The Heiress to the most powerful family in the Empire, Dalia, has chosen to pick a knight. A young man from a run-down village causes an uproar within the Nobles of the Castella Empire.
"I, Dalia De La Cruz, bestow you the title of knight as well a...
The sun shone brightly over the expansive training ground, casting long shadows that danced with each fluid movement of Cesar's sword. The weight of the blade was a familiar comfort in his hand, its balance a testament to the countless hours he had spent honing his skills. Each swing was precise, calculated, and effortless—a reflection of the discipline that had become second nature to him.
With every strike, Cesar became one with the weapon, channeling the strength and precision that defined him as a warrior. The power of each blow reverberated through his muscles, grounding him in the present. But the rhythm of his training was abruptly shattered by the urgent call that echoed across the grounds.
"Your Highness!" A guard's hurried footsteps approached, pulling Cesar out of his focused state.
"What is it?" Cesar demanded, turning sharply to face the approaching figure. His voice was edged with urgency, already sensing the disruption was serious.
"Lady Dalia's carriage... there's been an accident," the guard relayed, his words hanging heavy in the air like a foreboding storm.
A knot of concern tightened in Cesar's chest. His expression darkened, worry replacing the calm he had felt just moments before. Without a second thought, he sheathed his sword, his focus shifting entirely to the gravity of the situation.
"Get the troops ready," he commanded, his voice steady and resolute despite the turmoil within. There was no time to waste, no room for doubt or hesitation. Lady Dalia needed him, and he would not fail her.
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"Cesar," the Empress addressed him, her voice cutting through the silence of the room like a blade. She sat regally before him, her presence commanding as always. Her fiery red hair seemed to catch the light, almost glowing as it framed her sharp, unforgiving features. As she stood and approached him, her movements were deliberate, brimming with purpose. "Where are you heading?" she demanded, her tone laced with authority and curiosity.
Cesar didn't break his stride as he moved toward the closet, reaching for his cloak. "That is none of your concern, Your Highness," he replied, his voice cool and even, not bothering to meet her gaze. He felt her eyes burning into his back as he fastened the clasp of his cloak.
The Empress's patience frayed visibly. Her voice rose, tinged with disbelief and simmering anger. "You dare recruit a troop of men to go after that woman?" Her words dripped with disdain.
Cesar paused, his fingers lingering on the edge of his cloak as he turned to face her, his expression one of mild amusement. "That woman?" he repeated, his voice soft but mocking as he tilted his head, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "That woman is the second most powerful person in the Empire, after the Emperor."
The Empress's face flushed, a flicker of defiance burning in her eyes. Cesar's words were a reminder of the complex and often brutal politics that governed their world. He watched her, unafraid, before adding, "Even more powerful than you, Your Highness." His lips curled into a smirk, the subtle challenge evident in his tone.
"You insolent bastard!" she spat, her voice shaking with fury. She raised her hand, her fingers trembling as they prepared to strike him with all the force of her rage. Cesar saw the blow coming but made no move to flinch. Instead, as her hand arced toward his face, he caught her wrist in midair, his grip firm but not painful.
"I know you were involved in the accident, Your Highness," Cesar said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. His eyes narrowed, the playful amusement gone, replaced by a hard edge. "You can deny it all you want, but I know." His grip tightened slightly as his words dripped with venom. "If something happens to her, the entire Empire will collapse in my hands."
The Empress's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she masked her shock with another wave of fury. But Cesar held her gaze, his expression calm and unyielding. After a long moment, he let go of her wrist, allowing her arm to drop to her side. She glared at him, her face contorted with barely contained rage.
Before either of them could speak again, the wooden door burst open with a resounding thud, revealing a female guard standing stiffly at attention. "Your Highness, the troop is ready," the guard reported, her voice steady though the tension in the air was palpable.
Cesar turned toward the guard, his mind already shifting away from the confrontation with the Empress. "Good," he acknowledged with a curt nod. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and moved toward the door without a second glance at the Empress. As he reached the threshold, however, he turned back briefly, his voice cold. "Have someone escort Her Highness out of my chambers," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room, his steps decisive as he made his way toward the awaiting soldiers.
The hallway outside was dimly lit, the air thick with the tension of the moment. The guard who had spoken earlier followed at his side, her posture rigid and her expression serious. As they walked in silence, Cesar couldn't help but notice the way her hands trembled slightly at her sides, the way her voice had quivered when she spoke. He came to a sudden halt, causing her to stop abruptly beside him.
He turned to face her, his gaze piercing as it settled on her. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice firm but not unkind.
The guard's gray eyes widened in a flash of panic. Her lips parted, but it took her a moment to find her voice. "My name is Inez, Your Highness," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cesar nodded thoughtfully, his eyes scanning her face. Her blue hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. She bowed slightly before him, a sign of respect amidst the rising tension. "How old are you, Inez?" he asked, his curiosity piqued by the quiet determination that radiated from her.
"I am seventeen, Your Highness," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance despite her effort to maintain composure.
Cesar's eyes widened slightly at her response, a flicker of surprise passing over his features. "Seventeen," he repeated softly. He regarded her with a mixture of admiration and concern. "You're barely of age," he remarked, shaking his head slightly. There was something admirable about her standing here, ready to face danger at such a young age.
Inez held her head high, her chin lifting slightly as she spoke again. "My father was a lowly baron," she began, her voice steady, but her eyes darkened as she continued. "He died during the war with the Calo Empire." She paused for a brief moment, swallowing hard before she added, "I am the oldest, and I must provide for my family."
A heavy silence fell between them as Cesar absorbed her words. He could see the pain and burden she carried, etched into her face despite her youth. After a long moment, he nodded.
"You are incredibly brave," Cesar said quietly, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "To take on such responsibility at your age... it is no small thing. It's commendable."
A flicker of gratitude crossed Inez's face before she dipped her head in acknowledgment. But even as she stood resolute, Cesar could see the weariness in her eyes—the toll of responsibility pressing down on her, day in and day out.
"Thank you, Your Highness," she murmured, her voice barely audible. Then, after a brief pause, she added, her tone darkening, "But I wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for the Royal Family."
Cesar nodded slowly, understanding the bitterness that laced her words. He could feel the weight of her resentment, a resentment that mirrored many who had suffered under the burdens of war and politics. Yet in her gaze, he also saw a flicker of resilience, a strength that refused to be broken.
As they continued walking, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She was strong, perhaps stronger than most would give her credit for. A part of him admired that.
