Dominance of Veiled Heart

Chapter 25

The hall was vast, its high ceiling adorned with banners from both old and new noble houses. Candles flickered in iron and gold sconces along the walls, casting shifting shadows over the faces of those already seated—members of the court, advisors, and powerful figures. At the head of a long table, Michaelli sat in silence, his sharp gaze scanning the room filled with officials and nobles. They had gathered with a singular purpose: to pressure him into securing the future of the empire by producing an heir now that the war had ended.

It was a conversation that had resurfaced with growing intensity, a demand he had come to despise.

He did not miss the subtle, expectant glances cast in his direction, nor did he fail to notice the tension simmering as the topic of succession once again loomed over the meeting. But today, there was an unexpected element in the room—Tuk, the historian.

Tuk stood awkwardly by the door, his eyes darting between the officials, clearly bewildered as to why he had been summoned to such a high-stakes gathering. Michaelli had deliberately kept him uninformed, a quiet test of his ability to navigate court politics. More than that, Michaelli wanted to see if Tuk could do what he himself had no desire to—redirect the conversation entirely.

A councilman cleared his throat, wasting no time in broaching the issue. "Your Highness, it is imperative that we secure the line of succession. The empire must have an heir, and your reluctance to choose a suitable match is… troubling. The people are growing anxious. We urge you to consider Lady Aurelia of Solmont, a perfect candidate of noble blood—"

Before the official could continue, Michaelli’s golden eyes flicked toward Tuk, catching his glance. The room fell silent. No words were spoken, yet his gaze carried an unspoken command.

Tuk blinked, uncertain. He hesitated, then shifted his attention back to the officials. His confusion was evident, but beneath it, there was something else—a challenge. He lacked context, yet Michaelli knew he was resourceful.

The councilman, unaware of the silent exchange, pressed on. "The lady is young, of suitable age, and well-acquainted with royal customs. Surely, Your Highness, it would be—"

"Um…" Tuk’s hesitant voice cut through the tension. "I’m sorry to interrupt, but isn’t making an heir supposed to be mutual? If we’re talking about something as important as an heir, shouldn’t feelings matter too?"

A ripple of bewilderment spread through the room. Officials exchanged glances, taken aback by the intrusion. Tuk gave an awkward smile, clearly out of his depth, but his words had achieved exactly what Michaelli had intended—they disrupted the conversation’s momentum.

A noblewoman arched an eyebrow. "Feelings?" she echoed, incredulous. "This is about the empire’s future, not some fleeting romance. What does feelings have to do with it?"

Michaelli leaned back, observing. Tuk was struggling, but the historian had thrown the room into disorder without realizing it.

"Well," Tuk said, scratching the back of his head, "as I said, the Arcanographica—His Highness is interested in acquiring it for its power—mentions love. Where I’m from, love makes everything work better. Happier relationships, happier kids. It’s not just about heirs, but ensuring the family… thrives. Isn’t that important too?"

Silence lingered, and Michaelli suppressed a smirk. The officials had expected obedience, not a philosophical argument.

The councilman, visibly flustered, turned to Michaelli. "Your Highness, with all due respect, we cannot rely on such… whimsical notions in matters of state. The empire’s legacy is at stake."

Michaelli’s expression remained unreadable, but his mind was already at work. Though the historian looked ready to collapse from nerves, he had done exactly what was needed. Now, Michaelli could push the conversation into deeper waters.

"You speak of legacy," Michaelli said, his voice cold and measured, "as if it can only be secured through blood. But what use is an heir born into a world of chaos? Or do you wish for me to create another monster like myself? I wonder if any of you could survive that." His gaze darkened. "The empire reeks of filth from within, and you expect me to throw a child into that?"

The councilman paled. The other officials shifted uneasily in their seats.

Michaelli gestured toward the scroll before him, his hand hovering over a passage inscribed in an ancient language. The councilman, uncertain, stared at the text.

"This," Michaelli continued, "is a chronicle of a time when love was not treated as a transaction but as a force—true power that shaped empires. The scroll speaks of love’s ability to conquer, to shape destinies." His voice sharpened. "Yet here you sit, demanding an heir without understanding the very force that could make or break this empire. If you still insist, then show me a power greater than what this scroll describes. Ah… but of course," he added with a smirk, "not that anyone here could read it—except for my historian."

Tuk’s heart pounded. He was watching Michaelli wield his words with precision, using the scroll not as a relic but as a tool to manipulate those in the room. The prince was reshaping their understanding of love, bending it to fit his vision.

"Love," Michaelli said, his gaze flicking briefly to Tuk, "is not just about reproduction. It is about control, influence, and loyalty." His expression hardened. "Love can be wielded, just as this scroll’s power can be wielded. And those who fail to see that… will be left behind."

The councilmen shifted, unsettled. Their long-standing customs were being questioned in a way they had not anticipated.

Michaelli leaned forward, his tone final. "The future of this empire rests not on an heir, but on its strength and stability. My priority is neither marriage nor children—it is power. When the empire is secure, when threats from within are eliminated, then, and only then, will heirs be a matter for discussion."

Tuk’s eyes widened slightly. She understood now. Michaelli had not simply been testing her—he had used her to deflect attention from the matter of heirs entirely.

"But Your Highness—" another official began.

Michaelli raised a hand, silencing him. "This meeting is over."

He rose, his coat sweeping behind him, exuding an undeniable air of authority. The officials scrambled to their feet, bowing as he passed.

Tuk remained near the door, flustered but relieved. As Michaelli strode past her, his gaze lingered—just long enough to leave behind a warmth she couldn’t quite place.

Without another word, he exited, his mind already turning to his plans, the weight of his past, and the curse he could never name.

The historian had bought him time. But the pressure would return. The demand for an heir would persist. What they didn’t know—what they could never know—was that Michaelli had no intention of producing one. 

Tuk stood frozen. Michaelli had brought him here for a reason—to make him see, to force him to understand his role as the prince’s so-called "love advisor." It was not a title; it was a pact. Tuk would have to withstand the full weight of Michaelli’s schemes—or risk being swallowed by them.

As the prince’s shadow passed over him, Tuk’s breath caught. No one here knew he was a woman—but with every word Michaelli spoke, it felt less like a secret and more like a crack. And if anyone could split her open, piece by hidden piece, it was him.