Rhysand’s fingers tapped against the armrest of the Throne.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The metallic sound reverberated through the vast, vaulted expanse of the Grand Council Chamber, cutting through the chaotic shouting like a cold blade.
His patience was rapidly evaporating.
For three straight hours, the High Council had been locked in a bitter debate. Every faction, every Duke, and every minister seemed determined to squeeze something out of the Emperor — demanding border reinforcements, tax exemptions, military support, and, somehow, even more power.
"Your Imperial Majesty!" Duke Kelvin stepped forward, bowing frantically. "The northern border reports another entire village slaughtered overnight! No bodies were left behind. Only drained husks and high-tier mana cores ripped violently from the soil. The corruption is spreading!"
"And what of the black-market trade in the capital?" Marquis Vance interjected, his voice trembling with barely concealed fear. "Ancient forbidden crests are being discovered on assassin corpses inside noble estates! The shadows are already at our throats, Sire!"
Rhysand slowly lifted his heavy, gold-flecked gaze. The pressure of his aura subtly expanded through the chamber. It wasn’t a flare of magic. It was simply the suffocating, instinctive weight of an Emperor who had ruled through wars, bloodshed, and countless corpses.
The entire chamber fell silent. Whispers died in throats. Even the nobles who had been shouting moments ago lowered their heads, cold sweat sliding down their temples.
Rhysand’s gaze swept over them. "Are you finished?"
His voice was low. Smooth. Dangerously calm.
Duke Vane swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good." Rhysand leaned back against his throne, resting his chin against his gloved hand. "Because while you squabble over border shadows like frightened sheep, we have a far more important matter of imperial survival to settle today."
The atmosphere immediately changed. Every noble straightened. The air became thick with anticipation.
Rhysand’s gaze hardened. "It is time," he declared, his voice echoing beneath the high rafters, "to officially commence the Crown Prince Selection."
A wave of murmurs swept through the chamber. Rhysand raised a single gloved hand. Silence slammed back into place.
"The rules have been established. The trials will officially begin today." His voice carried authority that left no room for argument. "The candidates will face three trials over three days. Three days to prove their physical strength against primordial beasts. Three days to demonstrate their tactical ability. Three days to prove they possess the authority, discipline, and ruthlessness required to command this Empire." He paused, his golden eyes narrowing. "And ultimately, three days to determine who among those who have stepped forward is worthy of bearing the Crown Prince’s mantle."
The stakes were absolute. Whoever claimed the Crown Prince title would inherit command over the Imperial Knights, the border armies, and the authority to execute traitors — an authority that would become even more valuable if the shadow corruption continued to spread.
Rhysand turned his head toward the massive bronze doors at the far end of the chamber. "Bring forth the candidates."
"Presenting the Imperial Princes!" the herald’s voice thundered across the chamber.
The enormous enchanted doors swung open with a deep, echoing groan. Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble floor. One candidate entered, clad in silver armor, his expression stern. Then a second, a noble prince known for his political cunning. Then a third.
The three men marched toward the center of the chamber before dropping to one knee in a practiced bow.
Rhysand stared down at them, his golden eyes moving slowly from one prince to the next. Then his expression changed. His brows furrowed. He counted them again.
One. Two. Three.
Only three.
A strange silence settled over the chamber.
"Where are the rest?"
The imperial guards standing along the perimeter shifted uncomfortably. None dared answer.
Silence.
The Emperor’s fingers tightened against his throne. "And where," he added, his voice becoming colder, "is Prince Callistius?"
Still nothing. Not a single person dared speak.
Rhysand slowly turned his head toward the grand velvet seat beside him. Empress Giana sat there elegantly, draped in shimmering midnight-blue silk, her jeweled fan resting against her chin.
"Giana."
She turned her head gracefully. "Yes, my love?"
"Where is your son?"
Giana blinked. "My son?"
"Callistius." The Emperor’s voice was noticeably less patient.
Giana frowned faintly. "I... do not know." She turned toward the elderly butler standing behind her throne. "Harrison."
The old butler immediately stepped forward and bowed. "Your Imperial Majesty. Your Highness."
"Have you seen Callistius this morning?" Giana asked.
"I have, Your Highness."
"Where did he go?"
Harrison hesitated. "The Second Prince took his favorite phantom-thoroughbred horse at first light and departed through the capital gates at full gallop."
Rhysand’s eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"He did not specify a location, Sire." Harrison cleared his throat nervously. "However... when I asked His Highness whether he was preparing for the Crown Prince trials, he merely laughed."
Giana’s eyebrow twitched. "And what, precisely, did my ridiculous son say?"
Harrison swallowed, looking like a man contemplating whether he valued his life. Eventually, he spoke. "He said... ’The throne can wait. I have a far more captivating maiden to conquer today.’"
Silence. Absolute silence. The entire High Council Chamber went dead quiet.
Giana slowly closed her eyes, her long fingers rising to pinch the bridge of her nose. "That brainless, dramatic child..."
Several younger council members immediately covered their mouths with their sleeves, desperately trying to hide their laughter.
Rhysand, however, looked as though he was one second away from burning the entire chamber down. "He abandoned the Imperial Selection..." His golden eyes narrowed. "...for a maiden?"
Giana released a tired sigh. "It appears so, my Emperor."
Rhysand’s jaw tightened. "Find him." The guards immediately straightened. "And drag him back here." He paused. "If he refuses..." A dangerous smile appeared on his lips. "...drag him back in chains." New chapters come out on novelping dot com first.
The imperial guards dropped to one knee. "At once, Your Majesty!"
Yet by then, Prince Callistius was already far beyond the Emperor’s reach.
Gallop. Gallop. Gallop.
The wind roared against Callistius’s sharp jaw as his midnight-black phantom steed tore across the autumn countryside, its hooves thundering against the earth, kicking up golden dust and fallen leaves.
Callistius held the leather reins loosely with one hand. He looked completely untamed, his silver-embroidered cloak whipping violently behind him, his hair slightly disheveled from the ride.
In his other hand was a weathered, handwritten map. He glanced down at the parchment, then ahead, then back at the map. A dark red wax seal marked an otherwise unremarkable stretch of territory nestled between a jagged mountain range.
Callistius’s brown eyes narrowed with interest.
"So..." His lips slowly curved upward. "This is where she resides."
He folded the map, then kicked his horse harder. The phantom steed surged forward.
The further they travelled down the secluded valley, the colder the air became. The trees grew older, more twisted, their branches curling toward the sky like skeletal fingers. Even the surrounding mana felt heavier. Dangerous.
Yet Callistius only smiled.
Eventually, the dark forest gave way to a massive fortress built entirely from black dragon-stone. Towering fifty-foot walls surrounded the estate, while glowing purple defensive wards shimmered across the battlements.
Callistius pulled sharply on the reins. The phantom steed skidded to a violent stop before the enormous iron-reinforced gates, dust billowing around them.
Callistius adjusted his silk collar and looked up. Two heavily armored shadow guards stood above the gate. The moment they saw him, their spears lowered, both pointed directly at his chest.
Callistius didn’t even bother reaching for his sword. Instead, he flashed them an impossibly arrogant smile, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement. Then he drew mana into his voice.
"OPEN THE GATES!"
His voice thundered across the fortress grounds.
The two guards exchanged startled glances. One stepped forward. "State your name and purpose, intruder!"
Callistius laughed.
The guard’s expression darkened. "You are trespassing on private high-noble grounds!"
Callistius’s golden mana flickered playfully around his phantom steed. "Oh, relax." He leaned slightly forward in his saddle. "Go inside and tell the beautiful lady within your PACK..." His grin widened. "...that Prince Callistius has abandoned an entire Empire just to see her."
The guards froze. One slowly turned toward the other. Neither seemed quite sure what they had just heard.
Meanwhile, deep inside the fortress gardens, Jacinta had just poured herself another cup of tea beside her father when she suddenly paused. Her eyebrow twitched. She slowly lowered the teacup.
"...What?"
A familiar voice echoed faintly from beyond the fortress walls.
"Prince Callistius."
Jacinta’s fingers tightened around the cup. Her expression slowly changed.
And for the first time that morning, she had a very bad feeling about what was coming next.