Start of Confrontation

September 27th, 1689

Marquis Adrien reclined in the plush interior of his horse-drawn carriage, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone road soothing in its familiarity. His wife, Camille, sat opposite him, her hands delicately folded on her lap, while their daughter, Sophie, leaned against her mother, gazing absentmindedly out the window. The family had embarked on this journey to Count Duval's estate, a meeting that Adrien deemed vital in coordinating their efforts against the prince's increasingly oppressive rule.

The carriage rocked gently as it traversed the uneven path leading through the countryside. Camille glanced at Adrien, her expression tinged with unease.

"Adrien, are you certain this meeting is wise?" she asked softly.

He smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored coat. "Wise or not, it is necessary. Duval may lack tact, but his influence among the nobility is undeniable. If we are to counter the prince, we need his support."

Camille sighed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press the matter further.

The carriage slowed suddenly, the steady rhythm of the horses interrupted by the sharp call of the driver.

"Whoa! Whoa there!" the coachman shouted.

Adrien frowned, leaning forward. "What's the matter now?"

The carriage came to a complete stop. Curious, Adrien slid open the window, expecting to see a fallen tree or some other mundane obstacle. Instead, his eyes widened in disbelief.

Elysean soldiers surrounded the carriage, muskets raised and trained on him. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Adrien demanded with an indignant tone. "Do you realize who I am? This is a noble's carriage, not some criminal's wagon!"

One of the soldiers, a tall man with a grim face and a captain's insignia, stepped forward. 

"Marquis Adrien, by order of His Highness, Prince Bruno de Elysea, you are to step out of the carriage immediately. Your compliance is not a request."

Adrien's jaw tightened, his anger simmering. "You dare point weapons at my family and me? This is an outrage! I will not take orders from a mere soldier. Lower your muskets at once, or I will see to it that you're all court-martialed for this blatant act of disrespect!"

The captain's expression did not waver. "Step out of the carriage, Marquis. Now."

Adrien's lips curled into a sneer. "Do you think you can intimidate me? I will do no such thing."

The captain motioned with his hand, and two soldiers moved forward. Adrien barely had time to register the movement before the door was yanked open.

"Unhand me, you insolent—!" Adrien's protest was cut short as one of the soldiers grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the carriage.

He struggled, his polished boots scraping against the ground as he tried to wrench free. "You fools! Do you know who you're laying hands on?"

The soldiers didn't respond. One of them raised the stock of his musket and drove it into Adrien's stomach with a dull thud. The blow forced the air from his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping.

"Adrien!" Camille cried, leaning out of the carriage.

"Stay where you are, madam," the captain ordered coldly.

Ignoring her cries, the soldiers opened the carriage door fully and pulled Camille and Sophie out. Camille resisted, but her strength was no match for the soldiers. Sophie clung to her mother, tears streaming down her face as she was forced away from the safety of the carriage.

"Let go of them!" Adrien rasped, his voice hoarse with pain. He tried to rise, but another soldier shoved him back down, pinning him in place.

The captain approached, standing over Adrien with a disdainful look. "Marquis Adrien, you are under investigation for activities deemed treasonous against the Elysean Crown. You will be escorted to Loretto for questioning. Any further resistance will be met with force."

Adrien glared up at him, his pride refusing to yield even in the face of humiliation. "This is an outrage," he spat. "You'll regret this, all of you. When the nobility hears of this, they'll—"

A sharp kick to his ribs silenced him. The world blurred around him as pain flared in his side.

"Secure them," the captain ordered.

Ropes were brought out, and Adrien's hands were bound behind his back. Camille and Sophie were similarly restrained, though the soldiers were gentler with them, seemingly hesitant to harm the women.

Adrien's vision began to dim, his strength failing as the pain and humiliation took their toll. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Sophie's sobs and Camille's frantic pleas.

***

Marquis Adrien groaned softly as he regained consciousness, his head pounding and his body aching from the rough handling he had endured. Darkness surrounded him, and for a moment, panic set in. He tried to move but found his hands and feet tightly bound with coarse rope. His mouth was gagged, the taste of rough fabric bitter on his tongue.

The air was thick and unpleasant, reeking of damp earth and sweat. As his senses adjusted, he realized that a cloth was wrapped over his head, completely obscuring his vision. His breathing quickened, and the ropes dug painfully into his skin as he instinctively tried to free himself.

Footsteps echoed faintly, growing louder with each passing second. Adrien's heart raced, the sound bringing with it a wave of dread. The footsteps stopped just in front of him, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then, without warning, the cloth over his head was yanked off.

Blinking rapidly, Adrien's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. His surroundings were stark and unwelcoming—stone walls, a single flickering lantern hanging overhead, and a sturdy wooden table positioned a few feet away. But it wasn't the room that caught his attention.

Standing before him, arms crossed and gaze sharp, was none other than Prince Bruno de Elysea.

The marquis's breath hitched. For the first time, the sheer magnitude of his predicament dawned on him. This was no mere arrest—this was a confrontation he had never anticipated.

The prince's expression was unreadable, his piercing eyes fixed on Adrien. 

Adrien was the first to break the silence, his voice hoarse but defiant. "Where is my family? What have you done with them?"

Bruno tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Your family is safe… for now."

"For now?" Adrien growled, his anger momentarily overshadowing his fear. "How dare you—"

The prince's raised hand silenced him instantly. "I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, Marquis," Bruno said coldly. "Your family's safety depends entirely on your cooperation."

Adrien's jaw tightened, his pride warring with his growing sense of dread. "What do you want from me?"

Bruno stepped closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor. He stopped just short of Adrien, looming over the bound noble. "Answers," he said simply. "And your cooperation. Fail to give me either, and the consequences will extend far beyond this room."

Adrien glared at him. 

"You think you can intimidate me?" he spat. "I am a marquis of Corse. My bloodline—"

"Your bloodline means nothing," Bruno interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through Adrien's protests like a blade. "You stand accused of treason, and your title will not shield you from the consequences of your actions."

"Treason? With what evidence?" 

"Well, you have been very vocal about the reforms I am implementing, and you even hosted a banquet with your fellow nobles."

"I hosted a banquet, yes," Adrien said carefully. "A gathering among peers is hardly treason. Since when is discussing the plight of our estates a crime?"

Bruno's gaze hardened, and he leaned forward slightly, his presence looming.

"You misunderstand, Marquis. Your gatherings are not the issue. It is the intent behind them. You're not simply lamenting the plight of your estates; you're conspiring to undermine the authority of this administration. That, Marquis, is treason."

Adrien's jaw clenched, his mind scrambling for a way to rebut without incriminating himself further.

"Conspiracy? That's a bold accusation, Your Highness, and one that requires proof."

Bruno's smirk returned, faint but menacing.

"Proof?" He gestured toward the table, where a thick folder of parchment sat. "I have documents, Marquis—letters exchanged with Count Duval, messages intercepted between your trusted stewards and known rebel sympathizers. I took an interest in you the moment I read your file. It's a good thing to know your enemy." 

Adrien's confidence faltered, his eyes flicking to the folder. He forced a scoff, masking his unease.

"Letters can be forged. Accusations can be fabricated. You're grasping at straws, Prince Bruno."

Bruno chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I am merely holding back the evidence that would convict you in the eyes of the Elysean Crown. You should hope, Marquis, that I remain merciful. Because, if I lose my patience, you won't even get a trial and the worst possible scenario could happen to your family. It's your choice. Now, shall we get started?"