The Imperial Ballroom was a stage carved from luxury and secrets.
Gilded chandeliers cast golden firelight over the nobility, their silks and smiles concealing daggers of ambition. The music swelled—a graceful lie to distract from whispered conspiracies blooming in every shadow.
Kael moved through it like a ghost in velvet.
No insignia.
No family crest.
Yet the path cleared before him, as if power itself parted the crowd.
Eyes followed him.
Women curious.
Men wary.
And somewhere in the distance, the Empress watched.
Lady Evelyne stepped to his side, a vision in crimson. Her voice was a whisper meant only for him.
"You're drawing attention."
"Good," Kael murmured. "Let them see the storm coming. But not where it will strike."
She smiled faintly. "And the Empress?"
Kael's gaze drifted upward, to the throne balcony where Empress Valeria sat beside the Emperor, her eyes veiled by a fan but fixed—undeniably—on him.
"She'll come," he said. "She's too smart not to."
As if summoned by prophecy, the music shifted.
And Valeria descended.
She did not walk—she claimed the floor, every step a calculated display of elegance and superiority.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Empresses did not dance at political balls.
Not unless it was a message.
And Kael understood it perfectly.
She was choosing her first move.
"Lord Kael," she said, extending a gloved hand. "Dance with me."
The room stopped.
Silence reigned.
Even Castiel froze, his smile twitching.
Kael bowed, and took her hand.
And the game began.
They moved in perfect rhythm, but their words cut deeper than blades.
"You're dangerous," Valeria whispered as they spun. "You offer men power, and make them believe it was their idea."
"I only provide direction," Kael replied. "The fire was already there. I simply light the fuse."
She arched a brow. "And what of emperors?"
"Some fires are meant to be extinguished."
Her smile was all venom and velvet. "You play with ruin."
"Only if I lose. And I don't intend to."
She studied him, her steps never faltering. "The court fears you. My husband tolerates you. And the Church already plots your downfall."
"Fear," Kael said softly, "is the first step to control. Tolerance is the second. And as for the Church…"
He leaned closer, lips near her ear.
"They've already lost."
She drew back slightly, gaze piercing.
For the first time, he saw it—a flicker of something dangerous in her.
Not hatred.
Fascination.
As the music faded, Valeria stepped away, applause rising.
But her final words were whispered into Kael's ear as she turned:
"If you want the throne, Kael… you'll have to take it from both of us."
And then she was gone.
Later, in the privacy of a moonlit terrace, Evelyne approached him.
"You're not just provoking them," she said. "You're courting her."
Kael's eyes glittered.
"No. I'm awakening her."
Evelyne paused. "She'll become dangerous."
Kael turned toward the glowing palace behind them.
"Good," he said. "I need someone worthy to betray."
Far below the palace, in a dark chamber filled with incense and fear, three bishops of the Church met in secret.
"The Empress moves toward him."
"If he turns her, the Empire will fall to him."
"Then we strike."
Their eyes turned to a black seal pressed onto a scroll—the summoning mark of the Hero.
"It's time the world remembered divine judgment."
But unknown to them, the seal had already been tampered with.
The summoning had already begun.
And Kael had already written the ending.
To be continued…