The polished marble floor gleamed under the dim lighting, carved and arranged meticulously to honor House Maddach.
The letters M A D D A C H were embedded from top to bottom, with the distinct House crest etched onto the side. Below the name, cattle and peasants.
And above, the distinct blue-gold flag, adorned with the Imperial insignia in the middle.
The Empire over the House.
House over People.
People over Cattle.
Thorne cracked his knuckles as he stared at the designs.
He had never paid attention to the details, despite standing here all his life. But now, as he waited, he had all the time in the world to notice.
Step...
Step. Step.
Step...
The rhythm of approaching footsteps reached his ears, and he immediately recognized them as Varcon's.
"Varconi," he called, stopping Varcon in his tracks.
Thorne stepped closer; frustration evident on his face. "I have been nothing but loyal to the House. You all of people know that all I need is just a break. So why… are you doing this to me."
Varcon ran his tongue over his dry lips before wetting them. "I don't really know what you're talking about."
"You… you know what you did."
"We were there, and we discussed the best plan for the future of this House. And we even secured your grandson a potential seat for the Baronship."
"It's a big if. You're placing Valen at the top, as always. Give my grandson a shot. I promise you, it would be for the best."
Varcon lifted his hand dismissively. "There's no evidence for that. You can't let your emotions take over. We have to do what's best for the entire House."
Thorne looked down, thinking, "If Kaelus manages to outperform Valen, will he be considered for the Emperorship?"
"Why are we talking about the Emperorship?"
"Because that is the seat that matters most. That's why you want the Baron to be placed there first before Valen takes his turn."
Running out of patience, Varcon began walking away. "I have other things to think about."
Before he could pass, Thorne's strong fingers latched onto his sleeve.
Thorne's grip tightened. "I can't just let you have your way. I have waited far too long for my family to shine in this House. You stopped me and placed Gorath. Then you made Valen the heir to the Baronship. And only when a bigger seat opens up do you even consider giving the Baronship to Kaelus."
Varcon yanked his sleeve free. "The reason you were never Baron was because you were second best. Your grandson's the same. Don't you get it? If I let you do what you want, what do you think the other Houses would think of us?" He lied.
Thorne's voice dropped to a careful, measured tone. "I understand. If Kaelus has to be number one, then he will be number one. I will personally make sure he is undeniable. And even if you insist on supporting that spoiled brat of yours, I will continue my work."
He turned to walk away.
Varcon heard the venom in his tone. "Thorne!" he growled.
Thorne stopped, slightly turning his head. "Yes?"
Varcon took a few wide steps forward. As he reached Thorne, he didn't turn his head fully, only his eyes.
"You're not as careful as you should have been."
"Excuse me?"
"Just because you've done well in your position doesn't make you worthy of the seat of Baron. Just like how being number two does not make Kaelus worthy of the Imperial Throne."
Thorne's face twisted with restrained anger. "I'm not worthy? Do you even know what I have done? Everything in my life led up to that moment. And then they broke me, chose a man thirty years younger than me. For what? Because he was a better fighter?"
He scoffed; his voice laced with bitterness. "Why not just choose a Knight to take over as Baron, then? They're twice the fighter the Baron will ever be. At that time, I was more competent than he was. He was number two, not me. You don't know the things I had to do to get all of my successes."
He stepped in closer, his breath hot against Varcon's skin.
Varcon took a step back, glaring. "You know all that and still don't understand why you weren't chosen?"
He pointed a finger directly at Thorne.
"You were the best. You were the first choice. Not Gorath."
Thorne's eye twitched. "Then why was I not chosen?"
"You really want me to say it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Varcon smirked. "Vaelric has always been somewhat of a Calculor. Did you really think he wouldn't find out how you achieved your 'successes'? He was beside you the whole time."
Thorne's face paled.
"You…"
"I know what you did." Varcon's voice was quiet, cold. "All the things you did to climb higher, to secure your position. The way you somehow flew under the Calculor's radar… under the Empire's radar."
"I—"
Varcon cut him off. "Do not make the same mistakes with Kaelus. I'm not as sharp as I once was, and I won't be covering up your messes anymore."
Thorne remained silent. His pulse pounded in his ears. 'I thought I hid it perfectly…'
"So," Varcon continued, his voice steady and measured, "if you so much as hint at sabotaging Valen, Gorath, or my plans—"
He leaned in.
"—all it takes is a single tip to one Imperial officer. And your entire lineage's future ends. Right then and there."
Thorne's lips pressed together.
Varcon's eyes flickered toward the far end of the hall. "And just like our Lord of Gluttony over there," he said, motioning toward the direction Liam had left, "I will send you exactly where I should have sent you."
Thorne closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
For three decades, he had been certain that he had covered up everything.
And today… today, he had pushed his luck.
'I could have jeopardized Kaelus's future…'
Varcon turned on his heel and strode away.
Thorne didn't follow.
Varcon knew him too well, perhaps even better than Thorne knew himself.
'He will let it go for now…'
But Thorne was prideful. Arrogant. And Varcon knew…
'He will try something.'
The thought sat in his mind as he arrived at his residence.
His butler waited outside, a bottle of wine in hand, as he always had it prepared.
"Not today," Varcon muttered.
He took the bottle from the butler's grasp and placed it on the floor. Then, shrugging off his jacket, he handed it to him.
"Give me your handkerchief."
The butler obeyed, and the moment the cloth was in Varcon's hands, he aggressively wiped at his neck.
He scrubbed again and again, his face turned red.
'That filthy…'
He kept wiping, trying to rid himself of Thorne's warm breath.
"What should I do with your coat, my lord?" the butler asked.
Varcon didn't even glance at it.
"I don't care. Burn it. Keep it. Sell it. It's yours. Just don't leave it in my house."
His eyes flickered down toward his sleeve. The very one Thorne had touched.
His jaw clenched.
'That monster…'