All five heads of the great families had gathered in the reception hall.

The purpose of the meeting was clear — to determine three candidates for the crown.

A round table stood in the center of the dim room.

No ray of light penetrated it, as if the hall itself did not want to witness what was about to be decided.

Dorwein, head of the Vargreim family, spoke first.

“Eastar’s candidacy will bring nothing but trouble to the empire,” his voice was firm, with no trace of doubt. “Everyone remembers what he did to the city of Sigmaren.”

A few of those present nodded in agreement.

Even the empire’s young heir, Veylara, did not look away — silent consent shining in her eyes.

“He is chaos, not salvation,” Dorwein continued, raising his tone. “Such a man cannot stand at the head of the empire.”

“This is an open attack, Dorwein,” Reimar, head of the Aldekrein family, replied coldly. “And a direct provocation toward war between our houses.”

“I understand that it hurts to hear the truth,” Dorwein smiled. “But your own son is the main threat to the crown.”

“How dare you…” Reimar stood abruptly, clenching his fists.

“Please, be reasonable,” Mirelin, head of the Valkhrad family, intervened. “We are gathered to solve a problem, not create a new enmity.”

“Your position is clear,” Dorwein snorted. “He is your nephew. Naturally, you take his side.”

“So many years have passed,” Mirelin replied calmly, “and yet you still haven’t learned to control your temper.”

“I said from the start: this meeting is pointless,” Reimar shot back.

“I fully support Reimar,” Mirelin added.

“A family… affair,” Dorwein muttered.

“We will never reach a common decision this way,” Veylara interjected. “If everyone speaks only from the position of self-interest.”

The heads of the Stolvreim family, Irdelians, and the Orhvald family, Tagris, watched silently, not intervening.

Their silence spoke as much as the shouting of others.

Suddenly, the reception hall doors opened.

Eastar entered.

The argument died instantly.

All eyes turned toward him.

“My greetings, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “What’s all this heated discussion about?

Or perhaps… about me?”

“Eastar…” Reimar said tensely. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

“What are you doing here?!” Dorwein barked.

Eastar’s gaze shifted to Veylara.

“The same as the young heir of the crown.”

Their eyes met.

No warmth, no respect — only cold rivalry.

And a silent promise of a future clash.

“Why didn’t your guard stop him, Vatra?!” Dorwein roared, glancing sharply around.

Silence answered.

“They weren’t there,” Eastar said calmly, tilting his head slightly. “Or… it seems, they no longer are.”

A sly, almost mocking smile appeared on his lips.

“Get out. Now!” Dorwein spat, barely restraining his rage.

Reimar stood abruptly.

Another moment, and it could have erupted into open conflict.

“Father… please,” his voice strained. “He’s not worth it.”

“Eastar,” Reimar said quietly but firmly. “We can handle this ourselves. Don’t complicate matters.”

“Exactly, little gentleman,” Dorwein growled. “Out!”

Eastar laughed.

Not loudly — short, cold, cutting.

That laugh pierced the hall more sharply than any shout.

“I understand,” he said, slowly surveying the assembly. “The young heir promised her support.

Perhaps… even more.”

He stepped forward.

“But there’s one ‘but’.”

Never… — his voice dropped to an icy whisper — never speak against my family.

The hall became stifling.

“Do not forget,” Eastar continued, “thanks to whom you preserved your dignity.

And thanks to whom your house still exists.”

“Damn you…” Dorwein started, but…

“Enough!” Mirelin exclaimed sharply, standing. Her eyes blazed with anger. “Our quarrels only make things worse.

This meeting will lead to nothing. Let’s end it for today — while everyone still has a cool head.”

Dorwein stared at Eastar for several more seconds.

Eastar returned the gaze — calm. Satisfied.

Finally, Dorwein rose.

“I hope,” he said coldly, “that you come to your senses…

And do not choose a candidate for ruin.”

He turned toward the exit.

“Until we meet again…” Eastar called after him.

Dorwein only snorted softly — and slammed the door.

The silence that followed weighed heavier than any words.

Stepping out of the reception hall, Dorwein stopped abruptly.

Guards lay near the door.

Unconscious.

Their chests rose and fell slowly — they were breathing, but seemed in a deep, unnatural sleep.

“Damn… monster,” he hissed.

Clenching his fists, Dorwein walked away without looking back.

The others began leaving as well.

The young heir, Veylara, was among the first to head toward the exit.

Eastar was surprised — she was alone this time, without Vergel, who usually never left her side.

He stood by the door, motionless, watching her leave.

“Strange, Lady Veylara,” he said calmly. “Today, you are without Vergel.

You usually… are inseparable.”

She stopped and turned.

A faint, cunning smile appeared on her lips.

“Really?” she said. “I thought our… love was mutual.

Was I mistaken?”

“Mutual?” Eastar feigned thought, then smiled. “I was so worried…”

He paused briefly.

“So, are you inviting me to evening tea?”

His gaze was both polite and dangerous.

Serpentine.

Veylara said nothing — only nodded slightly and moved toward the exit.

At the threshold, she paused.

“Don’t be late,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing behind the doors.

“Of course,” Eastar replied calmly.

“And why did you come?” Reimar asked coldly once Veylara left. “You’ve complicated everything again.”

By now, the heads of the Stolvreim and Orhvald families had also left the hall.

They were almost alone.

“Well?” Reimar pressed. “Why are you silent?”

“I have nothing to say,” Eastar smiled.

“You always enjoy complicating things,” Mirelin interjected.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” he said with mock seriousness. “I just wanted to see you, aunt.

When you are away for so long, it fills me with sorrow…

Especially because of your eyes.”

“Save those words for the girls,” Mirelin said dryly.

Her gaze made it clear: he had not deceived her.

“But it’s true,” Eastar shrugged. “I missed you.

By the way… where is Mother?”

“Busy,” Reimar replied. “You’ll have time to see her later.

But first, tell me — how was your trip?”

“All good,” Eastar said briefly. “Shall we walk? I’ll explain along the way.”

Mirelin and Reimar exchanged a glance — then silently followed him.

The palace corridors echoed with quiet footsteps and Eastar’s calm voice.

He spoke evenly, without haste, as if recounting a mundane journey.

“Everything went even better than planned.

I made sure no one would realize it was my doing.”

Reimar paused for a moment. His gaze became sharp and heavy — in matters like this, he always exercised extreme caution.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “In matters like these, there are no small details.”

“Exactly,” Eastar replied without hesitation.

Mirelin gave a faint smile — not of joy, but of cold, restrained satisfaction.

“Then all that remains is to watch,” she said. “As they destroy everything themselves.”

“Exactly,” Eastar nodded.

“Am I correct to assume the Stolvreims will not support us?”

“Hard to say for certain,” Mirelin replied. “But they have no reason to side with us.”

“And the Orhvalds?” Eastar asked without breaking stride. “Where do they stand?”

“As far as I can tell,” Reimar said, “they will withdraw their candidate in favor of the Vargreims.”

Eastar narrowed his eyes slightly.

“I see…” he said quietly. “That can be changed.”

“No,” Reimar cut him off immediately. “Not by your methods.”

Eastar paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“Very well. I won’t insist,” he said calmly.

Yet there wasn’t a trace of concession in his voice.

They continued down the palace corridors.

Ahead, the grand hall came into view, where everyone would gather again — politicians, heirs, players.

Eastar walked confidently, a faint smile on his lips.

For the others, it was a struggle for the crown.

For him, it was just another board, with the pieces moving exactly where he wanted.