"That’s an interesting question," she said slowly. "And a dangerous one."
"Answer it anyway."
She hummed, folding her arms. "The crown rests on three things. Bloodline. Divine approval. And perception."
"Perception?"
"The belief that they deserve to rule," Velra replied. "Once that cracks, even a king bleeds like any other man."
I exhaled.
’So that’s it.’
Bloodline was untouchable.
Divine approval... questionable, but distant.
But perception?
That was human.
And humans were easy to shake.
----
The carriage lurched forward once more, wheels crunching softly over the gravel as we set off.
I glanced sideways at Alice.
Radiant—as always.
Even sitting casually, she carried herself with effortless grace, the kind that couldn’t be taught. And as usual, that only made my irritation deepen.
’No matter how I look at it... that crown prince really is blind.’
Blind in how he saw the world.
Blind in how he judged people.
To become infatuated with a single woman and cast aside the daughter of a ducal house—one that controlled nearly a fifth of the Empire’s territory?
And to do it without proper etiquette.
Without compensation.
Without even the decency of negotiation.
Unilateral. Arrogant. Short-sighted.
Worse still, he had done it while weakening his own support within the royal family.
’That’s not boldness. That’s stupidity.’
And above all—
’Where would you even find a bride like Alice?’
The thought made me scoff inwardly. Talent, lineage, authority, composure, strength—she lacked nothing. A woman like her was the kind kingdoms fought wars over, not discarded like an inconvenience.
The crown prince, whom I hadn’t even met yet, had already earned my wholehearted contempt.
Just then, sunlight streamed through the carriage window.
It caught Alice at the perfect angle.
Her hair—white, smooth, and gleaming—shone brighter than silk.
Her eyes—clear and deep—sparkled like cut sapphires under daylight.
And beneath that cool, aristocratic exterior lay a warmth she never showed openly, but never lost.
Truly, my favorite character was flawless.
My dislike for the crown prince grew another notch.
Screeeech.
The carriage slowed as it passed through the imperial palace’s main gate, guards snapping to attention as we rolled in. After a brief inspection, the wheels ground to a halt.
"We still made it on time," Alice said calmly as she rose from her seat.
Then she turned to me. "Julies, please lead the way."
Her hand—pale as carved jade—extended toward me.
I hesitated for half a heartbeat.
If I had my way, I would’ve postponed this meeting indefinitely. Preferably forever. Arranging a formal encounter with the crown prince was the last thing I wanted to do.
But refusal wasn’t an option.
At best, I could minimize contact.
Slowly. Carefully. Gradually.
Creating distance—physical and political—was the only sensible approach.
"Yes, my lady," I replied, bowing slightly. "As you command."
Alice nodded, then added casually, "And have the maid take care of cleaning up the carriage. That is her duty, after all."
"...Descendant of the warrior," Velra muttered from behind us, irritation thick in her voice, "is this not excessive?"
Her maid uniform rustled as she crossed her arms, golden eyes burning with quiet indignation.
I didn’t even turn around.
"Maids clean," I said flatly. "That’s the convention."
"Tch."
Leaving Velra’s grumbling behind, Alice and I stepped onto the marble path leading toward the palace proper.
The imperial palace was exactly as I remembered—vast, immaculate, and suffocating.
White stone pillars rose high into the air, engraved with reliefs of past emperors and divine blessings. Servants moved silently along the corridors, heads bowed. Knights in ceremonial armor stood at intervals, spears grounded, expressions rigid.
Every step forward felt like walking deeper into a gilded cage.
As we approached the banquet hall, the sound of voices grew clearer—polite laughter, measured conversation, the clinking of crystal glasses.
Politics, distilled into noise.
Alice slowed slightly, her expression shifting back into the flawless mask of a ducal daughter. Any warmth vanished, replaced by cool composure.
"...Remember," she said quietly without looking at me, "this is a formal setting."
"I know," I replied.
"And Julies?"
"Yes?"
"If the crown prince says anything unnecessary—"
"I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it," I finished.
Her lips curved faintly. "Good."
The doors to the banquet hall opened.
----
Last night.
After seeing the vampire off, the Duke lingered alone in his study.
Lost in thought, he slowly made his way to the window.
Beyond the glass—
Far, far beyond the northern horizon—
Lay the Drazroth Empire, invisible to the naked eye, yet ever-present in his mind. A land that swarmed with demons like ants in a nest too distant to crush outright.
"They’re in the middle of a civil war."
The words echoed in the quiet room.
Tap. Tap.
His fingers drummed softly against the windowsill, an old habit that surfaced whenever his thoughts grew tangled.
Vampires.
According to her, Drazroth was no longer unified. It had fractured into two opposing forces, each pulling the empire in a different direction.
The Ravran faction—those who preached the absolute unity of demonkind, rallying beneath the banner of the so-called Demon King.
And opposing them—
The resistance faction, led primarily by gargoyles, refusing to bow to a single tyrant.
"...Interesting."
The Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Now would be the perfect time to invade."
The words slipped out, quiet but heavy.
A divided enemy was always the most vulnerable. Even Drazroth, for all its monstrous strength, would bleed if struck at the right moment.
Of course, the warriors of the North were renowned. Hardier. Braver. Tempered by endless cold and harsher battlefields than most.
But this would not be a border skirmish.
It would be total war.
An invasion of a demon empire.
No matter how elite the northern forces were, they could not shoulder such a campaign alone. Supply lines, numbers, sustained pressure—none of it could be solved by courage alone.
If reinforcements from the central and southern regions failed to arrive—
The operation would collapse before it truly began.
The Duke exhaled slowly, fogging the glass for a brief moment.
"A chance like this doesn’t come twice," he murmured.
Yet opportunity and recklessness were separated by a very thin line.
And as always, the burden of deciding where that line lay rested squarely on his shoulders.