The emperor leaned back in his throne, his fury still simmering beneath the surface, coiling like a storm waiting to break. His eyes narrowed, cold and calculating, as his fingers tapped the armrest, one by one, a rhythm only he could hear.
"And you suggest we wait…?" His voice was a quiet growl,
The advisor, ever composed, bowed even lower, his old bones creaking slightly with the effort.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Patience will turn their arrogance into their undoing."
He paused, then his voice grew heavier, almost grave.
"But there is a greater problem before us now… one that cannot wait."
The nobles, who had been nervously observing the exchange, straightened at the sudden shift in tone. Curiosity buzzed through the room like a swarm of bees. Whispers flitted through the air, barely contained.
The advisor turned, sweeping the court with a hard, unflinching gaze. He knew how to command attention without raising his voice. His eyes were sharp, calculating.
"With the annulment, Princess Catherine is no longer tied to the Thornevales. Nothing now stops the Holy Church from extending its hand to her."
The words struck like a hammer on stone. A ripple of panic spread across the court, igniting a flurry of whispered exchanges.
"Saintess…" one noble muttered, his voice trembling.
"They would dare…?" another voice faltered.
"If the Church controls her…" someone else whispered, trailing off in dread.
The advisor raised a finger, silencing them.
"If the Church proclaims her their Saintess, the people will follow her blindly. Not just the commoners—but the court itself. A princess of the Empire, wrapped in holy robes, speaking with the authority of the goddess… That influence could rival even the throne itself."
His words dropped into the room like stones sinking into still water.
Silence followed, heavy and oppressive. The nobles shifted in their seats, their faces paling as they fully grasped the enormity of what was being suggested.
Even those who had earlier applauded the annulment were now grimacing, a cold sweat beginning to bead on their brows. They had cheered the weakening of Throne, but the possibility of a holy church taking the control of the Empire was a far greater threat.
The emperor's grip tightened on the armrest, his teeth grinding audibly. The flames of his anger shifted—not toward Thornevale for the moment, but toward the looming shadow of the Church.
The advisor straightened, his face a mask of grim determination, his words carrying the weight of truth as they reverberated across the room.
"Your Majesty, forgive my frankness, but the true danger lies in what follows. Once the marriage between the Hero and Princess Catherine is sealed, the Empire's very balance will shift."
He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as they swept across the assembly.
"The crown prince will not have the influence to stand against them. The people will look to the Hero and your daughter as the rightful rulers of the Empire, no matter who wears the crown. But make no mistake—neither the princess nor the Hero will hold the true reins of power."
His voice hardened, his tone sharpening like a spear aimed at the heart of the Empire's future.
"It will be the Holy Church. They already own the hearts of the people, from peasants to priests, from common soldiers to scholars. Once they control the throne through the saintly daughter of the Empire, then this realm—our realm—will belong to them."
The words struck the room like a thunderclap, and a shiver passed through the nobles. Some of them recoiled, their eyes wide with fear, their earlier excitement and congratulatory whispers evaporating like smoke. The faces that had once been eager to kiss the emperor's ring now looked pale, anxious.
A few lowered their gazes, the secret smiles they'd worn moments ago now replaced with the sharp sting of realization. Others clenched their fists, their knuckles turning white as they grasped at the fleeting threads of power they still held.
Murmurs began to ripple through the hall, low and disbelieving.
"The Church… ruling the Empire?""Impossible… but if they—""No… no, it is possible."
The advisor did not let the noise linger. His voice cut through it, sharp and unrelenting.
"Do not delude yourselves. You all know their methods. The Church hides its ambitions behind piety, but it has always sought dominion. With the Hero at their side and the princess raised as their Saintess, they will need no armies. The people themselves will carry them to power."
The words dropped like iron weights into the hearts of the nobles. Each one knew the power the Church had, but none had dared to imagine it could stretch this far, to seize control of the throne itself. The thought sent a cold tremor through them.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet the weight of his words only seemed to grow heavier, more final.
"When Princess Catherine was bound to Thornevale, the Church dared not reach for her. "
"They knew the cost. For had they declared her their Saintess, the Thornevales would not have hesitated to march upon the Holy City itself."
"They would have dragged the Pope from his throne if need be—and they would not care if the entire world cried against them. Anyone standing in their way would have been punished as severely as the Church itself."
The nobles froze. For a brief moment, all of them imagined the white-haired Thornevales leading their armies, burning sanctuaries and monasteries alike without hesitation. And they knew—it wasn't an exaggeration. The Thornevales had always been feared precisely because they could act without fear of consequence.
One noble whispered hoarsely, almost trembling:
"So long as she was tied to Thornevale… she was untouchable."
Another muttered, his voice thick with dread,
"And now…"
The words hung in the air, unfinished, but the meaning was clear. The Church, once cautious, now had an open path to claim Catherine—and with her, the throne.
The church's shadow was already stretching across the Empire.
The emperor's knuckles whitened as he gripped the throne tighter, his fury shifting from insult to paranoia, as though the holy cathedral itself loomed over his palace.
The chamber grew colder as the advisor, still on his knees, raised his voice carefully.
"Your Majesty… there are but three paths before us."
The nobles leaned forward, holding their breath. The emperor's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he allowed the man to continue.
"The first… is to disown Princess Catherine. If she is no longer of the Solarian bloodline, she will have no legitimate claim to the throne. However—"
He paused heavily, "—this carries its own peril. The princess may resent such betrayal, and with the Hero and the Church behind her, she could set herself as a rival claimant. The Church would seize upon it as proof of your cruelty, and they would parade her as a wronged daughter chosen by the Goddess herself. It may become the very pretext for them to place her upon the throne while they rule from behind."
The emperor's face darkened. His hand gripped the armrest of the throne, veins bulging as he muttered, "Treasonous… daughter…"
The advisor pressed his forehead to the marble floor.
"The second path, Your Majesty, is the most reliable. Do not allow this annulment to stand. Force Thornevale to keep the engagement. It will anger them, but so long as the bond exists, the Church will not dare move. The Hero cannot oppose the might of Thornevale, and the people will not side with the Church when the princess remains under their shadow. It is restraint… but restraint is sometimes the strongest chain."
A murmur passed through the nobles. They looked at each other, realizing the truth of those words, yet also knowing the emperor's pride would make this the hardest path to accept.
The advisor hesitated. His next words trembled on his lips, but he forced them out.
"The third path…"
Silence fell. Not even the sound of breath stirred.
"The third path is… to remove the princess from this world altogether. If she does not exist, neither the Church nor the Hero can use her. Without her, their claim shatters. The people may wail, but in time their cries will fade. The Empire will endure."
The words hung in the air like a funeral bell.
For a heartbeat, the hall was silent. Then the emperor exploded.
"Wretch!!" Aurelius roared, leaping to his feet, his face twisted with fury. His hand shot forward, pointing at the kneeling advisor. "Guards! Seize him! Cut out his treacherous tongue and hang his head above the gates! How dare you—how dare you suggest my daughter's death before me!"
Steel rang as guards stepped forward, blades half-drawn, their boots echoing against the marble. The advisor did not flinch; he remained bowed, his forehead pressed against the floor.
"Your Majesty," he said, voice steady despite the sword-points now aimed at him. "I would gladly offer my head if it would secure the Empire. But understand—my loyalty is not to Catherine, not to Thornevale, not to the Church… it is to you and the Empire itself. That is why I speak what others fear to whisper."
The emperor froze, trembling with barely restrained wrath. His breath came heavy, his knuckles white as he gripped the throne once more.
"…Stop," Aurelius growled suddenly, his voice low but cutting like a blade.
The guards halted mid-step.
The emperor sank back into his throne, his eyes burning with rage, yet a flicker of reason tempered the fire. He glared down at the advisor, still kneeling, unshaken.
"Do not think your life wasn't about to be forfeit," he spat. "But I will not punish loyalty, no matter how venomous the words may be."
The nobles exchanged glances, shaken. They had seen the emperor order executions for far less. Yet here, he had stopped himself—not because he forgave, but because he understood.
The advisor bowed lower, his voice firm but quiet.
"Your Majesty, I would never wish harm upon the princess. But we must face truth without fear… or the Empire itself will be lost."
The emperor sat in silence, his expression carved in stone. His fury had not abated, but his mind—calculating, ruthless—was now awake, weighing the terrible paths before him.
"Your Majesty," the advisor said, stepping forward with measured steps, "we must act swiftly. Everything must be done before Princess Catherine leaves the Thornevale territory. Once she steps outside of their territory, the Church will move in before we can secure her allegiance."
Aurelius's gaze flickered over the advisor, his eyes narrowing as he processed the gravity of the words. For a moment, the emperor stood still, the weight of the situation pressing heavily upon him. The fire in his eyes, though contained, was unmistakable. This was not just about securing Catherine's future—it was about securing his own.
His mind churned with the possibilities, the implications. The Thornevales, despite their audacity, were no longer a shield. The Church, emboldened by their opportunity, would move fast. But what if—what if he could strike first?
Finally, his lips parted, and the command came with the quiet finality of an emperor who knew the cost of delay.
"Send letters. To Ace Thornevale, and to my daughter."