Fractures and Forging : Duke's dilemma

Location: Dining Hall, Shelb Estate

The opulent dining room of the Shelb Estate was bathed in the golden glow of the chandelier above. The gentle crackle of the hearth added a subtle warmth to the room's atmosphere. Duke Louis von Shelb sat at the head of the table, his sharp blue eyes reflecting decades of calculated decisions.

Across from him, Duchess Eleanor maintained a poised composure. Her hazel eyes, though sharp, revealed little, and her folded hands trembled faintly against her lap. Adrian, the middle son, lounged to one side, his golden blonde hair tied neatly at the back. Despite his outward nonchalance, tension shadowed his expression.

Louis gestured broadly, his voice filled with authority. "Neutral factions should align with one another. It's simple strategy. Adrian—your match must strengthen our position. Avoid entangling with the royalists like the Whitestones. They are opportunists, pushing Magda toward the throne. It's a volatile position."

Duchess Eleanor's gaze flickered briefly. The weight of her husband's words pressed heavily against her guarded resolve. She remained silent, though a faint crease marred her brow. A servant polishing a brass sconce nearby kept their movements steady, blending into the room's shadows while observing every word with practiced neutrality.

Louis's tone shifted to calculated detachment. "Micheal and Magda's marriage might be tolerable because it seems unlikely they will have children. Micheal's heart… his condition hardly permits physical exertion. He is unlikely to father a child. And Magda's body has suffered from repeated mana backlash during her impoverished childhood." He added pointedly, "Most powerful mages are infertile because of this. Even after an year of marriage and obvious attraction, I refuse to believe they haven't secretly consummated their marriage. Their union is a symbol of alliance, not posterity."

The Duke's assumptions, however, were far from accurate. The spy stationed at the Shelb estate had observed Micheal sparring regularly with Barnaby and lifting a horseless carriage from a ditch—acts impossible for someone burdened by a mana-aura lock. These feats hinted at a deeper transformation. Micheal's heart had likely been healed, unlocking his mana-aura bond.

Meanwhile, Magda's infernal lineage, zealously guarded as a secret by the Emperor's spies, preserved her vitality and youth. It rendered her immune to the frailties of mortal life. Duke Louis's miscalculations and biases painted a skewed picture, one that would surely intrigue the Emperor. For now, the spy maintained their guise, silently cataloging the unfolding family dynamics.

Adrian's jaw clenched. The fire in his blue eyes betrayed his frustration. Eleanor's fingers gripped the fabric of her dress tightly, her knuckles whitening with the effort to contain her own defiance. The quiet strength she projected seemed like a fragile shield against Louis's unyielding pragmatism. Did they truly see their youngest as a disposable pawn in their political chess game?

"Ethan," Louis pressed on, his voice sterner now, "must seek a more suitable match than Vivian Whitestone. She is a soldier, not a duchess. He needs someone who elevates our family."

Adrian's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Father, do not speak ill of Vivian. You've always valued Ethan as the perfect heir," he said, his tone taut with restrained anger. "Vivian, regardless of whom she marries, would hold her station with beauty and grace. She was the cleverest woman in our class, excelling not only in academics but in strategy. She stood fearless in debates where others faltered. The so-called virtuous noblewomen you idealize? They can only giggle and flutter their fans. Vivian's strength, wit, and courage outshine them all. You would do well to recognize her worth."

Louis's expression hardened, his voice cutting sharply through the room. "And what of Lady Halvora? A family on the brink of irrelevance, dragged further into disgrace. Their daughter, another of your classmates like Vivian, now bears a child out of wedlock. Is that truly the type of family you choose to defend?"

Adrian straightened, the tension radiating from him palpable. His voice was firm, carrying the weight of unspoken truth. "Yes, I would defend them. Greta Halvora may not meet your perfect standards, but she has shown more strength and dignity in her circumstances than many nobles you praise. To shame her for her struggles is cowardice, Father. If anything, it's the fault of those who judge her, not her own."

The room fell into heavy silence. Eleanor's hazel eyes softened. Pride flickered briefly beneath her composed exterior. Adrian's defense of Greta—dismissed as irrelevant by the family—revealed a rare depth of conviction.

"Adrian," Eleanor interjected gently, her voice carrying quiet authority, "your father has spoken. But even in politics, decorum must remain. Let us temper our judgments with understanding."

Louis's jaw tightened, but he relented, leaning back in his chair. Adrian pushed his chair back and rose abruptly. His defiant expression remained unyielding.

Eleanor watched him leave, her heart heavy with unspoken wishes. She longed for Adrian to find peace amidst his father's unrelenting expectations. As she watched her son's retreating figure, her thoughts turned wistful.

She dreamed of her children forging paths shaped by love and conviction, not just duty. She imagined Adrian free from the expectations of the family, Ethan and Vivian finding solace in one another, and Micheal and Magda defying every grim expectation to create a family full of joy and strength. These were the hopes she nurtured quietly, dreams she dared not voice aloud. For now, she could only hope the seeds of her children's defiance would grow into something beautiful.

Location: Duke's study, Shelb Estate

Alone in his study, Duke Louis swirled a glass of aged brandy, his thoughts heavy. His sons were in the North—Ethan, the dutiful soldier, and Micheal, the unexpected enigma. Adrian, however, was growing too much like Eleanor. His ideals and defiance echoed hers.

The memory of Adrian's biting words lingered, mingling with Eleanor's soft interjections. Her quiet resistance had long been a thorn in his side, but tonight, it felt sharper. Her disappointment, though rarely voiced, was palpable in the tension of her movements. And Adrian's growing defiance was proof that Louis's grip on his family was slipping.

"I've been too distant," he muttered, his voice low, barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "When Ethan and Micheal return, I will set things right. Adrian needs guidance."

He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his realizations pressing heavily on him. His thoughts turned to Adrian's defiance, a reflection of Eleanor's quiet resistance, and he wondered if his harshness had driven his son further away.

If he wanted to mend these fractures, he would have to approach them differently. Bonding with his sons when they returned seemed like a start. But it wasn't enough to simply call for Ethan or Micheal; he would need to understand them as men, not pawns.

And Magda. He knew little of her beyond the Emperor's reports and Micheal's guarded mentions. If Micheal's loyalty to his wife was growing stronger, then Louis would need to earn her trust as well. Only through genuine connection could he hope to bring his family together.

Setting the glass down, Louis exhaled heavily. For the sake of the Shelb name—and his own conscience—he could not let these connections wither. Yet, even as he planned, a shadow of doubt lingered in the corner of his mind, whispering that his assumptions might lead him astray.

Location: Shelb Army Camp, Northern Borders

Ethan stirred awake, the faint warmth of sunlight filtering through the canvas of his tent. He blinked at the familiar surroundings, confusion knitting his brow. The neatly folded blanket draped over him and the fluffed pillow beneath his head made him pause. How did I end up like this? he thought, a trace of bemusement flickering across his sharp features.

He sat up, stretching, and immediately felt an odd lightness in his chest. His exhaustion, which had clung to him for months, seemed absent. A rare, almost buoyant energy coursed through him. The feeling was so foreign that he chuckled quietly to himself as he began dressing.

Today wasn't just any day. Ethan reached for his official military attire, meticulously donning the crisp black coat adorned with silver insignias denoting his rank. Each piece, from the polished buttons to the ceremonial sword resting against the stand, reminded him of his duty and stature. Yet, as he fastened the final clasp, a rare smile tugged at his lips.

For some reason, he felt… happy. It wasn't a feeling Ethan allowed himself often, and it puzzled him. He ran a hand through his golden blonde hair, glancing at the polished mirror set against the tent wall. The reflection stared back, looking refreshed—lighter, even.

A thought struck him. Vivian. Almost instinctively, he reached for parchment, penning a quick message and summoning a nearby messenger. "Take this to the imperial guard's tent. Find Dame Vivian Whitestone."

The soldier saluted, but before Ethan could sit back, the messenger returned, looking sheepish. "My Lord, Dame Vivian left early this morning with Princess Magda and Mage Calista. They've gone to investigate a beast attack in the nearby village."

Ethan's brow furrowed briefly, but the strange buoyancy in his mood persisted. "Very well," he replied, his tone lighter than usual. "Dismissed."

As he stepped out of his tent, the camp buzzed with activity. Soldiers sparred in the training yards, while others gathered supplies for the upcoming journey to the wedding. Ethan greeted several of them with an uncharacteristically cheerful nod. His lighthearted demeanor turned heads.

"Did he just smile?" one soldier whispered to another.

"It's Flora's wedding day," another muttered back. "You'd think he'd be brooding. He pursued her for years."

Ethan ignored the murmurs, his steps purposeful as he strode through the camp. For the first time in what felt like years, he wasn't weighed down by unspoken regrets or lingering frustrations. The soldiers' speculation amused him, but he couldn't explain this uncharacteristic levity himself.

By mid-morning, the distant thrum of hooves announced the return of the three women. Magda, her jet-black hair windblown, rode at the forefront with her crimson eyes scanning the camp. Calista followed, her practical auburn braid streaked with silver, while Vivian trailed slightly behind. Her posture was firm, but Ethan's sharp gaze caught the faintest stiffness in her movements.

The trio dismounted, their expressions grim. Whatever they had encountered in the village had clearly left an impression. Ethan's curiosity piqued, but he remained silent as Magda exchanged a few quiet words with the stable hands before approaching Vivian.

"Vivian," Magda's voice was steady, yet laced with concern. "Are you alright?"

Vivian, startled, glanced at her. "Of course," she replied, brushing dust from her cloak.

Magda's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, her tone soft but insistent. "You're favoring your left side more than usual. Did something happen?"

Vivian hesitated, her emerald green eyes flickering with a hint of discomfort. "Nothing worth noting," she said finally, her voice firm but lacking its usual vigor.

Magda's gaze lingered, her years of swordsmanship training in the shared domain with her father made her acutely aware of even subtle shifts in posture. But she chose not to press further, stepping back with a nod. "If you're sure," she murmured, though her expression suggested she remained unconvinced.

Ethan watched the exchange from a distance, his earlier levity tempered by a growing curiosity. Whatever had shaken the three women, he hoped the three women wouldn't chase further dangers. But for now, there were preparations to make for the day ahead.

The camp settled into a focused hum, the lighthearted banter fading as everyone shifted their attention to the upcoming wedding. Ethan adjusted his ceremonial sword, his thoughts momentarily clouded. Even amidst the rare levity, something about Vivian's demeanor lingered in his mind.