Who are you my father?

Location : Shelb estate

The sounds of war and distant horns faded as the narrative shifted, far from the frost-laced walls of Valenhart Castle, to a place of warmer air but colder hearts—the Shelb Estate.

Adrian von Shelb flinched as the whip cracked against his back again. A searing lash of pain streaked through his spine. His breath came out ragged, lips bloodied and split.

His golden-blonde hair clung to his sweat-slicked brow, strands matted from the punishment. The once-pristine silks of his shirt now hung in tatters.

But his eyes—those deep, Shelb-blue eyes—still sparkled with a rebellious fire.

He looked up at the towering figure in front of him, and despite the sting burning into his skin, he spoke with defiance.

"I will take responsibility. I will raise Greta's child. I will marry her."

Duke Louis von Shelb's hand gripped the leather whip tightly and brought it down again with a crack that echoed through the cold chamber. "And this," he spat, "this is how you repay me?"

He paced in front of Adrian's fallen figure, breath heavy. "I gave you freedom, Adrian. Room to grow, to breathe. I didn't bind you like I did Ethan, didn't cage you like I had to with Micheal. I trusted you to become something better."

Another strike. Adrian's body jerked with the force, but he bit down hard, refusing to make a sound. His breath hitched, but he stared ahead, trembling—not just from pain, but confusion.

This man—this voice—it didn't sound like the father he knew.

"I shielded you from court scrutiny, let you travel, study, live freely," Louis growled. "And you throw it away for a Halvora girl?"

Adrian's vision blurred at the edges, but what chilled him more than the lash was the look in his father's eyes. He looked... monstrous. Like a stranger in the skin of the man who used to lift him on his shoulders.

He wanted to say something, anything—but no words came. Only disbelief.

Louis's voice lowered, venom in every syllable. "I carved out a place for you in the future of this Empire, and you spit in my face with this scandal?"

Adrian flinched again, his thoughts screaming louder than his broken body ever could.

Who are you?

Eleanor let out a muffled cry, clutching her silk robe tighter. "Louis, please! He's your son!"

Louis turned, eyes blazing. "And what would you have me do? Applaud him? For getting tangled with the daughter of my greatest political opponent?"

"Greta isn't her family," Eleanor pleaded, stepping between them. "She's a bureaucrat, a good one. She has nothing to do with the old Halvora scandals or their current political schemes—"

"She carries their blood. That's enough!"

Eleanor collapsed, this all happened because of her.

Only hours earlier, Adrian had approached his mother in her private drawing room, the golden light from the chandeliers casting a soft sheen across the polished floors.

Eleanor had just set down her teacup when he entered, his expression unreadable.

"Mother," he said, voice low, "I need to speak with you."

There was something in his tone that made her immediately set aside everything else.

For months now, she had noticed Adrian drifting—more withdrawn, quieter at dinners, distracted during her tea lessons.

She had waited for him to confide in her, hoping he would eventually open up.

But she had never expected it to be something this enormous.

"Go on," she urged, motioning for him to sit.

Adrian didn't sit. He remained standing, head bowed slightly.

"It's Greta. I... we made a mistake."

Eleanor's eyes widened slightly, a bad premonition rising. "What do you mean?"

"She's pregnant."

Silence blanketed the room.

Eleanor drew in a slow breath. "That's... the scandal they've been whispering about?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

"And the child is yours?"

"Yes."

Eleanor rose, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her face flickered with disbelief, disappointment, and something else—fear.

"What do you plan to do, Adrian?"

"I will raise it. With Greta. As a Shelb. If Father disowns me, I'll become a soldier. I won't abandon them."

Eleanor's voice trembled. "Even if it means giving up your noble name?"

"If I must."

The Duchess studied him. Her hazel eyes, usually warm and serene, now welled with tears.

"You truly love her."

Adrian nodded. "Since I was sixteen. I thought I lost her once. I won't lose her again."

Eleanor moved to him slowly, her hand rising to touch his cheek. "You've grown into a man I'm proud of."

They barely had time to breathe when the doors slammed open.

Duke Louis strode in, tall, grave, eyes sharper than steel.

Reginald trailed behind him, his face pale. His expression gave away that the Duke had heard more than necessary.

"What did you just say?" Louis demanded.

Adrian tensed. Eleanor stepped in front of her son again, but Louis raised a hand.

"Speak. Repeat it."

Adrian looked away.

"Where is your bravado now? Or is it reserved only for weak and gullible women like your mother?"

Adrian looked his father in the eye, this time he decided to take it head-on. "Greta is pregnant. The child is mine."

"And you wish to claim it?" Louis barked.

"Yes."

"You will do no such thing. Make her get rid of it."

"No!"

The room shook with that single word.

"It's my child," Adrian said hoarsely. "A Shelb child. And I will not allow my child to be discarded like a stain on a document. I will raise it. And I will marry her."

His father's fists clenched. "You shame the house."

"I honor it by claiming my mistake. By facing it. And by doing the right thing."

"You think what you have for her is love?" Louis sneered.

"If this is not love, I don't know what is."

The next thing Adrian could remember is the cold floor of the dungeons.

Now, hours later, Adrian lay in the estate's dungeon, the heavy scent of moss and iron filling his senses. His back was flayed, his breath shallow. The cold stones did nothing to numb the pain.

Outside the iron bars, Eleanor sobbed silently.

She had pleaded, screamed, threatened to leave the estate—none of it moved Louis.

"He's your son!" she had cried.

"He's a disgrace!" Louis had snapped back.

"What will you do next?" he'd roared. "Let Ethan marry that foolish Whitestone girl? Let Micheal run around with his head in the clouds and inventions?"

Eleanor had collapsed to the floor then, tears slipping past her lashes. For the first time, she saw her husband not as the brilliant strategist or the pillar of the Southwest—she saw the man who saw their children only as tools.

She had opposed Micheal's forced engagement, and now this...

Her sons had loved. Truly loved. And they were punished for it.

In the main study, Louis slammed his gloves onto the desk. Reginald waited silently at the doorway.

"Don't," the assistant said softly. "You've made your point."

"He is just in a phase. He will thank me for this in the future," Louis growled.

"Or he'll never forgive you."

Louis reached for the receiver on the comm device. His eyes glinted.

"I don't need his forgiveness."

He pondered a bit.

Then he went over some contacts, paused a bit, but then he dialed.

A hollow tone rang once.

A voice answered.

"This is Shelb."

"Yes, Louis. This is a call I never expected to get in this lifetime."

"Duke Olson, might I interest you with a proposal?"

A click.

The light dimmed in the study. Louis von Shelb stood still for a moment longer, then returned to his chair.

The war in the North raged on, but a different war had begun within House Shelb.

And this one threatened to tear it apart from within.