Chapter 38 Throne

Martin sat in the dimly lit study. His mind was consumed with the burden of solidifying his reign, a task that weighed heavily on him since he had claimed the throne of Rotengen. Obelia was his now, but power, he knew, was a fragile thing, and he would need more than a crown to hold it.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as his gaze drifted toward the map of Obelia pinned to the wall. Rotengen was just one city, and while he had secured its loyalty for now, the lords and nobles in the surrounding regions were watching his every move. Some sought alliances, others planned rebellions, and all of them were potential threats. He needed something—someone—that could bolster his claim and solidify his rule.

The princess.

Martin's thoughts turned to Seraphina, the black-haired noblewoman who had arrived just days ago, claiming to be the princess of the Tymacamian Empire. Her story was compelling: a royal in exile, fleeing from a usurper, her family scattered and hunted. If she was who she claimed to be, her presence in Rotengen could be the key to securing alliances beyond Obelia. Marrying her would link his reign to one of the oldest and most respected empires in the known world. It would give him legitimacy and status that no other noble could challenge.

But the question lingered in his mind: Was she truly the princess of Tymacamian?

He frowned, leaning forward as the candlelight danced across his face. Her story seemed genuine enough, and her demeanor bore the marks of royalty, but he couldn't rely on appearances alone. Too much was at stake. If he misjudged her identity and made a public move, he could be exposed as a fool—or worse, manipulated by someone with their own agenda.

I need proof, he thought. He would have to probe her identity carefully, without revealing his hand too soon. He thought about creating a spy network, in the morning he would brief Jhene.

If she is who she says she is, Martin mused, then taking her hand in marriage would bind our fates together. I would have the support of her empire, and she would have my protection. Together, we could strengthen both our claims.

But if she wasn't, he would need to be prepared to act swiftly. False royals could be dangerous. He would play the part of the gracious host for now, welcoming her into the palace, allowing her to settle in. He would give her the space to prove herself. But all the while, he would be watching, probing, searching for the truth.

His mind raced with possibilities. If she was an impostor, how would she react to subtle challenges? Would she falter under pressure, or would her lies unravel in the presence of others? He would have to test her, and the right opportunity would present itself soon enough.

Martin turned away from the window, his decision made. The days ahead would be crucial, not just for him, but for the future of Rotengen. If Seraphina was truly a princess, he would take her hand and secure his reign with a powerful alliance. But if not, he would deal with her as he had dealt with countless others who had threatened his plans.

He moved back toward his desk, the flickering light catching the determined glint in his eyes.

---

In the chamber of Snowveil Manor, the air was thick with the mingling scents of expensive perfume and the acrid tang of smoke. Lord Caelan Greyheart, alone in the opulence of his private quarters, reveled in the perverse pleasures afforded to him by his newfound status. The room was lavishly decorated, yet the atmosphere was sullied by the dark undertones of his indulgences.

Caelan lounged on an intricately carved velvet divan, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he surveyed the scene before him. A woman, a prostitute moved with grace, her efforts to please him met with a chilling detachment. The candles flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced on the walls, mirroring the twisted play unfolding in the room.

As the night progressed, Caelan's demeanor grew more menacing. His previously indifferent gaze sharpened, and his movements took on a predatory edge. The woman, sensing the change, tried to placate him with increasingly desperate gestures, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

In a sudden, violent burst, Caelan's hands wrapped around her throat, his fingers tightening with brutal force. Her initial gasp of surprise quickly turned into muffled cries as her struggles grew weaker. The room, once filled with the sounds of lust, was now eerily silent save for the harsh rasping of her breath and Caelan's steady, relentless grip.

With the woman's life slipping away, Caelan's face remained expressionless, a mask of cold detachment. He released her lifeless body, her final gasps now replaced by an oppressive silence. The scene was one of grim satisfaction for Caelan, his enjoyment twisted into a display of dominance and control.

As he straightened his clothes, the door to the chamber creaked open, and a servant entered, holding a letter. The servant's eyes were averted, respectful and cautious as they approached.

"My lord," the servant said, placing the letter on a nearby table with trembling hands, "a letter has arrived for you."

The aftermath of his nocturnal escapades left a palpable tension in the air. The prostitute he had been with lay lifeless on the floor, her demise a stark reminder of the darkness lurking within him. Caelan, however, seemed unfazed as he dismissed the servant who had come to deliver a letter. The servant had approached with caution, eyes averted in deference to his lord's mood.

The letter was sealed with a wax emblem, its arrival a stark interruption to Caelan's brooding. He broke the seal with a deliberate motion and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents with growing intrigue. The letter detailed a startling revelation: Martin's sorcery would cease to function entirely after Frostfall.

Caelan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Martin's sorcery… no longer works after Frostfall?" he muttered aloud, his voice tinged with disbelief. He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing as he processed the implications of the news.

For a moment, he was lost in thought, the shock of the revelation overshadowing his earlier cruelty. The notion of Martin's power waning was unexpected, and Caelan could not help but ponder the ramifications. The letter's contents suggested that Martin, once a formidable adversary, was now facing a significant vulnerability.

Caelan's initial curiosity gave way to a cold, calculating mindset. "So that's why he's retreated to Rotengen," he mused, his tone reflective. "So he grasped at the remnants of his power, trying to salvage what was left....should i probe him?"

The realization that Martin's sorcery was diminishing was both surprising and intriguing. Caelan's mind raced with possibilities, his thoughts shifting from the shock of the revelation to strategic considerations. He knew that understanding Martin's weakened state could provide a crucial advantage in the shifting power dynamics.