Chapter 32: Confronting Aszer.



Aric stood close to the window of his modest room. The surroundings were simple, and the furniture, although not old, was far from the royal adornments of his prior quarters.

The room wasn’t much, but it suited his needs.

Aric stretched, the sunlight filtering through the small window, illuminating his face in a glistening gold.

"Aszer, how long has it been since we met?" Aric shot his head back, running his hands through his dark silver hair in an attempt to push it away from his forehead.

The fourth prince had made a decision, a vital and perhaps deadly one—he would confront the Byzeth king directly. It was a risk, and many would deem it foolishness, but Aric knew that a crack inside could shatter even the strongest shields.

Swiftly getting through his morning routine, Aric headed down the stairs.

Before even reaching the bottom, Aric could smell the pleasant aroma of food permeating throughout the house, and he immediately knew who was creating the divine scent.

He entered the living room; there was no one present, but he began to hear grunts in the distance. He walked towards the door leading to the kitchen, and as he pushed it open, the aroma of roasting meats and spices flooded his senses.

"Ah, you’re up," the old man acknowledged Aric as he moved through the medium-sized kitchen, preparing a meal.

Aric was hit with nostalgia once again. The old man was a wonderful cook and had always made breakfast for him and his men back then. It was a hobby that contrasted sharply with who the man truly was.

"Yeah... I need to get to the capital to meet the king," Aric explained.

Hitoki stopped what he was doing, turning to the fourth prince.

"That’s suicide," the old man warned gravely.

"Don’t worry, it’s just for a friendly chat," Aric assured him, turning away. "And it smells great, but I can’t wait for the food. Do help me tell the others I’ll be back by sundown."

"And if you’re not?" Hitoki asked.

Aric sighed, his face hardening.

"Then they should return to the imperial city immediately."

He said firmly before walking away. He glanced out the large window, where he saw the young guard sparring with Lerai, both grunting. Not wanting to alarm anyone, knowing they would suggest tagging along or stopping him, he left without further discussion.

Aric knew the Migard Province well. He made his way to the carrier station, where he boarded a carriage heading to the capital. It was designed to accommodate more people than a typical carriage, and this was the quickest mode of transportation between provinces for common folk.

"Oh?" Aric’s face carved into a sharp, predatory smile. "But I’m quite certain I can..."

Aric lowered his cloak’s hood, stepping closer as he reduced his voice but not his intensity. "Tell your king that Aric Valerian is here... he will understand."

The name utterly unsettled the guards. A visit from an imperial prince, and at a time like this, was no light event. They hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, trying to conceive a way to confirm that this was indeed the fourth prince.

Why would he approach in such a manner, unannounced? It didn’t make sense. But the man before them exuded such confidence that they felt as though they were already in danger.

Finally, with slight reluctance, the guard said, "Wait here."

Aric waited, his hands clasped behind his back, while the remaining guards kept their distance, their hands hovering over their weapons.

After a short while, a new, seemingly higher-ranked guard returned, slightly anxious. "The king will see you," he said as the gate creaked open.

Aric walked through the halls of the Byzeth palace, his boots echoing on the marble floor. The majesty of the palace did little to impress him—he had seen better in his own empire—but he could sense the power that lingered here, the authority of a kingdom on the verge of challenging its betters.

As Aric entered the throne room, all eyes turned toward him. The royal court, filled with advisors, nobles, and high-ranking officials, fell silent.

Murmurs swept through the room, tension rising as they realized who had walked through their doors—they had been skeptical when the guard announced it, but now that they saw him, they were all certain: this was the fourth prince of Valeria.

At the end of the room, on a raised platform, sat King Aszer Hait, ruler of Byzeth. The king was slightly aged, as one would expect, with a stern, calculating expression. His eyes narrowed as he watched the foreign prince approach.

Aric’s footsteps were the only sound as he strode confidently down the center of the room, his eyes never leaving the king’s. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was an unmistakable menace in the way he moved, as though he held all the cards in this confrontation.

The king’s voice boomed across the throne room as he spoke.

"Prince Aric Valerian, fourth prince of our great empire... you seem to be doing better than I was informed."

"Not all information can be trusted, Your Grace," Aric replied, his voice calm and devoid of any discernible emotion.

"You are right," the king’s eyes narrowed. "So, what brings you here, unannounced and without formal invitation?"

The entire court watched, holding their breath as they awaited Aric’s response.

The fourth prince’s lips curled into a grin as he looked up at the king.

"Oh, you know, to catch up, maybe discuss business..." His grin widened slightly.

"...and to find out what gave you the audacity to contemplate rebellion."