The morning sun spilled lazily through the stained glass of House Valenpor's southern solarium, warming the floor in soft ambers and crimsons. Lucien, Count of his house sat reclined in a high-backed chair, legs crossed, a crystal goblet of spiced wine balanced in one hand.
A servant girl knelt near the hearth, stirring embers with a careful poker. He didn't look at her—only enjoyed the silence, broken now and then by birdsong or the shifting of the heavy velvet curtains.
Peace.
Order.
Obedience.
That was the lifeblood of a noble house.
He took a slow sip of wine, savoring the sweetness. The girl shifted slightly, and his gaze flicked to her, bored but cold. "Mind the ash. I don't want soot on the rugs again."
"Yes, my lord," came the quiet reply.
She bowed her head and returned to her work.
Valenpor set his goblet down with a soft clink, fingers steepling.
Ilya.
She had sent no letter since her arrival in Velwynd. No update. No proper deference. He assumed she was playing the role of Duchess well enough—Elias would demand nothing less—but still, it irked him.
Ungrateful little branch.
He'd clipped her wings more than once, but somehow the girl had learned to glide. Not fly. Not truly. Just… stay in the air long enough to think she'd escaped gravity.
He smirked. The Archduke would correct that illusion in time.
A knock disturbed his thoughts.
He didn't turn. "Yes?"
A steward entered, his face pale. "My lord… there's a carriage at the outer gate. It bears the sigil of House Velwynd."
Valenpor's brow lifted. "Did she come crawling back already?"
"N-no, my lord. It's not Lady Ilya. It's… the Archduke."
The words landed with an unfamiliar weight. Valenpor straightened slowly. "Alone?"
"Yes, my lord. He… he carries someone."
The Count rose from his chair, brushing a crease from his dark robe. His lips tightened. "Very well. Bring him to the southern hall. Prepare wine."
The steward hesitated.
"Now," Valenpor snapped.
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The southern hall was colder than the solarium, all white stone and steel. A fire had been lit, but the chill clung to the corners.
When Elias entered, silence came with him.
His boots were damp with road-dust. A faint line of blood had dried along one knuckle. He wore no cloak, no crown, no sigil but the one carved into the hilt of the cane now gripped in his right hand.
In his left, he dragged a man by the jacket as though he were simply a sack of grain.
Toby Vaits.
Bruised, broken, and barely conscious.
Valenpor's nostrils flared. "What is the meaning of this?"
Elias did not answer at first. He walked forward slowly, cane tapping against the stone. When he reached the base of the small platform where Valenpor stood, he let the man drop with a heavy thud.
Valenpor's gaze flicked to Toby—then back to Elias. "My lord Archduke. This is an unexpected—"
"Your dog raised a hand to my wife."
The words were quiet.
Too quiet.
Valenpor blinked. "Your… wife?" A smirk tugged at his mouth. "I assume you mean the girl—"
"Ilya," Elias interrupted. "The Duchess of Velwynd."
The cane hit the ground again. Louder.
"I will say this once, Count Valenpor," Elias said, his voice a slow, dangerous tide. "You may speak ill of your own legacy in your halls. You may rot in the weight of your failures. But you will never again send hands or words to strike what is mine."
Valenpor narrowed his eyes. "I'm beginning to question your stability, Archduke. That man—" he gestured at the body on the floor "—is a trusted servant of my house."
Elias stepped closer. The firelight caught the edge of his mask, casting one eye into shadow.
"I care not." he said. "I only care that you sent filth into my keep. He touched the Duchess, insulted her and raised his hand in threat."
"Ilya exaggerates," Valenpor snapped. "She always did. Sensitive creature. Always running to her mother with weeping lies when she didn't get her way."
Elias's hand twitched.
Not on the cane.
On the hilt of a blade that now glinted faintly beneath his cloak.
"I saw it with my own eyes and for his transgression I would bury you beside him, were it not for the pleading of your daughter." he said , still eyes never blinking as they grasped his own. "I am thankful for her…you see, I was raised to respect the peace of noble houses and without her there would be war for this . So…at her request, I came to return your trash and deliver my answer."
Valenpor blinked, his nerves now fully rattled. "Y-your answer?" he said, confused.
"To your request for money and information from her. You see….your compatriot here was quite willing to divulge your requests once I bloodied him a little. Perhaps you too would find that more motivating. Time will tell."
The count glared at Toby for a second, knowing the man must have spilled his guts on why he was sent which left him in quite the predicament.
Elias turned slightly, facing the nearest steward. "Draft a letter of apology for your count. I expect it signed by dusk and appropriate compensation sent along with it within a week, or House Valenpor will find itself swallowed by a cold northern wind."
"Is this….my apologies my lord but are you here to threaten me?" Lucien had not been threatened so openly before and it took
Elias slowly, almost eerily turned back to the Count, causing the man to pale. Under that mask…something inhuman had begun to glow. A dark red, like the fires of the great burning of an afterlife for those who lived in evil.
"I do not issue threats, Count. I am merely instructing you." Elias said, his voice so calm it almost hurt the ear.
Then, with that, he turned and left.
The cane echoed once more on stone. Each step a decree.
And Valenpor, for the first time in years, felt something unfamiliar in his chest.
Not rage or pride. It was foreign to him and he hated its touch, a coldness that was both sharp and silent.
Fear.