Second Son of Count Trynal

Count Trynal's Mansion – The Office

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"Enter," Count Trynal commanded, his voice calm yet firm.

The door creaked open, revealing a young man with dark brown hair, far deeper in shade than his father's light chestnut locks. Stepping inside, the second son of the Trynal household found his father seated behind an imposing desk, papers neatly stacked before him.

"Why have you come to see me, Jubrus?" Count Trynal asked, not bothering to look up from the document in his hand.

"Father—no, Count," Jubrus began, his tone formal. "I wish to inquire about the upcoming Tournament of the King, set to take place a month from now."

Count Trynal finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "Hmm..." he mused aloud, his sharp mind already piecing together the implications.

The reports are true—whoever wins the tournament shall wed the Princess and ascend to the throne as King, he thought, the political weight of the event looming large.

"And what is it you wish to inquire about?" the Count asked, his voice steady.

"Why have you allowed the third and fourth sons to participate in the tournament?" Jubrus questioned, his tone edged with frustration.

"Why shouldn't they?" Count Trynal countered, raising an eyebrow.

Jubrus hesitated but pressed on. "They'll only sully the Trynal name! Both are stronger than me, yes, but they are born of common mothers, mere peasants."

The Count's gaze hardened at his son's words. Ah, how ironic. A second son so concerned about legacy, forgetting that our lineage itself began with brigand knights, he thought.

"Do you mean to suggest that our ancestors sullied the Trynal name?" Count Trynal said coldly, his voice cutting through the room. "They, too, were once 'lowly'—mercenaries and sellswords who clawed their way to nobility."

Jubrus opened his mouth to respond, but the Count raised his hand to silence him.

"Enough!" Count Trynal barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If you have nothing else to add, leave me. Now."

"Yes, Count," Jubrus muttered, biting back further protest. He turned toward the door, his movements stiff with frustration.

As he exited, he murmured under his breath, "Tch." The door closed softly behind him.

Left alone, Count Trynal leaned back in his chair and let out a weary sigh. "What am I to do with these sons of mine?" he muttered, rubbing his temples.

After a moment of silence, his thoughts returned to the larger matter at hand.

"A tournament where the Princess herself is the prize," he mused aloud. "If the kingdom learns of her disappearance, chaos will erupt. Not just for Viscount Wellian, but for me as well."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk.

"If I could locate her first, then arrange for one of my sons to marry her—regardless of their shortcomings—House Trynal would rise to prominence. We'd stand on equal footing with Wellian, perhaps even surpass him."

A faint, cunning smile crept across the Count's face. "Yes, finding her could change everything..."