The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

After Kael stepped out of the tent, the air inside grew still, heavy with decisions yet to be made. Martina De Luther didn't speak for a while. Her gaze lingered on the map spread before her, the lines and markers seeming to shift under the weight of her thoughts.

She slowly walked around the table, her armored boots echoing with each step. The flickering lantern above cast sharp shadows on her face, but the tension in her expression was softer now—pensive.

Two months of marching, hunting rebels, and crushing bandit forces along the southern border. And now, just as the region had begun to settle, word came from the capital—her father, the Blood Sovereign, had taken a serious turn in health.

Time was running short.

She knew the court would summon her soon. Internal power struggles would erupt the moment the Sovereign's breath grew faint. Before she was dragged into the viper's den of politics, she had two loose ends to deal with.

The first was the sea.

Her eyes moved to the eastern coast on the map, where pirate activity had recently surged. But what troubled her wasn't just the attacks—it was the strange silence. According to her informants, certain ships were being given a clear route. No tolls, no ambushes. And all those ships were heading to Nevan.

Her brother's domain.

Martina narrowed her eyes.

Pirates weren't known for mercy. They cared nothing for bloodlines or banners. If they were suddenly acting with restraint, it meant there was influence—money, threat, or allegiance—at work. And her brother was right in the center of it. That couldn't be coincidence.

Then came the second matter.

Marriage.

She ran a hand through her green hair, slightly frowning. The council wanted her tied to a noble family to solidify support. Of all options, the son of Duke Veydrin was the most suitable. If he proved capable and not a fool, she'd rather make the move now—before war drums began to beat.

But there was a problem.

There was someone else—someone who lingered in her thoughts far more than she was comfortable admitting.

Kael.

But she remembered the reports. There had been talk of a man in the North. A silent blade, chosen for tasks even generals couldn't handle.

She had come through Nevan to meet the Duke's son... only to possibly stumble upon the very man she had been seeking all along.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

She turned to her butler. "Have you heard any word about his return?"

The old man adjusted his monocle and shook his head. "None. It's as though he vanished. Some say the Grand Duke has confined him. Others whisper he's been sent on a secret mission. And the stories about him being placed in charge... they could be misdirection."

Martina stared into the lantern flame.

'If only I knew…'

A dry sigh escaped her lips.

"Even if I wanted something," she muttered to herself, "if fate doesn't allow it, what can I do?"

But in truth, fate had allowed it. The man she had searched for, wondered about, even imagined a future with—he had stood before her just moments ago, masked in simplicity and silence.

If only she had known, she would've dropped every veil of formality and seized that moment.

Because in this empire... Time, like power, could slip through your fingers before you ever realized it was yours.

...…..

Kael walked through the silent camp, the moon casting pale silver light across the quiet tents. The cold night wind brushed his hair, but his eyes remained thoughtful. Just then, a voice called out softly.

"Master, you managed to come out alive."

Kael stopped. His gaze shifted sideways to find Lyria standing beside the tent flap, her crimson hair faintly reflecting the moonlight. Her expression was... odd. There was a faint sparkle in her eyes—almost like relief. Or was it curiosity?

Kael's lips twitched slightly. "What do you mean by coming out alive?"

Seeing his sharp gaze, Lyria shrank back a little, her fingers twitching.

"Uh… I just meant, um, your well-being. You know, those inside the tent looked quite scary."

Kael squinted at her, then let out a small exhale. "It's good then."

There was an awkward silence. Then Lyria tilted her head slightly, an unusual light flickering in her violet eyes.

"Master… what did you talk about inside?"

Kael blinked, surprised by the question. Of all people, Lyria was never the curious type. She always carried herself like a well-trained blade—precise, silent, and obedient. She did what was asked, no more, no less. He had never seen her ask about things beyond her duty.

So her sudden interest now was… strange.

"Huh? Why are you asking?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching her expression carefully. "This is the first time you've ever asked about what I discussed with someone."

Lyria's gaze faltered for a moment. A flicker of something—hesitation? discomfort?—passed through her eyes, but it vanished so quickly Kael could barely catch it.

"I was just… wondering if we'll stick to our usual schedule. I mean..." she paused, "…carrying the egg is troublesome."

Kael stared for a second longer before raising a brow in mild realization.

"Ohhh. The egg."

He crossed his arms and nodded with a half-smirk.

"Yeah. It is troublesome."

He looked out toward the woods in the distance, his mind slipping into thought. The egg, heavy and pulsing with faint warmth, was tucked away safely in their supply packs. Ever since he had taken it, it had been nothing but a burden.

'If it didn't belong to Charlotte... I might have devoured it myself,' he thought grimly, his eyes narrowing. 'Alas… it carries her mark. And I can't afford to touch what's hers.'

The egg vibrated with subtle energy, a dormant presence within. Kael didn't know what the dragon exactly would hatch from it, but he was sure of one thing—it wasn't normal.

Behind him, Lyria stood still. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remained lowered.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the weight of secrets both spoken and unspoken.