(Fifteen minutes early.)

  Terenthiel, Zane, and Sir Darius strode into the grand chamber lobby of Parliament, a palpable tension hanging in the air. Terenthiel moved with a fierce determination, his recent humiliation at the hands of the Dark Elf and Princess Hilda fresh in his mind.

  'Those wretched women… How dare they trample on my honor!' he fumed internally, his heart pounding with simmering rage. 'Mark my words… You will repent for your sins!' Every step he took fueled the fire within him, a yearning for retribution.

  As they walked, the younger prince and the stalwart padin exchanged gnces, acutely aware of the storm brewing inside Terenthiel. They chose silence, sensing that his fury needed space to simmer, rather than a voice to echo it.

  With a storm brewing inside him, Terenthiel made a silent vow. 'I'll get revenge.' But before he could act, he needed to gather his thoughts and his belongings before reporting this chaos to the Prophet and the High King. 'The situation is getting out of control, and we might have to convert the people of Fiafyr by force... Their salvation is at risk!' the foreign prince thought as a metaphorical, shadowy cloud loomed overhead, reflecting his darkening mood.

  As he stormed through the grand entrance hall, the tension was interrupted by the frantic footsteps of a familiar figure running towards them.

  "HAA!... Haa... Haa... Lord Marrell!... Wait!" Duval’s desperate voice echoed behind them, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  The Prime Minister and his aides hurried down the hall, desperation in their steps as they tried to catch up with Prince Terenthiel. Each hurried footfall echoed their urgency, but instead of reassuring him, their frantic pursuit only deepened the Prince's frustration. The man he had once trusted had let him down, and the weight of Duval's failure hung heavy in the air.

  'Duval... Your incompetence has let a Dark Elf into your nds, and you didn't even have the spine to arrest her,' Terenthiel seethed, halting mid-step, brooding like a tormented youth.

  Duval, breathless from the chase, finally caught up. "Y-Your Highness... might you spare a moment in my study so we can discuss—"

  "No!..." Terenthiel snapped, his voice cut through the air with a sharp edge.

  Duval halted mid-stride, surprise etching itself across his face. “No?” he echoed incredulously, his heart racing. He felt a mix of confusion and dread washing over him.

  "You have betrayed me, Prime Minister... Not only have you failed your Kingdom, but you have also defied the Gods themselves," Terenthiel's words reverberated through the chamber, heavy with accusation. The younger prince and Sir Darius halted in their tracks, wide-eyed, captivated by the fury emanating from the Fifth Son of the Divine Order. "And to make matters worse, I have discovered that you have concealed a Dark Elf within the very walls of your realm! You thought you could keep this from me!?” His voice thundered, an imperious command demanding attention.

  Duval's complexion turned ashen, fear gripping him. "W-Wait! Hold on! I swear I didn’t know about the Dark Elf until just a day before your arrival! I have been doing everything within my power to stop her, but time slipped through my fingers!" he pleaded, desperation seeping into his tone.

  "And yet!" Terenthiel cut him off, his brow furrowing in disdain. "You still chose to keep this from me? Two valiant white knights have fallen because of your incompetence! The Princess herself is ensnared by delusions of grandeur and believes she can stop that foul creature! And my honor? Ruined! I demand you hand over the Dark Elf, or be prepared to face the dire consequences of your actions!" He leaned forward, a fierce intensity igniting his gaze.

  "I-I... You can’t expect me to simply surrender her after all that she's wrought! And even if I could, tell me—who among us is strong enough to confront her?" Duval retorted, a flicker of defiance emerging amidst his fear.

  Terenthiel’s lip curled into a sneer, even as he begrudgingly acknowledged the truth in the Prime Minister’s words. Sir Darius was indeed the only one formidable enough to endure an encounter with her, and even with Young Prince Zane and the other Knights at his side, they'd need more than mere valor—divine intervention would be essential for survival. Yet, Terenthiel wasn’t about to admit that, especially not after losing face in front of everyone.

  “What an idiotic question...” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s the Divine Three who hold the power to stop her. But the influence of your false goddess has prevented the Divine Three's power from reaching my people. She's tainted the minds of your people to give her strength she doesn't deserve. She must be meddling with your royalty to make the Crown Prince bring a Dark Elf into these halls, no doubt pnning to corrupt the King and Queen to turn their backs on the one true faith. That of the Divine Three," Terenthiel ranted, his voice growing louder and more indignant with every word.

  Duval shot back, his anger fring like a wildfire. “False goddess? How dare you!” His voice trembled with intensity as he defended Iyomelka. “She is no false deity! She will choose the Princess, as she did for Queen Rianna, not the Dark Elf! You’ll see!” The weight of his conviction surged through him, even as his frustration boiled over from the day's unfolding events.

  Yet, as soon as the words left his mouth, the Prime Minister's expression shifted, a fsh of horror crossing his face. 'What have I done!?' he thought, the realization sinking in as his stomach twisted into uncomfortable knots. The stakes felt higher than before; he could sense the impending fallout.

  “How can you not see her falsehoods?” Terenthiel retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. His features hardened, revealing the depths of his incredulity. “She doesn’t show herself to anyone, not even your High Priestess! Yet you think she will reveal herself and choose Prince Hilda?” He let out a derisive snort before he continued, “You are more naive than I imagined! Have you even considered a worse fate? What if your goddess chooses the Dark Elf? Did that ever cross your mind, you simpleton? If that were to happen, it would signify that your deity prefers evil over good!”

  With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Terenthiel turned away, his back rigid with resolve. “Now, if you’ll excuse me... I find myself needing to leave,” he decred coldly, the finality of his tone hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

  “What about the peace treaty?!” Duval called out, desperation creeping into his voice. The threat of chaos loomed, and the weight of the fragile alliance they had maintained felt like it was about to shatter.

  “If the Princess isn’t chosen by one of your countrymen, and the Crown Prince remains undisclosed by the time I return... then you’d best be prepared to defend yourselves.” Terenthiel paused, casting a gnce back over his shoulder that was den with foreboding. “I’ll pray that the Divine Three will have mercy on your souls.”

  “W-Wait... What are you saying?... Your Highness!?... Please, wait!” Duval shouted, panic rising in his chest as Terenthiel strode away, leaving him to grapple with the storm of uncertainty that now loomed over their future.

  "You have one month, Duval," Terenthiel decred, his voice ominous as he stood rigidly in the grand hall of the pace. The golden light from the chandeliers shimmered against the eborate tapestries, casting flickering shadows that mirrored the tension in the air. "The Divine Three have spoken. If the princess is not chosen by the Crown Prince, I will have no choice but to unleash a reckoning upon your nd. With the full force of the Divine Three's Padins, we will purge all sinners from your realm." His cold eyes locked onto Duval's, a lingering threat evident in his gaze. "The followers of Iyomelka are the ones who will be judged... and you shall also bear the consequences of your failure."

  As Terenthiel turned and strode from the pace, Duval remained rooted to the spot, his heart pounding in his chest. The implications of his words echoed in his mind—the specter of war loomed rge, darkening his thoughts.

  ‘The peace treaty teeters on the brink of colpse... All that hard work, all those sacrifices, for nothing,’ he grimly reflected. Clenching his fists, he felt a surge of determination; Hilda's future rested on his shoulders. ‘I need to ensure that damned idol lights up for her and no one else! Sebastian must help me strategize... and then there’s that elusive Elf!’

  “Damn that Dark Elf,” he cursed under his breath, frustration boiling over as he stormed out of the opulent hall, determination fueling his steps.

  “Sir!” a flustered aide called after him, scrambling to keep pace.

  “I want Count Sebastian Ingham, Baron Thaddeus, and Baron Eamon Stirling in my office immediately,” Duval commanded, his tone brooking no argument, as he continued to stride purposefully away.

  “A-At once, Prime Minister!” the aide stammered, dashing off to rey the urgent summons, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders. Duval’s mind spun with pns and contingencies, wrestling with the looming threat that hung like a bck cloud overhead. The weight of the future bore down upon him, and he fought to steady his racing thoughts, focusing his resolve.

  'I cannot allow the peace treaty to fail. It's the only way we can prevent our destruction!' he reminded himself, the pressure building inside him, driving him onward. 'It doesn't matter how much we sacrifice or what we have to do... Hilda MUST be chosen by the Crown Prince! I've done everything to get us to this point, and I will NOT let it be in vain!' His expression darkened as he strode down another hallway towards his office.

  Terenthiel, Zane, and Darius marched their way through the pace, with the royal guards stepping aside as they exited the foyer. It didn't take long for them to join the rest of his men, and they climbed into their carriage before heading to the Ecros Manor in the south of the city.

  ***

  After Duval hurried off towards his office, Aric and Leandra stepped out of the eborate doors of the House of the Major Lords and made their way into the bustling lobby of the parliament. The air was thick with the murmurs of aides discussing the day's proceedings, and a handful of nobles lingered near the marble columns, exchanging hushed words and gnces. The grand architecture of the pace loomed around them, and its high ceilings and intricate paintings of the Lords of the past were a constant reminder of the weight of politics in this pce.

  Once they felt they had distanced themselves from the elf's keen ears, Aric's typically stoic expression transformed into a wicked smile, his eyes twinkling with intrigue. “Well, dear... It seems you almost made the Dark Elf cry,” he said, his tone teasing yet genuinely pleased. “It was subtle, but you struck quite a chord with her.”

  Leandra arched an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering across her face. “I did? I thought I was just standing my ground. She infuriated me so much that I didn’t realize the impact of my words.” A small, triumphant smile began to form on her lips. “It’s reassuring to know she’s not as formidable as she pretends to be.”

  “Indeed… And having the Princess within the pace walls will be a major boon for us. I haven't been able to turn any of the Royal Servants to our cause ever since that day,” Aric replied, a gleam of hope sparking in his eyes.

  “True… But how do we communicate with her? She’s always surrounded by guards, not to mention the elves… What if they’re eavesdropping?” Leandra pressed, concern furrowing her brow.

  “Belial has been procuring some... interesting things from our northern neighbor. I’ll share more when we’re home... But for now, I need to speak with Duval. He needs to be picked up after that brutal beating,” Aric said, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

  Leandra pouted, the weight of their situation heavy on her heart.

  “What troubles you, my dear?” Aric asked softly.

  "It is unfortunate that the day Duval finally stumbles is the day we need his help... That vile man doesn't deserve our help," Leandra decred, frustration cing her words.

  “I understand how you feel,” Aric replied, his tone soothing yet firm. “But he pys a crucial role in our new pns. Now, come along. Let’s get you to the carriage for a lovely lunch while I forge a new alliance with an enemy.”

  With a reluctant nod, Leandra took his arm, and together they strode out of the grand pace, its opulent gates looming behind them. The midday sun bathed the cobblestone pathway in a warm glow, contrasting sharply with the heaviness of their conversation.

  As they approached the carriage, Franklin, the seasoned driver, tipped his hat respectfully. “Good day, my Lord, and my Lady,” he greeted with a warm smile that momentarily lifted Leandra's spirits.

  “Good day, Franklin. Please take her dyship home for the day and return promptly. I need a moment with the Prime Minister,” Aric instructed, his tone all business now, the weight of leadership evident upon his shoulders.

  “It shall be done, my lord,” Franklin replied, ready to obey without question.

  Leandra slipped inside the comfortable carriage, a fine piece of craftsmanship adorned with rich fabrics and polished wood. She settled onto the plush seat, her mind still racing with thoughts of Duval and their precarious situation. Aric leaned in, taking her hand for a brief moment, his lips brushing against her skin in a tender kiss.

  “Take care, my dear,” he whispered, his gaze steady and filled with reassurance. With a gentle click, the door closed behind her, and the carriage lurched into motion, whisking Leandra away while Aric turned back toward the imposing pace, ready to navigate the treacherous waters of politics and alliances that loomed ahead.

  He made his way with purpose toward the Prime Minister's office, the marble floors echoing underfoot as he navigated the West Wing. The air was thick with tension, and the decor, adorned with heavy tapestries and portraits of stern-faced ancestors, seemed to loom ominously as he stepped inside.

  Upon entering the foyer of the West Wing, Aric noticed Viscount William striding in from nowhere, walking alongside him, with worry etched across his face.

  "My Lord... Please tell me you have an idea of how I can save my domain," William implored, desperation cing his words.

  “William,” Aric replied with a seriousness that brooked no argument, “If you’re this anxious, it indicates your funds are cking.”

  “After everything I’ve sacrificed to support you during those dire times when Duval drained your coffers, you dare to lecture me on financial prudence?” William shot back, his frustration palpable. “I’ve bored tirelessly to keep your precious Divalo Domain from colpsing under the weight of its debts!”

  Aric's features softened for just a moment, a fleeting acknowledgment of their shared struggles. “I appreciate your efforts to shield my resources, but let’s be clear—it was still my money, William. You miscalcuted when you allowed greed to cloud your judgment, particurly when Alistair agreed to dismantle his solitary port city in his Encve. As of right now, first, you need to stop gambling, and second, you have to readjust your taxes until the Dark Elf is out of the picture. We are in a war of wits, William... And she's ahead of us... It's time to make sacrifices so we can live to fight another day."

  William took a deep breath, grappling with the bitter truth that the Duke had hit the nail on the head. He couldn’t afford to let the Silverhaven Coast slip through his fingers, especially not to that cunning Dark Elf.

  “You’re right,” he finally said, determination creeping into his voice. “I’ll start pnning accordingly and invest my gold into the growth of my cities.”

  “Good man,” Aric replied, his eyes glinting with a hint of seriousness. “But we need to offset this financial situation with more imports. There are a few isnd kingdoms we could trade with, but they can only send us so many goods that the rest of the kingdom would want... I'll try to line up a meeting with the Merchant's Guild... Just be prepared—Witon might require a level of ass-kissing that could leave you nose a shade browner than normal."

  William grimaced at the thought of kissing up to that fat ass guild master.

  "Ugh... Witon... I hate bending the knee to a fucking commoner... Just because he controls all the traders in the east doesn’t mean he’s superior to me,” he griped, frustration bubbling.

  "I don't like him either," Aric admitted, his voice low and measured, "but he can deliver what we need. Just remember that, and try to keep your bile in check."

  William's eyes narrowed with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides. "Alright... But once things are back to normal, I swear I'm going to kill that fat pig," he decred, his tone dangerous and simmering with anger.

  Aric couldn't help but put on a smile as he approached the heavy oak door to the Prime Minister's office, an expression that hinted at both amusement and a certain understanding of the gritty reality they faced. He knew the stakes were high and their alliance with Duval was tenuous, at best. But maneuvering over tenuous situations was what the Duke excelled at.

  "Now we need to see the Prime Minister," Aric instructed, his tone shifting to one of authority. "Remember... Let me do all the talking," he added firmly, casting a gnce at William.

  "As you command, Your Grace," William replied, opening the door with a sense of purpose.

  They stepped into the expansive lobby of the Prime Minister's office and found a few worried aides along with a couple of guards standing by the entrance to Duval's office. They all turned and were surprised to see the Duke and the Viscount.

  "My Lords... May we help you?" one aide ventured cautiously, clearly unsettled by their unexpected presence.

  Aric couldn’t help but fsh a confident smile. "Oh, you’ve got it all wrong, my boy... The real question is, what can I do for your Master?"

  The aides exchanged worried gnces, uncertainty creeping into their expressions.

  "Lord Duval is not seeing visitors today," another aide interjected, attempting to maintain control of the situation.

  "Is that so? Well, I suppose he must want the peace treaty to unravel then. Such a pity, though. I had a wealth of brilliant ideas to assist the Prime Minister," Aric mused, his tone dripping with feigned disappointment. "Come along, William. Perhaps we should resign our fate to the Dark Elf," the Duke said as he and the Viscount turned to exit.

  The aides began to sweat as the Duke and Viscount moved toward the door, the weight of their words hanging in the air.

  "Wait!" one of the aides called out, desperation cing his voice.

  Aric paused, one brow arching slightly as he suppressed a shit eating grin, slowly turning back to face the anxious aides, curiosity glimmering in his eyes.

  "Yes, my boy... What is it?" he inquired, his tone smooth yet slightly teasing, as if he were fully aware of the weight of the moment.

  "Um... Perhaps you could share your pns with us?... We could advise the Prime Minister when he’s ready," the aide suggested, his voice quavering under the pressure of uncertainty. He gnced at his fellow aides for support, but their expressions mirrored his anxiety.

  "And let you steal all my glory? I think not, my boy. I have little faith that the Prime Minister would take you seriously without hearing my pns directly from me," Aric replied, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

  "But, Lord Duval isn't seeing any visitors today," the aide repeated, his uncertainty creeping back.

  "Is that why Lord Sebastian is inside with him?" William chimed in, gesturing toward the closed door.

  "Uh..." The aide froze, caught off guard.

  "Well, I see the Prime Minister will talk to a Count, but not a Duke... It seems we're doomed," Aric stated as he turned to leave again.

  "Wait, my lord!" the aide called again, desperation tinged with hope.

  "Yes, my boy?" Aric replied, pivoting back to the anxious young man.

  “We’ll let you in if you promise you’re here only to help and won’t say anything that might unsettle the Prime Minister... He’s had quite enough on his pte today with the Dark Elf and Prince Terenthiel breathing down his neck,” the aide implored, the worry etched into his features.

  Aric fshed a knowing smile. "Let’s just say we have a common enemy who poses a threat to our Kingdom... That's all I'm willing to divulge."

  The aides looked at each other and nodded.

  "We can work with that," one of them decred, nodding firmly.

  "Good... Lead the way," Aric said.

  "Yes, sir," the aide replied, steeling himself as he knocked on the door.

  RepresentingAll_Pauls