THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The room fell silent as Duke Harrick's calculating gaze swept over David, sizing him up like prey under a predator's scrutiny. His lips curled in disdain as he turned to Count Nicalo, speaking loudly enough for the nearby nobles to hear.

"So this is the son of Lord Hilton?" Harrick asked with mock curiosity, his tone dripping with skepticism.

Count Nicalo smiled thinly, his demeanor measured. "Indeed, Your Grace. David has not only lived up to his father's reputation but surpassed expectations. He was granted the title Spross des Banners, a recognition reserved for those who wield strength akin to the elders of Aethelwarin."

Duke Harrick snorted derisively, his expression unchanging. "A fitting name to mask the shame of an untested pup. If it were me, I would have bestowed that honor upon the Blood Whale instead. At least that creature has proven its might in battle."

David's patience snapped like a taut string. A pulse of restrained fury radiated from him, and the atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant. The floor beneath Harrick's boots cracked ominously, the sheer weight of David's unspoken anger pressing down on the Duke like a storm about to break. Gasps rippled through the crowd, the nobles too stunned to react.

Duke Harrick stiffened, his voice a bark of indignation. "How dare you! To raise your hand—or whatever this is—against a representative of the Queen of the Empire?"

Count Nicalo, however, wore a subtle smile, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. It was clear he had anticipated—and perhaps even hoped—for David to lose his composure. Yet, as quickly as the tension mounted, it dissipated. David pivoted sharply, his movements deliberate, and locked his piercing gaze onto the Duke.

"Touch you?" David's voice was calm, almost unnervingly so. "You must be mistaken, Your Grace. I have not released my aura."

The revelation hit like a thunderclap, leaving the Duke momentarily speechless. His face paled as realization dawned that the overwhelming force he felt wasn't aura but David's raw presence alone. Count Nicalo's smirk faltered, the carefully laid plans to provoke and humiliate David crumbling before their eyes.

Harrick tried to regain his footing, straightening his posture and attempting to scold David further. "Regardless, your behavior—"

A booming laugh cut him off, silencing the room and drawing all eyes toward the grand staircase. The Archon of Warfare, Elara, descended with an elegance that belied the commanding presence she exuded. Her sharp crimson eyes sparkled with amusement, her black gown flowing like liquid shadow around her.

"What a delightful enigma you are, David De Gor," she declared, her voice carrying an almost playful edge that sent shivers through the hall. "I leave for a moment, and you've already turned my banquet into a battlefield of egos."

David inclined his head respectfully, his anger dissipating into a quiet calm. The crowd, still caught in the Archon's magnetic presence, held their breath, awaiting her next words.

Elara's gaze lingered on David, her lips curving into a small smile. "Perhaps tonight's celebration will be more interesting than I anticipated."

The Archon's sharp gaze flicked to her brother, Count Nicalo, her crimson eyes gleaming with subtle authority. "Nicalo," she said, her voice smooth yet firm, "introduce the Duke to our other esteemed guests. Once you've completed that, bring him to me to relay the Queen's message."

Duke Harrick's mouth opened, his pride wounded at being given orders by someone of ostensibly lower rank. "With all due respect, Archon," he began, his tone laced with irritation, "I outrank—"

But Elara's gaze settled on him, a smile playing on her lips. The subtle shift in her demeanor was like the rising heat of an unrelenting sun, and Harrick froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. A deep, primal fear clawed at him, recalling that even though her title was "Marchioness" and not "Duchess," when the Empire called her to arms, Elara Va Ironblade was the Lady of Warfare and Strategy. Her mere presence on the battlefield had shattered enemies and allies alike.

Duke Harrick swallowed hard and bowed low, his voice trembling as he tried to save face. "You host a... magnificent banquet, Archon. Count Nicalo, let us proceed so that we may speak again soon."

Count Nicalo's expression was unreadable, but his smirk held a trace of mockery as he inclined his head. "Of course, Your Grace. This way."

David watched them leave, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The clear machinations of Count Nicalo, a demon hiding in plain sight, stirred a boiling anger within him. The man's high-ranking connections made him untouchable, at least for now, and that knowledge gnawed at David's resolve.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, and he flinched as Elara leaned slightly forward, her eyes sharp yet amused. "Why do you harbour such anger toward my brother, David?" Her tone was casual, but her words were edged with curiosity.

David's mind raced. He knew he couldn't reveal the truth—that Count Nicalo was a demon infiltrator. Instead, he struggled to compose himself, trying not to let his inner turmoil show. "It's nothing, Archon," he said, forcing a smile. "Just... uh ... Just"

Elara chuckled softly, straightening. "Relax, young De Gor. Tonight is a celebration, not a battlefield."

Before David could respond, the melodic strains of an orchestra filled the hall, lifting the mood as couples began to step onto the dance floor. The Archon's lips curved in a sly smile as she extended her gloved hand toward David. "Shall we dance? Or are you planning to keep a lady waiting?"

David's heart skipped a beat, the offer catching him completely off guard. Elara's mature beauty, in stark contrast to Mariana's youthful charm, struck him anew. Yet beneath her poise and grace, something dangerous and unknowable simmered behind her crimson eyes, captivating him while putting him on edge.

"Forgive me," David said quickly, bowing low. "I would be honored." He reached out to take her hand, his movements both deliberate and hesitant.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as they watched the Archon of Warfare and the son of Lord Hilton step onto the dance floor together. Whispers buzzed like fireflies in the air, astonishment mingling with curiosity. As the orchestra swelled, David and Elara joined the flow of dancers, the spotlight fixed firmly on them.