Nathan - POV

  Thankfully, our journey to the city of Bunzad passed without incident. After weeks of travel, the quiet monotony of the road was a welcome reprieve from ambushes, negotiations, and the constant vigilance required in the wilds. By the time we reached the outskirts of the city, dusk had already begun to settle; painting the sky in muted shades of amber and violet. The city’s silhouette rose ahead of us, its walls tall and imposing, its towers crowned with the unmistakable sigils of the Holy State of Shablin.

  Waiting for us at the roadside clearing was Stanley; our head of intelligence, our only rogue, and one of the most reliable men in our service. He had been sent ahead several days prior to assess the political climate and any potential dangers within Bunzad. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp as ever, scanning our caravan with the habitual caution of a man who trusted nothing at face value.

  As our people began setting up camp; pitching tents, lighting cookfires, and preparing dinner; Father led Stanley to a quieter corner of the campsite for his debriefing. I followed at a distance, not close enough to intrude, but near enough to listen.

  “I am glad you are well,” Father began, his tone warm but businesslike. “What is the situation in the city, Stanley?”

  Stanley bowed slightly. “Thank you for your concern, my lord. I am indeed well. Allow me to proceed with my report.”

  He straightened, slipping effortlessly into the crisp cadence of a man delivering intelligence.

  “Bunzad is not governed by nobles. It is ruled directly by the Holy State of Shablin. The city’s governor is a high priest named Remor Denoba. The military presence is significant; approximately five thousand soldiers, three hundred knights, and fifty Knight Paladins stationed within or around the city. There are also numerous priests and nuns. No mages, however.”

  Father nodded thoughtfully. “And the economy?”

  “Primarily fueled by the dungeons nearby,” Stanley replied. “Resources are harvested regularly, and the adventurer’s guild is active. Several nobles reside here as well, though they hold no governing authority. The Holy State keeps this territory under direct control because of the dungeon wealth. Too lucrative to entrust to any noble house.”

  He paused before adding, “Unlike the previous territory we passed through, corruption and crime here are surprisingly low. The church maintains a firm grip on everything.”

  Father exhaled slowly. “Good. And what of potential recruits? Anyone worth bringing into our fold?”

  “There are a few promising individuals,” Stanley said. “As for groups, several mercenary companies operate here. I can investigate their reliability and competence.”

  “Do so,” Father instructed.

  Mother, who had joined the discussion, asked, “Is there also a slave market here?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Stanley answered. “A vibrant one.”

  Mother nodded with satisfaction. “Good. We need additional staff and more craftsmen.”

  With that, Father dismissed Stanley and called Lyle, Belle, and Jenny to discuss the purchases our people would need in the city.

  Then he turned to me.

  “Nathan,” he said quietly, ushering me aside. “How are your minions doing?”

  “They haven’t contacted me yet,” I replied. “But I’ll reach out soon. We’re in a city full of holy warriors. I need to warn them.”

  “See that you do,” Father said, ruffling my hair in that familiar, affectionate way. “We cannot risk their identities being discovered. We don’t want conflict with the church... not yet. Inform me when they’re on their way back.”

  He left the pavilion, but his words lingered in my mind.

  He anticipates a future conflict with the church. Because of me.

  The realization struck deeper than I expected. A knot of emotion tightened in my chest; guilt, fear, gratitude, longing. I had tried so hard not to think about my old family on Earth, clinging to the memories like a lifeline. But the more time I spent here, the more I felt the weight of the people who now depended on me.

  I couldn’t forget my past. But perhaps… I could make room for my present.

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  Yes. I believed I could.

  Grand Duke Ambrose Lightweave – POV

  As expected, the audience with the ambassador from the Gneab Theocracy had devolved into a polite exchange of threats. Veiled words, honeyed tones, and the unmistakable stench of coercion. I had grown weary of the farce long before the meeting ended.

  “High Priest Noel Mallet,” I said, maintaining the regal composure expected of a Grand Duke, “I understand your request. Allow me to confer with my family and vassals. You shall have our answer tomorrow.”

  The priest bowed deeply. “As expected of the Grand Duke of Froi. Your steadfast resolve and prudence are known throughout the Gneab Theocracy, and perhaps the world. We await your response.”

  Only when the throne room doors closed behind him did the true emotions of my vassals erupt.

  “My lord Grand Duke, you cannot turn over our daughters to those men!” Count Desmond Hartlett burst out. “They are vile creatures hiding behind a veil of piety.”

  “Father, please do not agree to their demands,” my son, Prince Artheon, said. “We all know what they truly are.”

  “Husband,” my wife Shelon added, her voice trembling with fury, “do not even consider it. Our daughters; turned into prostitutes? No. I would sooner kill my own child than allow those men to defile her.”

  Their outrage was justified. The Gneab Theocracy demanded one thousand young girls; supposedly to become “holy nuns.” But everyone knew the truth. The theocracy was ruled by lustful, depraved men. Their so?called nuns were little more than playthings, forced into “service” to the priests in the name of the goddess Gneab, deity of fertility.

  A polite term for state?sanctioned prostitution.

  Damn them. Damn the fall of the Shaxaian Empire that allowed such filth to rise.

  In my grandfather’s and father’s time, the cult of Gneab had been outlawed. But when the empire fractured, they crawled out of the shadows and consumed what remained; twisting it into the theocracy it is now.

  And now, the Grand Duchy of Froi... my duchy, was all that remained of the once?proud empire.

  I raised my hand, silencing the room.

  “My lords, my wife, my son… I am a father. Like you, I rejoiced when my daughter was born. Like you, I have strived to provide safety and happiness for my children; and for our people. But fate has dealt us a cruel hand. Our empire shattered. Our lands corrupted by vile teachings. And now they demand our daughters.”

  I paused, letting the weight of my words settle.

  “We cannot afford a war with the theocracy. We are outnumbered. We have no allies. But we still possess one advantage.”

  I looked each of them in the eye.

  “Time.”

  A murmur rippled through the hall.

  “I propose this: I will negotiate for time. I will not surrender our daughters until five years after Princess Elenea’s advancement ceremony. During that time, we will prepare for war. We will seek allies. And when the day comes that I refuse their demands…”

  I clenched my fist.

  “We will strike first.”

  The hall erupted into cheers and shouts of defiance.

  When the noise finally subsided, Count Bavar Einhelm stepped forward. “My lord… will they agree to such terms? What if they refuse?”

  I allowed myself a thin smile. “They will not refuse. I will offer them something they cannot resist.”

  My wife frowned. “And what is that?”

  “Our willing conversion to their faith.”

  Gasps echoed across the throne room.

  Artheon’s eyes widened. “Father… it is only a ruse, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said. “A ruse to buy us time. Elenea is eight years old. In two years, she will have her advancement ceremony. When she turns fifteen, they expect her; and the daughters of our people; to be handed over.”

  Baron Vale Stormcrow scoffed. “They have always lusted after our women. Nations have long envied our beauty and achievements.”

  “Not your ugly face, Vale,” Artheon quipped.

  Laughter broke the tension.

  I raised my hand again. “Remember this: we have seven years. If we fail… it will be the end of us all.”

  A somber silence settled over the hall.

  We adjourned soon after.

  As my wife, son, and I walked toward the residential wing of the palace, Shelon’s face remained tight with worry.

  “Do not fear, my love,” I told her softly. “I will do everything in my power to ensure we prevail.”

  “Father,” Artheon said, “I will travel north and seek alliances.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “If my heir suddenly travels abroad, they will suspect something. Instead, recruit and train more men. Have Marshal Tor Lightweave assist you.”

  Artheon nodded. “You’re right. I’ll inform Uncle at once.”

  He hurried down the corridor.

  Moments later, two small figures barreled into us... Elenea and Loren, my daughters.

  “Father, Mother,” Elenea said, her voice trembling, “we heard about the theocracy. I’m scared.”

  “Mama, Papa… I don’t want to leave you,” Loren sobbed.

  My heart twisted painfully. They were only five and four. Innocent. Precious. And the thought of them being handed over to those monsters filled me with a rage so deep it nearly choked me.

  Shelon knelt and hugged them tightly. “We are not giving you away. Your father and I have a plan. We will pretend to agree; but we will never allow them to take you.”

  She winked, and the girls relaxed slightly.

  “Go on now,” I said gently. “Your tutors are waiting.”

  They scampered off toward the library, giggling again.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Shelon broke down in tears.

  I held her close. “There, there. We will find a way.”

  “And if… after everything… it still isn’t enough?” she whispered.

  “Then we will escape,” I said.

  And I meant it.