The guards led them through the palace's corridors, their footsteps muffled by thick velvet carpets. The deeper they went, the dimmer the light became, shadows stretching long across the marble floors.
At last, they reached the throne chamber.
The windows were shut tight, sealing the room in hushed darkness. A few scattered candles flickered, casting golden halos against the cold stone walls.
Two figures sat at the far end of the chamber. Watching. Waiting.
Ren BlackDragon approached with deliberate ease, his gaze sweeping over them. He had always preferred peaceful submission—an acceptance of the Eternal Empire without bloodshed—but he knew that was unlikely. Still, diplomacy had its place, and he would offer them the chance.
The queen radiated dominance, her presence commanding space as effortlessly as the ocean commands the tides. Her sapphire hair cascaded in wild, untamed waves reminiscent of stormy seas, while her eyes mirrored that same deep, unpredictable blue. Yet beneath her beauty lay something colder—calculating, poised, unyielding.
Beside her, the king sat silently, his aura thick with exhaustion. His raven-black hair framed sharp features, handsome yet worn. The weight of the rule was etched deep into the shadows beneath his eyes. His once-formidable presence had hollowed out into something frail. He was a man grasping at the remnants of his authority.
Still, he held himself with dignity.
"Welcome, Ren BlackDragon." His voice was steady, though there was a raw edge to it. "It is with the utmost respect that I greet you in our home. I am surprised that you chose to stand before us in person."
His gaze flickered toward his wife, searching for an answer within her unreadable expression. She merely stared back, silent.
He sighed, shifting slightly in his seat. "Forgive my appearance—I am gravely ill."
Then, after a brief pause, he said what Ren already expected.
"I understand you have come to seek our allegiance to the Eternal Empire. However, I regret to inform you that we are unable to comply. I hope you will forgive us for our actions against your empire."
Ren sat silently, sipping his tea and dipping rich biscuits into the steaming liquid.
"It has been a long time since I've enjoyed a proper cup of tea from my homeland," he remarked, his voice calm and almost wistful. It brings back cherished memories."
The king and queen did not react outwardly, but Ren could see it—the faint flicker of surprise, the subtle shift in their expressions as they absorbed the weight of his words. His ties to England were deeper than they had assumed.
Their gazes flicked briefly to Stella.
King Jaime felt a vague unease in her presence, though he could not quite place its source. Queen Guinevere, however, was far more deliberate—her suspicion was evident, yet restrained. She lacked the proof, the means to act against Stella, but she knew. Despite Stella's lower rank, her lineage carried weight.
"Duchess Stella," Jaime said finally, his tone measured. It is curious how you arrived with Prince Ren. You didn't mention this when we discussed ways to strengthen our kingdom. You kept this hidden."
Stella met his gaze evenly. "Well, King Jaime, you knew where I stood. I warned you about the consequences of opposing them. I have decided to align myself with the Eternal Empire and convinced others to do the same."
Stella continued, her voice unwavering, "Understand that this decision is mine alone. I know where my loyalty should lie—and it is not with you."
Guinevere remained composed, though the faintest shift of her lips hinted at dissatisfaction. "I see. You have made your choice." Her gaze moved to Ren.
"Prince Ren, I am truly sorry to disappoint you. This…" she hesitated, searching for the right words. "This is not what I desire. But it is the only path I can take. Regardless of the odds, I intend to take full responsibility for our actions—however futile our resistance may be."
Ren set his cup down, savouring the last sip of tea.
"I admire your integrity and dedication to your country," he said, his voice calm yet edged with finality. "This was once my home, and I do not wish for needless casualties—but if war demands it, I will not hesitate. Thank you for the hospitality."
He stood, offering them one final glance.
"Prepare your armies. Devise the best possible strategy. You will need it."
With that, he vanished, teleporting out of sight.
Jaime exhaled, shaking his head. "Well, that was pointless."
Guinevere did not respond. She watched the space Ren had occupied, eyes unreadable.
Ren stood on the balcony of his hotel, gazing down at the illuminated city below. Stella remained beside him, silent, watching as their target struggled with the weight of impending defeat.
Inside the palace, Jaime's voice carried low, laced with frustration.
"Do we truly have to go through with this?"
Guinevere's expression remained composed, though her words were firm.
"Our kingdom will crumble. We will lose everything. We are insects waiting to be crushed beneath them."
"Then why fight?" Jaime turned to her fully. "Why waste lives in a war we cannot win?"
"Because we already agreed," she answered. "We cannot turn back. We must confront our choices—without regret."
Jaime studied her, hollow-eyed. "I am dying, Guinevere. Soon, my light will fade, and you will be left alone. We never had children. Your claim to the throne exists only because of me. So tell me—when this fails, what will you do?"
She was quiet for a long moment before answering.
"If all else fails… I will make preparations."
Her voice softened.
"Then I will come find you in the afterlife, Jaime."
Jaime sighed, reaching for her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. Their gazes met—his weary, her resigned. He kissed her slowly, as if savouring the moment before time stole it away.
Then, suddenly, his body convulsed.
A wracking cough tore through him, his hand lifting to cover his mouth.
When he pulled away, his palm was smeared black.
Thick.
Poisoned.
The curse of his bloodline had reached its final stage.
Guinevere inhaled sharply, dread curling deep in her chest.
Jaime managed a weak smile.
"It was always going to end this way."
Ren turned away, his thoughts clouded.
"King Jaime," he murmured, "I could save him. But he seems determined to let go."
Beside him, Stella's tone was cold, detached.
"Don't save him, Ren. It's pointless. You know what my ex-husband did to me—it might seem petty, but I want his bloodline extinguished."
Ren studied her for a moment, then looked back toward the palace.
I need some air," he said at last, his voice quieter than before. "Stay here, order whatever you like… enjoy the night."
With that, he vanished, teleporting into the forest.
The moon hung high above him, silver and unwavering.
His eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Ren moved through the darkness, though his vision remained clear. Around him, countless animals stirred—foxes slipping between trees, deer grazing in quiet patches, elk standing watchful among them.
His gaze locked onto the most enormous elk, the herd's leader.
A primal instinct stirred within him.
Silent as a shadow, he crept forward.
Then, in one fluid motion, he shifted—his form twisting into that of a pitch-black wolf, his crimson eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
With unnatural speed, he sprinted toward his prey.
Suddenly, another howl echoed through the trees.
Pure Snow.
The female leader of her pack.
She and her wolves charged in, snarling, scattering the herd with practised precision. Their tactics were clear: divide the strongest members, weaken their defences, and strike with full force.
Ren feasted peacefully on his kill when the sharp snap of a twig caught his attention.
A lone snow wolf approached, cautious, watching him. She did not recognise him, and she growled.
Ren ignored her, continuing his meal.
Yet, despite her aggression, he found himself intrigued. She was a magnificent creature—sleek, poised, commanding. As he circled her, a thought crossed his mind.
But ultimately, he chose to leave without a second glance.
The wolf did not let him go so easily.
"Who are you, stranger?" she demanded, speaking in the language of wolves. "You took my kill without my permission. I am the leader of this territory, while you… They are nothing but a lone wolf."
Ren smirked, baring sharp teeth.
"Is that so? You needn't worry—I was only passing through, revisiting old memories. You would have caught it before me if you had truly earned the kill. But you didn't."
Her frustration bubbled beneath the surface. In her mind, she was the strongest, deserving the respect of all creatures in the forest, including her prey. She had even made a pact with the elk, proving herself worthy of hunting it.
Ren tilted his head.
"You'll find another one, trust me—perhaps even a better one."
She growled. "You're not leaving unless I say so."
She lunged—
But before she could strike, Ren vanished.
Baffled, she searched the shadows.
He was gone.
Ren stood atop a cliff, the wind curling against his frame before he sprinted into the night.
The following morning, Stella clung to him, wrapped in the remnants of the night.
Ren stirred as Yuki approached the door.
"Come inside, Yuki Chibana," he called.
She stepped into the room, her sharp eyes flicking toward Stella, momentarily taken aback.
"Prince Ren, everyone wishes to discuss the strategy."
"Tell them to gather here," Ren replied, sitting forward. "It's a simple plan."
Within minutes, the war council assembled.
"First things first: Duchess Stella has officially joined our side, along with others she has convinced. You can trust me—she will not betray us. Our goals are aligned, our plans will not clash."
He leaned forward.
"Our attack will begin where they hold the least power. The palace will be left for last—it is their strongest defence. In the meantime, we will take in the land, absorb its history, and understand its terrain. We have time to enjoy the city before it is ours."
The discussion stretched on until, at last, they understood their roles.
Ren remained seated, contemplative.
His eyes drifted shut.
And in his mind, he saw home.
A grand estate. A family gathered around a long dinner table, celebrating victories and rivalling Dawn Industries in prestige.
Then, a portrait.
His sister.
Young, standing with her family—her expression stern, yet if one looked closely, the sadness was evident.
She had chosen mortality.
He had watched her grow old.
On her deathbed, she lay frail, gazing at him, his face still untouched by time.
She did not regret her choice.
She smiled.
Grateful to see her little brother one last time.
Ren had remained with her until the end.
Her legacy lived through her eldest daughter.
He exhaled.
"Let's have breakfast first. Then, I'll visit my family home. After that, I'll decide what comes next."
With a flicker of energy, he vanished.
The grand gates loomed before him, the estate sprawling beyond.
It had changed.
Expanded.
Its grounds stretched wider than before, and it had more servants and guards. The latest security technology fortified its walls.
Yet, it remained his home.
For better or worse.
Ren stood before the grand gates, the estate stretching before him like a monument to time.
He had not set foot here in years.
The air carried the scent of old wood, polished stone, and distant echoes of laughter—a whisper of a family that had once filled these halls.
"You did well, big sister." His voice was quiet, meant only for himself. "I miss you all dearly."
"Eternal Prince Ren."
The voice was smooth, commanding.
Ren turned, facing the current master of the estate—the head of the White Dragon House.
Silver hair, a sharp jawline, eyes that shimmered like stars. A presence both dignified and unwavering.
"I had not expected a visit." He offered a respectful nod. "You did not say 'welcome,' nonetheless."
Ren studied him, weighing the man before him.
Only the master and a handful of trusted family members knew the truth—knew who he truly was.
They entered the estate, passing through well-maintained corridors lined with portraits, generations preserved in gilded frames.
Ren's steps slowed as his gaze landed on one in particular—his family's portrait, displayed prominently among the others.
He paused.
Reached out.
Fingers brushed against the frame, tracing the faces frozen in time.
"Cristina WhiteDragon…" His tone softened. "This estate would not remain in our hands, were it not for your elder sister."
The weight of memory settled in.
The past was always present.
Ren stood before the grand portrait, fingers tracing the edges of the frame.
"My sister was kind. A good person. She carried our family through its most difficult moments, even when I made things harder for her. And yet, she never stopped loving me."
The current master of the estate listened in silence, observing Ren with a quiet, unwavering gaze.
"All of this—our prestige, wealth, our reputation—exists because of her. She built it. She could have taken the crown and shaped England under our name, but she chose another path. A quieter one."
Ren turned, eyes sharp with meaning.
"And now, the White Dragon House holds the title of Duke. Tell me—what do you think of becoming king?"
The Duke inhaled slowly, processing the gravity of the offer.
A pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken possibilities.
Then, the Duke nodded.
"Thank you, Prince Ren. I need time to consider this fully. But I appreciate the opportunity."
He gestured toward the corridor.
"Come with me to my office—we have much more to discuss."
Ren inclined his head slightly.
"Thank you, Ancestor, for visiting and discussing the plans with me."
As Ren approached the exit, hushed voices carried from the dining hall—low, hurried, unmistakable.
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Teenagers. Damon, it seems your son is getting familiar with a high-class girl in the dining hall. You might want to intervene before someone else does."
Damon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's fascinated by her. The daughter of House Dawn, a powerful ducal family. Arrogant, self-entitled. No man has ever won her heart."
His voice darkened, laced with quiet concern.
"I fear she is only playing with his feelings."
Ren studied him for a moment before exhaling.
"Then it's a lesson he'll have to learn."
And with that, he stepped forward, his thoughts already shifting toward the empire's next move.
Ren was moments away from teleporting back to his room when something caught his eye.
A woman.
She was unlike anyone else in the estate—gold and silver intertwined in her hair like molten metal, eyes split between piercing gold and icy silver. She stood tall, her effortless command evident, her jade legs long and defined.
Yet, what struck Ren most was not her beauty.
It was the way she looked at him.
Cold. Detached. Calculating.
Like an eagle sizing up prey.
She turned her gaze to Damon, maintaining the same frigid demeanour.
"Father, you need to discipline Stefan. He's disgracing the House of the White Dragon."
Her tone was sharp, unwavering.
"You've done a terrible job with him. You've spoiled him far too much. Fortunately, you were stricter with me—otherwise, I might have ended up like him. A self-indulgent brat."
She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing.
"He must be your favourite child, isn't he?"
Her words held a bite, laced with something unspoken—resentment, perhaps—a long-buried frustration resurfacing.
Ren observed her in silence, intrigued by how she wielded her words like precision-cut blades.
She was strong.
Not merely in stature, but in conviction.
This woman had fought for her place, earned it, clawed her way to the top while watching another—her brother—receive everything with ease.
And yet, the way she spoke to Damon suggested something else.
A demand.
An expectation.
She wanted him to acknowledge her, not as a daughter, but as the heir he had ignored.
Ren exhaled softly.
"Favouritism can be dangerous," he mused, more to himself than anyone else.
He could see the cracks in their dynamic, the unspoken grievances, the weight of past choices shaping their present.
Intriguing indeed.
Damon's expression flickered—embarrassment, guilt, and frustration intertwining in his furrowed brow.
"That's not true, and you know it," he insisted. "You are my eldest, my heir. You will become Duchess of the White Dragon House. I was harder on you than Stefan, but you're right—I shouldn't have spoiled him. He'll learn, in time. I have confidence in that."
He turned to Ren, seeking validation.
"What do you think, Prince Ren?"
Ren did not answer immediately. Instead, he waited, watching Damon's daughter.
She scoffed, her gold-and-silver eyes gleaming coldly.
"Father, don't drag a stranger into our argument. Tell him to leave and focus on disciplining Stefan."
Damon exhaled sharply. "This stranger is no outsider. He is family—a direct relative of House Black Dragon. The Eternal Prince Ren of the Eternal Empire."
A tense silence stretched between them.
She studied Ren anew, her gaze lingering for a moment longer. Then, with composed precision, she nodded.
"My apologies," she murmured, though her voice held no warmth.
Without another word, she left for the dining hall, just as the rising voices of a man and woman spilt into the corridor—heated, urgent.
Ren chuckled.
"Teenagers."
He turned away before hearing more, vanishing into the quiet of his hotel.
Stella lay in bed, an open book resting against her stomach.
She barely looked up as Ren entered, only flicking her gaze toward him with a knowing smirk.
"Did you enjoy yourself, beloved?"
She shifted slightly, patting the space beside her. "Come lie here with me."
Her voice, low and smooth, curled into the air like silk.
Ren exhaled, moving toward her as she closed her book.
"We should attack a hidden base she continued, her tone sharpening. "It's governed by Annabeth Dawn—the eldest daughter of Duke Alaric from House Dawn."
She tilted her head, lips curving into something darkly amused.
"A true temptress, that one. You already knew she was entangled with one of your descendants. Poor boy. She enjoys toying with people's emotions—especially his."
She glanced at Ren, waiting for his reaction.
The weight of her words lingered.
Ren and Stella stood atop the balcony, watching as figures moved in and out of the hidden base beneath a building owned by House Dawn.
It was expansive—far more than an underground stronghold—a web of influence woven from some of the kingdom's most prominent figures. Every individual carried a purpose, a role beyond the surface of their craft.
And then, she arrived.
Annabeth Dawn.
Her presence shifted the energy of the space, commanding it effortlessly.
She strode through the entrance, flanked by guards, her movements sharp yet fluid. Every detail of her outfit was designed for effect—an unbuttoned suit tailored to perfection, paired with the latest high-fashion accessories. Jewellery glimmered under the dim light, and a stylish hat, gloves, and sunglasses completed the ensemble, all in a soft pastel orange that matched her cascading hair.
Ren smiled, the weight of strategy settling between them as Annabeth disappeared into the depths of the base.
Their next move was waiting.
The infiltration was seamless, a dance of practised precision.
Ren and Stella moved through the corridors, taking down guards effortlessly—silent, swift, unseen. Memories erased before fear could take root.
Annabeth did not flinch at their arrival. She remained seated, her fingers curling around an energy pistol with deadly ease.
Then, without hesitation, she fired.
The blast sizzled through the air.
And did nothing.
Ren and Stella stood unscathed.
Annabeth's breath hitched. The weapon slipped from her grasp.
Her fingers trembled.
Ren moved before she could react—his form shifting like a shadow, crossing the distance in less than a blink.
A steel grip around her throat.
Lifted effortlessly into the air.
His eyes gleamed, luminescent with unnatural brilliance.
"Go to sleep," he commanded, voice low, undeniable.
Annabeth slackened instantly.
A quiet snore escaped her lips.
Ren exhaled, lowering her gently into her chair before turning to the terminal. His fingers ghosted over encrypted files, extracting the evidence needed to dismantle her little empire.
He glanced at Stella, who observed with amused interest.
"We're done here," he murmured.
And with that, they disappeared—fading into the night.