Landon's Main Drawing room, Imperial Palace, Imperial Capital, Ancorna Empire

Landon's main drawing room sat under a heavy, winter sky. Tapestries muffled the stone walls, and a low fire painted the carved oak with trembling light. Outside the palace windows, the capital's snow fell in silent sheets, pale curtains that made the courtyard look chastened and small. Inside, the chamber was warm, smelling faintly of citrus oil and old leather; Prince Landon presided over it like a man trying to steady a ship at anchor.

"Be careful," he said finally, voice even but threaded with something like dread. He folded his hands around the parchment one more time, the seal creaking softly as he lifted it, then set it on the table between them. His children, Gracie and Benric Solorius, sat opposite, bright-faced and unexpectedly composed for two youths about to be sent into the teeth of political theater.

Benric set his palm on the hilt of his sword with a courtly gesture that was half reassurance and half bravado. "Don't worry, Father. I'll be there with her if anyone tries anything funny," he promised, the steel at his hip catching the firelight.

Prince Landon allowed himself a short, brittle smile. "I trust you both," he said. "This document is my proposal for an alliance with Ravenna. Memorize it. Learn it. And for the love of the goddess we pretend to please, do not dive in headfirst during negotiations."

Gracie rolled her eyes, that practiced mix of teenage hauteur and the diplomat's steel. "Aunt Ravenna hates theatrics," she said. "We won't humiliate ourselves. Imperial Noble Academy has made us very good at not making mistakes."

Landon's smile softened at the sight of them, two children he trusted enough to hand a fragile plan to. Maria Eldric, his wife, entered as the door closed behind the siblings; she carried the quiet certainty of one who knows a man's mood better than he knows it himself. She sank beside him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. For a moment the room held that small, human warmth, an island against the gnawing political tide outside.

"You've gotten very good at lying to our children," Maria said, soft amusement in her tone.

"It's necessary," Landon replied. He watched Gracie and Benric stride away, document in hand, shoulders squared. "If I could go in person I would, but—" He broke off, letting the unspoken fall heavy between them.

Maria's fingers threaded through his. "It's to form the Senate, isn't it?" she asked, voice low.

Landon's jaw tightened. He thought of his father, of all the men who had knelt and begged at the his feet and been brushed aside and of the one plea that had burned into his memory: His Grandfather Alan Morgen's desperate petition to allow travel to the west to find a cure for his daughter, Empress Dahlia, turned away so the Emperor could preserve his hold over the vassal states. That refusal had been the ember that set Landon's resolve alight.

"An independent Senate," he said. "A body that can hold the Emperor to account. If we can stitch together enough vassals, enough noble houses… it might be the only way to stop absolute power from crushing everyone who isn't already within the court's inner circle."

Maria's mouth tightened. "You are risking everything."

"I know." His fingers rubbed at the parchment, creasing the edges ever so slightly. "But if I do nothing, the Empire will keep doing what it always does: swallow loyalty and spit out ruin. I sent the children away to Ravenna. For all the shit I gave her, she is a raven flying over a battlefield always ready to scope down and pluck at whatever pleases its fancy. She's dangerous in that way.."

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Maria chuckled, a sound with no real humor in it. "She hates being asked for favors, especially from you."

"And yet she adores them, her nieces and nephews, I am sure she will protect them" Landon said. He stood and walked to the window, watching the snow pool on the courtyard stones. "Everything is set, if we time it right… in two weeks, I will begin. We press, quietly at first. Letters, envoys, veiled threats softened by promises then a full blow rebellion. I would rather fail than live under a crown that will not even hear a father's plea."

Maria rose and placed her hand on his back. "Then let us hope your courage is not wasted," she murmured.

As Gracie and Benric's carriage rolled out of the palace gates out, toward an island that bred its own kinds of power, both parents watched in that long, hush-filled way only those who know war can watch: with love, with calculation, and with the terrible patience of those who have already counted the cost.

In the Carriage, Imperial Capital Outskirts, Ancorna Empire

The snow fell in slow, deliberate sheets, thick enough to blur the outlines of the pines that flanked the winding road. The carriage's enchanted wheels glowed faintly blue, slicing through the drifts with ease as the soft hum of magic pulsed beneath the floorboards. Inside, the warmth spell kept the frost at bay, though the air between Gracie and Benric Solorius carried a chill of its own, one made of unease and unspoken truths.

"Is Father really allying with Aunt Ravenna?" Benric asked, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. The boy leaned back, arms crossed, his reflection flickering in the frost-coated window. "I find it hard to believe."

Gracie's gaze followed the swirl of snow outside, her tone thoughtful but uncertain. "I don't know what kind of game Mother and Father are playing…" she murmured, trailing off mid-thought.

Benric frowned. "But what?"

"Well," Gracie began slowly, fingers tapping the carriage's velvet armrest in thought, "if you look at the current political landscape of the imperial court… After Uncle Nolan's death—"

Her voice softened. The funeral had been only a month ago, yet the empire had already moved on, the way a vulture moves on to the next carcass. "Uncle William has taken the lead in the succession race, even though Father is older," she continued. "Next is Aunt Ravenna, who's somehow managed to defeat two battalions of the Imperial Navy, crush Uncle Nolan's campaign, and now—" she hesitated, as though saying it aloud made it even more unbelievable "and now she's revealed the Saintess of this era. That alone has made her untouchable in the eyes of the people."

Benric grunted, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, I get that. Father's lagging behind Uncle William, but he's still ahead of Aunt Serena in influence. So why try to join forces with someone like Aunt Ravenna? She's brilliant, sure, but… unpredictable. Everyone knows she's a storm in human form."

A small smile tugged at Gracie's lips. "That's exactly why Father needs her," she said softly, still puzzling it out in her head. "Because she's unpredictable. In politics, that's terrifying and useful."

Benric gave her a skeptical look. "You think he's betting everything on her unpredictability?"

Gracie didn't answer immediately. The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels filled the silence. Then, as if struck by something, she sat upright, her eyes widening with realization. "Wait…" she whispered.

Benric blinked. "What?"

"I felt like he was lying.. He is really bad at lying to us" she said slowly, piecing the thought together aloud. "Maybe He is… buying time?" Then suddenly the pieces started to fall in her head more "He's been building ties with the vassal states for months now, traveling their frequently, sending letters, calling in debts. Remember what he said about Great-Grandfather Alan?"

Benric frowned, following her train of thought. "That the Emperor refused to let Great-Grandfather leave the eastern continent to find a cure for Grandmother, so he rebelled and tried to form a Senate to limit imperial power. And… died for it."

Gracie nodded, the dots connecting too cleanly now to ignore. "Father admires him. He's been talking more and more about that rebellion lately, and about the Emperor's overreach. Maybe he's sending us away, under the pretext of negotiating with Aunt Ravenna…"

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