.
Chapter 51: The Everhart Response
A deathly silence filled Leonhardt's study.
The broken armrest splintered under his fingers, jagged wood digging into his palm. His fiery red eyes, sharp as a predator's, remained fixed on the letter before him—the imperial decree demanding his engagement to Princess Seraphina.
A marriage proposal?
No.
A leash.
A futile attempt to shackle him to the imperial family.
His jaw tightened.
They thought he was just another noble son to be tamed?
How laughable.
A slow exhale left his lips as he released his grip on the chair, his emotions carefully concealed behind an icy mask. He picked up the sealed parchment once more, his gaze dark and unreadable.
Then, without hesitation—
The letter burned.
Golden flames danced along its edges, curling the paper into ash within moments.
Aldric Everhart's Judgment
In the grand hall of the Everhart estate, the tension was palpable.
Aldric Everhart stood at the head of the long, polished table, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His piercing crimson gaze swept over the gathered Everhart retainers, their expressions ranging from concern to barely veiled anger.
The imperial proposal had arrived that morning.
Leonhardt stood before his father, unbothered as ever, the remains of the burnt letter still flickering in the nearby fireplace.
Aldric's gaze lingered on his son.
The boy—**no, the young man—**had made his stance clear.
"This engagement proposal," Aldric finally spoke, voice even, "was expected."
Some of the retainers shifted uncomfortably.
Leonhardt remained silent.
Aldric's gaze turned sharper. "The Emperor moves carefully. He does not act without reason. And now, he seeks to tie the Everharts to the imperial family permanently."
Leonhardt let out a quiet scoff, his expression utterly unimpressed.
"They want a loyal dog."
His words were blunt, dripping with disdain.
Aldric smirked. "Yes. But they forget—Everharts do not kneel."
The retainers straightened at their Grand Duke's declaration.
Silence stretched between father and son.
Finally, Aldric leaned forward, his crimson eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.
"What will you do, Leonhardt?"
Leonhardt met his father's gaze, his fiery red eyes calm yet unyielding.
"Decline."
Aldric chuckled, low and approving.
"The polite way, or our way?"
Leonhardt's lips curled into a shadow of a smirk.
"Our way."
The retainers bristled at the undeniable finality in his voice.
War had not yet begun, but battle lines were already being drawn.
The Imperial Court's Shock
Three days later, inside the imperial palace, the court was in an uproar.
The Everharts had refused.
Not just refused—they had rejected the engagement with a single sentence.
"The Everharts do not require imperial favor."
The words were delivered with no explanation, no excuses, and no room for negotiation.
Seraphina d'Arcelia sat in her high-backed chair, tapping her fingers against the polished table, her expression unreadable.
Rejection?
She had expected resistance—not outright defiance.
"Interesting."
Her sapphire eyes flickered with amusement. Leonhardt Valerian Everhart was truly unlike the rest.
A ripple of unease spread through the court. Some nobles fumed at the insult, while others paled at the implications.
Had the Everharts just declared war on imperial authority?
The Emperor sat upon his throne, his expression unreadable.
Then—he laughed.
A deep, rich sound that sent a shiver through the gathered nobles.
"Of course," he murmured, golden eyes gleaming. "This is how they choose to answer."
He had expected this.
Leonhardt was not a pawn. He was a king in the making.
The game had only just begun.
Leonhardt's Next Move
Back at the Everhart estate, Leonhardt stood in his personal training hall, his sword resting against his shoulder.
The imperial court was in chaos.
Good.
But he was not foolish enough to believe they would stop here.
The Emperor would test him further. The nobles would scheme. The imperial faction would push harder.
Let them try.
Leonhardt closed his eyes for a brief moment.
The imperial games were merely a distraction.
His true focus lay elsewhere—breaking the seal.
His lips pressed into a thin line.
He would not be shackled. Not by the imperial family. Not by the nobles.
And soon—
Not even by fate.