The morning sun had not yet climbed past the high spires of Leonidus Hall when Augustus saw it—the letter.

It lay upon his study table like a coiled serpent, its seal gleaming with the violet sigil of House Merlin. The wax shimmered faintly in the half-light, a serpent devouring its own tail—ancient, noble, and ominous.

He did not need to open the letter to feel the weight of its meaning. He knew that seal, that crest. The Duchess's hand. Sabrina Merlin.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, voice low, almost bitter. "She always writes when she means to meddle."

His fingers hovered above the letter for a heartbeat before he broke the seal. The parchment unfurled with a whisper that echoed too loudly in the stillness of his chamber. He read.

The words were formal, but the venom beneath them was unmistakable. Denial. Objection. A rejection of his proposal for the union between his daughter Flora and the knight Aiden.

The knight she had once favored.

His throat tightened.

Sabrina's letter spoke of ill omens and mismatched fates, cloaked in the polite venom of noble correspondence. She wrote that she would come herself to "discuss the matter personally."

Augustus felt his pulse rise, a slow, burning tide of frustration. He could almost hear her voice in his head—smooth, precise, dripping with that same quiet superiority she had wielded since childhood.

He folded the letter and placed it aside, though his hand trembled slightly as he did.

"Coming here personally," he said aloud, his tone halfway between disbelief and fury. "The Duchess of Merlin coming to my door for this."

He turned toward the tall window. Outside, dawn unfurled like a pale banner over the city. The spires of the fief caught the light, gilded for a moment before the mist reclaimed them.

He was supposed to leave for the capital this evening. He had thought the day would begin with clarity—with strategy, with resolve. But now, the day tasted of iron and complication.

He sank into his chair, rubbing his temple. The scent of parchment and steel filled his lungs; he could almost taste the bitterness of ink on his tongue.

The Duchess's disapproval meant more than social friction—it meant interference. And interference from the Merlin bloodline carried weight.

He exhaled slowly. "Of course she would object. She always sees shadows where there are none. A paranoid toxic bi....No, I need to calm down."

But beneath the irritation, a faint unease took root. Sabrina was not a fool. She never acted without reason.

Still, he told himself, it didn't matter.

His decision was made.

Flora would marry Aiden.

That was the future he had chosen, the alliance he had forged with patience, planning, and no small measure of defiance.

He leaned back, gaze drawn to the ceiling's carved sigils—symbols of House Leonidus, the roaring lion and the flame. "She will come," he murmured. "And I will not yield. Never"

The words steadied him, though not for long.

A hollow ache crept into his chest—the ache of a husband left untouched, a man whose house had grown cold.

Catherine had left their bed the night before.

He had reached for her in the dark, half-asleep, instinctively seeking her warmth. But she had pulled away—wordless, distant. The silence that followed was not anger, but something colder.

He had lain awake afterward, staring at the canopy's velvet folds, thinking not of lust, but of distance. How long had it been since they truly spoke? Since their laughter filled these halls the way it used to?

A ripple of unease shivered through him.

If their marriage crumbled, so too would his alliance with the Archduke—her father, his greatest ally in the capital. And Augustus needed allies now more than ever.

That, too, was part of his plan: to travel to the capital, meet the Archduke, stand before the Emperor's council. He had spent months preparing, aligning his fief's resources with the shifting tides of imperial politics.

Everything had to hold.

Everything depended on the illusion of stability—his house, his marriage, his bloodline.

He rose from his chair. His reflection glimmered faintly in the windowpane—dark hair streaked with silver, sharp eyes framed by fatigue.

He looked like a man standing at the edge of war.

Perhaps he was.

The empire was fracturing, line by line, beneath its marble mask. Civil unrest whispered through the lower houses, nobles carving alliances like butchers choosing cuts. And above it all, the Emperor grew older, weaker, quieter.

Augustus pressed a hand to the glass. "If this realm burns," he whispered, "let it burn around my walls, not through them."

A faint knock interrupted his thoughts.

"My lord," came the voice of his steward beyond the door, hesitant. "The morning meal is ready."

"Tell them I'll dine alone."

"Yes, my lord."

The footsteps receded. Silence returned.

He gathered his cloak and strode toward the corridor.

The manor was half-awake. Servants moved like ghosts through its vast corridors, their whispers echoing faintly under the vaulted ceilings. The scent of bread and wax filled the air. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, fracturing into shards of gold and crimson on the stone floor.

Everywhere he walked, eyes lowered. Respect, yes—but also fear. He had ruled well, but not gently.

He found Flora in the solar, near the window that overlooked the garden. The girl was dressed in white training silks, her hair tied back, a half-eaten apple forgotten beside her. She turned at his approach, her eyes golden—like his —bright and curious.

"Father," she said, setting aside her book. "You're leaving today?"

"I am," Augustus replied, taking a seat opposite her. His tone was calm, measured, but his thoughts moved like storm clouds behind his gaze.

She tilted her head slightly, waiting. She had inherited that too—Catherine's patience, the quiet grace that masked steel.

"I received a letter this morning," he said finally. "From the Duchess Merlin."

Her brow furrowed. "Aunt Sabrina?"

He nodded. "She objects to your... engagement."

For a moment, Flora's expression didn't change. Then a faint smile tugged at her lips—a smile without mirth. "Of course she does. She objects to everything that isn't of her making."

He almost smiled at that. The girl was sharper than she let on.

"I told her I would not reconsider," he said. "The marriage will proceed as planned."

Flora lowered her gaze to the table, fingers tracing the wood grain. "Aiden," she said softly, almost to herself. "He's… different."

"Different," Augustus repeated. "You approve, then?"

She hesitated. The pause stretched.

"He's strong," she said finally. "And kind. In his own way." Her lips quirked faintly.

"Mother doesn't like him much." she lied.

That much was true. Catherine had grown distant, cautious, ever since the young knight's arrival.

Augustus leaned forward slightly. "Do you?"

Flora's eyes flickered. A bit of love and honestly flickering "I think he frightens me a little," she admitted. Then, after a beat, "But I think he frightens everyone a little."

Augustus chuckled under his breath, though the sound was hollow. "Fear is not always a flaw, child. Sometimes it's wisdom and I see it in him..."

She looked at him, searching his face. "You sound… tired, Father."

"I am many things," he said, standing. "Tired is one of them."

He reached for her shoulder, resting his hand there for a moment longer than necessary. Her skin was warm beneath his palm, alive, radiant with youth and promise.

"You will be strong," he said quietly. "Stronger than me. Stronger than her. This house will one day be yours."

She looked up at him then, and for a moment, the weight of inheritance flickered in her eyes. She loved his father, as both were the same blood, but remembering her mother and her infedility, mixing her own sinful acts. She could only stay shut, be the daughtet he wanted her to be.

"I will not fail you," she said.

He smiled faintly. "Haha, my love. That's what I fear most."

When he left the room, the sunlight had shifted, breaking through the clouds. Dust motes danced in the light behind him, like tiny spirits fleeing the wake of his shadow.

He spent the afternoon in silence. The servants packed his travel chest; the horses were prepared.

Yet, even as he dressed in his formal attire—the dark navy tunic embroidered with gold lions—his mind was not on the capital, nor the council. It lingered on Catherine.

He found her in the western wing, near the chapel. The light there was softer, filtered through blue glass. She stood before the altar, unmoving, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer.

"Catherine," he said.

She turned. Her expression was unreadable—calm, composed, distant.

"You're leaving," she said, not a question.

"I am."

She nodded. "The capital will welcome you, as always."

He hesitated. "....You left our bed last night."

A faint flicker in her gaze, then gone. "I...I couldn't sleep."

"You haven't been sleeping beside me for weeks," he said quietly. "If I've done something—"

"You haven't," she interrupted, too quickly. Then, softer: "You're doing what you think is right. You always have."

The words should have comforted him. They didn't.

"Do you still believe in what we built?" he asked.

Catherine's eyes glimmered, and for a heartbeat, he saw the woman she used to be—the fire, the laughter, the love. Then the mask slipped back into place.

"I believe in our daughter," she said.

The silence that followed was heavy.

He turned to leave, then stopped. "Sabrina is coming," he said. "She objects to Flora's marriage."

Catherine's lips pressed into a thin line. "Haha....of course She would."

"You disapprove too, I saw that frown on you when I annouced it"

"I… don't know," she admitted, almost in a whisper. "There's something about that boy. Something about him ...."

"Something charming..." She whispered to herself.

He frowned. "... alarming? Catherine, he's just a comm..."

"Nothing....its okay, I trust you and your decision.," she corrected.

He nodded, reliefed that she also agrees with him. While Catherine could only pity her husband. As he could not see the leak from her inner thighs, the leak of his future son in law's sticky cum, which he just pounded in her just a moment ago.

And when Augustus was gone. Then finally.....

She smiled.

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