☕ Support the story → ko-fi.com/cielomilo

Join the Circle of Firstlight 💫

Chapter 1

The Letter from the Emperor

“Knock… Knock.”

Someone was at the door. The man inside the office paused his writing, pen held midair, before turning his head slightly toward the sound.

“Grand Duke,” came the butler’s composed voice through the door, “this is Tony. I have come to deliver a letter sent by His Majesty, the Emperor.”

“You may enter, Head Butler,” came the calm, commanding voice from within.

Tony, the butler of House De Claire for nearly two decades, entered and bowed deeply before approaching the broad oak desk. He held a sealed letter on a silver tray — the imperial seal of Salastian glinting faintly in the morning light.

“It’s rare for His Majesty to write to me so suddenly,” murmured the man behind the desk. His tone carried the weight of experience — cautious but curious.

The Grand Duke of De Claire, Laurence Jan De Claire, reached for the letter and broke the wax seal. The script was precise, formal — yet unmistakably personal.

His blue-gray eyes moved steadily across the page. As he read, his brow furrowed, not with disapproval, but contemplation.

“To my dear friend of long standing,
I trust you have been in good health. It has been far too long since we last met in council or in peace.

I write to you today with a matter of great importance — a formal request for the hand of your daughter, Lady Elisana Laurel De Claire, in marriage to my eldest son, Crown Prince Marcus Alastair Von Salastian.

His Highness will be visiting the De Claire manor in person to deliver the betrothal gifts and formalize the engagement under both our houses.
Yours in friendship and faith,

Maximillian Elton Von Salastian.”

Laurence’s expression softened. So, the Emperor wishes to bind our houses through marriage once more…

He looked up. “Tony, call for Elisana. Ask her to come to my study immediately.”

The butler bowed. “At once, Your Grace.”

The Grand Duke leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the parchment. His thoughts wandered briefly to the past — the days of the last great war, when the Emperor and he had fought side by side to restore peace to Salastian.

A royal marriage between their families would strengthen the empire… but would it bring happiness to his daughter?

Moments later, the door opened gently, and a young woman peeked inside.

“Father, did you call for me?” she asked, her soft voice bright and melodic.

Laurence’s eyes warmed. My lovely daughter… always so full of light.
He gestured for her to enter. “Come in, Elisana.”

Elisana stepped into the study, her silver-blonde hair glinting like spun moonlight under the tall windows. She curtsied lightly before approaching her father’s desk.
The Grand Duke handed her the letter.

“The Emperor sent this earlier today. It concerns you,” he said.

She tilted her head, curiosity shining in her emerald eyes as she read the words. Her lips parted slightly when she reached the middle of the letter.

“The Emperor… wishes me to marry the Crown Prince?” she whispered.

Laurence nodded slowly. “Yes. His Majesty asks for your hand on behalf of Prince Marcus. But remember, Eli — you are free to refuse. I will not have my daughter bound by duty alone.”

Her eyes softened with both surprise and affection. “Father… I know. But I have no reason to refuse.” She smiled, faint but sincere. “Prince Marcus and I grew up together. We used to play in the royal gardens, remember? He was always kind to me.”

Laurence chuckled, the sound rare and genuine. “Ah, those were simpler days. You were inseparable — the little moon following the sun.”

He paused, studying her face, the glow of youthful excitement already blooming there.

“You’ve grown into a fine lady, Elisana. But this will not be an ordinary union. Marrying into the royal family means living under the eyes of the court, surrounded by whispers and ambition. Are you certain this is what you want?”

Elisana nodded without hesitation. “I am, Father. I believe in Prince Marcus. And… I wish to serve the empire well, just as our family has always done.”

Laurence’s heart swelled with pride — and unease. Her words were noble, yet too pure for the world she was about to enter. “Very well,” he said finally. “Crown Prince Marcus will visit within the week to deliver the betrothal gifts. Make sure you’re prepared to receive him with grace.”

She smiled brightly and, as she always did, leaned down to kiss his cheek before leaving. “Thank you, Father.”

When the door closed behind her, the room seemed to exhale. Laurence sat in thoughtful silence, the faint scent of ink and parchment filling the air. A minute later, another familiar presence entered.

“Honey,” came a soft voice, “was that Eli who just passed me? She looked like she was about to fly.”

He turned to see Elisabeth Flor De Claire, his wife, standing at the doorway, her honey-blonde curls catching the morning light. Her gentle hazel eyes were full of warmth and curiosity.

Laurence smiled faintly. “She’s just received news that will change her life.”

Elisabeth raised a brow. “News from the palace?”

He nodded, handing her the letter. She read it slowly, her expression shifting from surprise to quiet reflection. “So it begins,” she murmured. “Our daughter will soon be Empress.”

She looked out the tall window, where soft rays of sunlight filtered through. “Do you remember when she was little? She used to run around the manor garden, pretending to be the queen of her imaginary kingdom.”

Laurence chuckled. “She ruled over the butterflies, if I recall correctly.”

Elisabeth laughed softly, then turned serious again. “She’s strong, Laurence. But she’s also tender. Make sure the world doesn’t take that from her too soon.”

The Grand Duke reached for her hand. “I promise you, my love — I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”

Outside, the wind stirred the white curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming cherry trees. Somewhere beyond the horizon, the royal palace gleamed — a beacon of gold and ambition.

And within that light, the first threads of fate had already begun to weave their silent pattern.