Chapter 3: Aldrics Council
He had expected her to tremble at the mere thought of speaking to him, to shy away from his gaze like the rest. Yet she had stood before him, unwavering, as though she had seen something in him no one else could.
It was absurd.
A quiet scoff escaped him just as the heavy oaken door creaked open. Boots, precise and steady, echoed against the polished floorboards. Ethan did not turn, already aware of who had entered.
"A maid, my lord?" came the dry, gravelly voice of Sir Aldric Vale. "I must say, you never fail to surprise."
Ethan sighed. "I assume you've been listening."
Aldric, ever the imposing figure, stepped forward, arms crossed over his broad chest. His black armor, etched with runes of power, caught the dim light of the room, casting jagged shadows against the walls. "I wouldn't be much of a commander if I hadn't," he admitted, his tone laced with humor. "You must know what this will mean for you."
Ethan knew all too well. The nobility tolerated him out of necessity—his wealth, his influence, and the quiet threat of his private army kept them in check. But a marriage to a maid, a commoner, would not be overlooked. It would be mocked, ridiculed, and worse—perceived as weakness.
"Let them talk," Ethan muttered. "They already despise me."
Aldric let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Despise? No, my lord. They fear you. And a man feared is a man respected." His gray eyes hardened. "But fear is a fragile thing. Give them reason to doubt you, and they will bare their fangs."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths. Ethan exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "You think I should refuse."
"I think you have no choice but to accept." Aldric smirked at Ethan's narrowed glare. "Oh, don't look so betrayed. It is a strategic move, after all. A woman who does not fear you is worth keeping close."
Ethan scoffed, but Aldric continued, his tone dropping to something more serious. "That girl—she's either a fool or she sees something the rest of us don't."
Ethan had thought the same. And that unsettled him.
He turned his gaze to Aldric, studying the man who had been more of a father than the one who had given him life. "You trained me to be a weapon," Ethan murmured. "But weapons do not wed."
Aldric chuckled darkly. "A weapon with a mind of its own is the most dangerous kind." He exhaled, stepping closer. "You are not your father, Ethan. Nor are you the beast they whisper of at court. A union—even an unconventional one—does not make you weak. But it does make you vulnerable. Do not let your guard down."
Ethan let those words settle. His gaze flickered toward the flickering fire, memories of his childhood creeping in like unwanted guests.
Aldric, sensing the shift, changed the subject. "Do you recall when you first bested me in a duel?"
Ethan smirked faintly. "I was twelve."
"Twelve and insufferable," Aldric corrected, grinning. "You were barely strong enough to lift your sword, yet you fought as though the weight of the world rested on your shoulders." He clapped Ethan's shoulder, his grip firm. "The men of the Obsidian Vanguard see that strength. They follow you because they know you will never fall."
The Obsidian Vanguard.
It was more than an order of knights—it was a brotherhood forged in shadows and blood. Unlike the empire's armies, bound by oaths of fealty to the crown, the Vanguard belonged solely to Ethan. Handpicked warriors, the best of the best, loyal only to him.
They had no banners, no grandiose insignias save for the obsidian black of their armor, etched with runes passed down through generations. They were ghosts on the battlefield, their very presence enough to send even the most seasoned of soldiers into retreat.
Founded in secrecy centuries ago, the Vanguard had served the Vornhart lineage with unwavering devotion, yet under Ethan's command, they had become something more. They were not merely knights; they were his sword, his shield, his eyes in the dark.
Their methods were unconventional—espionage, assassination, sabotage. Where the empire's armies waged war with steel and numbers, the Vanguard waged it in the shadows, ensuring victory before the battle had even begun.
Aldric, their commander, had shaped them into something unparalleled.
And they would die for Ethan without hesitation.
"The men will follow you no matter what," Aldric continued, his voice softer now. "But do not forget—you are more than just their leader. You are their reason to believe."
Ethan inhaled deeply, weighing those words carefully. Then, with quiet resolve, he rose to his feet.
"If I do this," he said at last, his voice steady, "if I take her as my wife, the Vanguard must be prepared. If the nobility does not accept this, they will move against me."
Aldric nodded. "They always do." He smirked. "But they forget—we are always watching."
A flicker of something passed through Ethan—something close to amusement, or perhaps grim satisfaction. "Then let them try."
As the fire crackled in the hearth, the weight of his decision settled over him. He would marry Annalise. And he would ensure that any who sought to use it against him lived just long enough to regret it.