"What, Mother?" Cassian said, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"I only agreed for you to stay at Mrs Joana's house, yet here you are again—caught up in another scandal. A Crown Prince risking his life just to save a girl?" His mother's voice was both sarcastic and mocking, each word laced with sharp disapproval.
Cassian's irritation grew. His fingers clenched tightly, teeth gritted in restraint. 'Here we go again,' he thought bitterly—another son arguing with his mother.
"Mother, she's not just a girl! She's Mrs Joana's daughter. The reason I wanted to save her is because we were running out of time—if we hadn't made it, she would've been sold to those bastards out there!" Cassian's tone rose slightly, emotion breaking through his usual composure.
The Empress looked shocked for a moment, then her anger burned even fiercer.
"Really? As far as I know, Mrs Joana only has two children… Don't tell me, Cassian—you've grown fond of her?" Her voice was trembling with fury, her glare cutting deep into her son.
Cassian paused. His mouth opened, but words failed him. Should he admit it? Did he truly like Elira? He wasn't entirely sure of his own feelings, but something inside him whispered that he did. That much he knew.
"How precious is she to you, then? You'd risk your life to save her?" his mother pressed, her voice rising, eyes flashing with disbelief at his stubbornness.
Cassian straightened, his jaw tight. "You want to play that card, Mother? Don't jump to conclusions. Your accusation doesn't even make sense," he replied coldly, his tone rigid and strained.
"Then answer me directly! Who is she?" the Empress shouted, her voice echoing through the grand hall.
"We're just friends, Mother! Nothing special!" Cassian snapped, his voice growing louder.
"Answer me!" she yelled again, stepping closer.
"I already did!" Cassian roared back, his anger breaking free.
Their voices clashed violently, bouncing off the marble walls of the entrance hall until another voice thundered above them.
"For God's sake, stop fighting, you two!"
The Emperor's voice filled the hall. Dwayne The Emperor, who had been preparing to retire for the night, now stood furious at the sight of his wife and only son shouting at each other. The grand staircase loomed behind them, and their voices had echoed so loudly that every servant in the mansion had gone still, listening in terror.
"I'm sorry, Father," Cassian said quietly, lowering his head to avoid his mother's piercing gaze.
"My darling, what is happening? Why are you two at each other's throats again—like cats and dogs in the middle of the night? It's shameful; the servants can hear everything." Emperor Dwayne's voice carried both concern and weariness. He hated seeing them like this. To him, they weren't just mother and son—they were like siblings, bound to clash.
"Ask your beloved son what's gotten into him!" the Empress snapped, pointing sharply at Cassian.
"I know… I know," Dwayne sighed, raising a hand to calm her. His tone made Cassian glance up, startled—his father already knew what had happened.
"My wife, please… calm down. I know Cassian didn't mean for this to happen. I'll speak to Sybil tomorrow—as Emperor of this empire," Dwayne said gently, his voice soothing yet firm, trying to ease her temper.
"You're such an enabler to your son," Luwinacita muttered, massaging her temples as a headache began to throb from the night's tension.
"Cassian, go to your room. We'll talk tomorrow. I'll help your mother calm herself," the Emperor commanded, his voice low but unyielding.
"Thank you, Father," Cassian replied coldly. He turned, climbed the staircase in silence, and disappeared down the corridor towards his chamber.
Dwayne, ever the calm yet loving ruler, placed a hand on his wife's back and gently guided her towards their quarters. Meanwhile, Cassian closed his door and leaned against it, exhaling deeply.
His thoughts swirled. 'What will happen tomorrow?' He never meant to drag Elira into this. And yet, once again, it was Sylas who would bear the weight of his mistake—the one who always took the blame.
Perhaps he should have listened to him and stayed away. But deep inside, Cassian felt no regret. Not for a single moment. Saving Elira from those bastards had been worth everything.
While the halls of Highthorne Palace had quieted after the argument between The mother and The son, Sylvia had already finished tending to Sylas' wounds in the privacy of his chamber.
"All done…" she murmured, carefully gathering her medical tools—needles, threads, and bandages—stacking them neatly in her kit.
"Thank you, sister," Sylas said, adjusting the white sleeve wrapped around his shoulder. As Sylvia rose to leave, medical kit in hand, she noticed the shadow that lingered over his expression. He looked troubled, subdued. Perhaps he blamed himself, she thought, though his only intention had been to protect Elira—nothing more.
Silvia exited the room, leaving Sylas behind. He, too, soon stepped from his chamber to descend and meet his father at the dining table. As he walked along the narrow corridor near the staircase, he came upon Elira, just finishing her simple night attire. Her hair was damp, evidence of a bath recently taken. Their eyes met across the corridor, and she lowered her gaze in quiet shame, hesitant to speak. Fear gripped her—not of him, perhaps, but of anger he might feel.
As they passed each other.
"Do not blame yourself, Elira," Sylas said, his voice cold, yet threaded with a gentle warmth that made her startle.
Elira's eyes flicked up at Sylas, startled by his sudden words. Her lips parted, but no sound came. He offered her a brief, measured nod before descending the staircase, leaving her speechless in the corridor.
Downstairs, he found his father alone at the table. His mother had likely retired to her chambers to recover from the evening's commotion involving Cassian, Sylas, and Elira. Sylas seated himself across from his father, who sipped a black coffee in the quiet.
"Are you aware of the trouble you might have caused, Sylas?" Sybil's voice cut through the silence, icy and precise, making Sylas feel almost breathless under her sharp gaze.
"Yes, Father," he replied curtly, sitting rigidly, his face turned toward the table rather than his father.
"How many times must I tell you not to drag the Crown Prince into peril?" Sybil's words were fierce, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a piercing glare.
"Father, I did not intend to involve the Prince in saving Elira," Sylas attempted, his voice steady though strained.
"You are grievously mistaken," Sybil interjected, his voice sharp and unyielding. "You rushed to save that girl without consulting us. What is the point of sending me a letter if you disregard its guidance?" Sylas felt cornered, powerless to defend himself against his father's icy reprimand.
"But Father, I saw them about to violate her. If Mother had been there, she would have rushed to protect Elira," he argued, striving to make his point clear.
"That is precisely why I allowed your mother to rest. I am certain she would side with you, not permit me to correct your folly," Sybil said firmly, the night around them so still that only the chirping of crickets punctuated their conversation. Yet Sylas remained steadfast, wishing only to explain his actions.
"You endangered not only Cassian… but that girl as well. Do you truly believe she would feel no guilt over this?" Sybil's voice was sharp, eyes narrowing as he leaned slightly forward, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on Sylas. "If I were in her place, I would ensure that Cassian was not dragged into such a scandal—especially you, newly appointed as a captain. Do you think she would allow the two of you to tarnish your honour for her?"
Sylas gripped the edge of the table, fists tightening beneath it. He could not interrupt—his father's words, though harsh, were meant to protect his honor and secure his future as a captain, destined one day to become commander.
"Did you forget our knights, Sylas? Were they too slow to save her?" Sybil pressed further.
"I am sorry, Father. It will not happen again," Sylas answered, voice cold but his chest still tight with unrest.
"Sylas…" Sybil exhaled deeply, studying him. "I do not know what has taken hold of you, but it seems you and Cassian are growing close to that woman… Tell me, what is it about her? Why this attachment?"
Sylas' mind spun. What can I say? he wondered. To everyone who knew him, he was cold, stoic, and seemingly without feeling—but with Elira, everything changed. She had stirred emotions he had never known: joy, warmth, a flicker of hope. He could not yet admit that he liked her, but she had awakened within him a tenderness unfamiliar and new.
"She is… an innocent, fragile girl, Father," Sylas said simply, words almost trembling with restrained awe.
"My boy…" Sybil said, sipping his coffee. "You are far too ignorant when it comes to women. Things may prove difficult, for she is younger than you—and the same age as Cassian. She might be too naïve to understand the things you do now."
Sylas felt a sudden clarity. That was why Elira and Cassian understood each other so well—they were peers. Unlike him, Sylas had already been trained to act with honour and dignity, to measure himself in ways that older women might recognize. Elira, by contrast, was still inexperienced in many matters, yet she possessed a gentle spirit, playful at times, and cheerful in a way that seemed effortless.
Though young and naïve in some ways, she knew how to appreciate the smallest things in life—a quality Sylas had never expected from the way his father described Elira.
"No, Father, you are mistaken," Sylas said firmly, prompting Sybil to raise a single eyebrow, evaluating his confidence.
"Really?" Sybil grunted, sceptical.
"She may be young, but she is far different from the rest. She knows how to appreciate dignity and virtue despite her humble background. The girl you describe, Father, does not match her truth. Elira carries herself with respect and courage, giving strength to those who would otherwise falter. That is why Mother admires her so," Sylas said, a small, awed smile touching his lips.
"I believe you remain ignorant, my son," Sybil said coldly, rising from the table. Sylas felt a pang of surprise at the remark.
"There is much you still must learn," Sybil continued, fixing his gaze. "Remember… you are the heir of Crowholt. One day, you will ascend to become commander of this empire. Do not let yourself be distracted, for the Crowholt family is sworn to protect this realm." He placed a hand on Sylas' shoulder, yet the young man remained uncertain whether to trust his father's words.
"Or you will end up hurting her as well," Sybil added, leaving Sylas to wrestle with doubt and uncertainty.
Ascending the stairs, Sybil made his way to his chambers, leaving Sylas alone. Just as he passed Elira's room, he glimpsed her slipping inside, closing the door behind her. Sybil did not acknowledge her presence, turning instead toward the quiet sanctuary of his own quarters.