
"I fight to avoid this torture, and you, you want to drag me there to booze?"
"It is imperial wine, specifies Bae, as if it were an indisputable argument."
Seo Min-gi briefly closes his eyes, holding himself back from sighing. Between the insolence of the prince and the casualness of the knight, he already knows that this day will be long. And the night, even more.