A Pact With the Devil
"The king of this kingdom is my nephew. And only a twelve-year-old boy," he scoffed. "Yvain is smart enough not to intervene in his maternal uncle’s business. If he’s being a good boy, wouldn’t he get one or two good things from us too?"
The butler, loyal but wary, merely nodded. His old wisdom and conscience warring with the Duke’s questionable decision. Especially in this climate…
As he exited, the duke leaned back, a smile creeping across his features, all teeth and no warmth.
Barely had the door clicked shut behind the butler, it flew open again, this time with a gusto that nearly unhinged it. The butler burst back into the room like a man chased by his own shadow.
"Your Grace!" he gasped.
The Duke of Velaryon, who had been relishing his recent dealings in high-grade weaponry, still smug, looked up sharply.
The butler's disheveled appearance suggested the tidings he bore were of substantial weight.
"The capital has sent word," the butler panted. "Young King Yvain has accepted King Burn’s offer to surrender!"
The news struck the duke. His plans of familial manipulation, so beautifully laid out, now seemed in vain. But then, he scoffed.
“That’s just how he is. First, he latched on Morgan Le Fay. Now that she’s gone, he hugged another thigh. Burn of Soulnaught. Just like that bitch mother of his… How pathetic.”
Duke Velaryon recalled how his younger sister decided to marry the royal family and had a terrible end. Well, not like he didn’t warn her.
"Until the very end, they still wouldn't grovel for our support, huh? Madeline… and her son."
***
SLAM!
“Are you crazy?!”
Burn leaned back, a sardonic grin playing at the corners of his mouth as Yvain's indignation filled the air. The young king's slam on the table was loud enough to make an echo in the chamber.
"Why?" Burn replied, feigning innocence. He shrugged nonchalantly.
"With or without me by your side, they're going to scurry around in the end, anyway. Take the western nobles, for instance, snugly close to my borders. They’ll be the first to ditch your banner the moment things look bleak."
Yvain’s eyes faltered. “But this plan…”
Burn leaned forward. "They'll swear fealty to me faster than you can say 'traitor,' abandoning Edensor without a backward glance.”
“Then watch as the dominoes fall. The southern duchy’s family will sprint to the sea, hoping to sail away from their troubles, while the northern duchy will scamper inland, probably knocking on Inkia Kingdom's door for refuge."
"And then," Burn continued, his smirk widening, "there's your maternal family, the esteemed Velaryon.”
Yvain frowned. His hand trembled hearing the name.
“Oh, they'll put on a good show, brandishing their swords and baring their teeth, but when the dust settles and they see the writing on the wall, they'll come crawling to me,” Burn calmly narrated it a-matter-of-fact-ly.
"I'm sure that in the scenario where you oppose me or end up dying at my hands, they will beg to manage Edensor under the Soulnaught flag, hoping to salvage some shred of dignity by administering the very chains that bind them."
Burn chuckled softly, watching Yvain's reaction, enjoying how predictable the noble’s maneuvers were.
It was the real future after all.
"You see, it's not madness, brat. It's merely... inevitability."
Yvain's eyes wavered. He gazed into Burn's confident eyes, his own filled with defeat as he asked, "Is it really that bad? This kingdom..."
Oh, man… look at what you’ve done to the boy. Come on! You’re supposed to take care of him!
Burn, observing the young king's deflated spirit, felt a flicker of interest. Yet, despite this curiosity, Burn wasn’t about to hand out favors freely. Well, what do we expect from him…? This heartless bastard…
“Compared to my dominion? Yes. But is it your fault? No,” Burn replied with uncharacteristic frankness.
Oh?
“Compared to your empire? You mean, this kingdom, in comparison with others, is…?” Yvain’s eyes widened as he grappled with the implications of Burn’s words.
Oho??
“I chose to conquer your kingdom first because, to me, it represents the greatest threat,” Burn confessed.
Hey! That’s a compliment! Ayyyy, be proud, boy! Our Burn is complimenting your land!
He then outlined his views on the kingdom’s assets. Its robust infrastructure, its hardworking people, and its fertile lands. “Aside from its nobles, letting this kingdom fall into the hands of invaders would have been a greater loss than any other.”
"Your people don't break under famine. Your knights fight for a ideal, not just a paycheck. That's troublesome to conquer, and invaluable to own."
“And much of that is thanks to your parents. They really excelled during their tenure. And you, you’ve managed to carry on their legacy admirably,” Burn conceded.
It’s true! If Yvain had more experience, more adept at using firmer authority, or even just better support, heck, even without those, if he had simply been older with a more solid reputation, he might have steered this kingdom with greater ease.
His youth was his only misfortune.
Man, way to go. Way to go! Good job! This is how you talk to a child, you bastard!
Burn’s words, while candid, carried a weight that seemed to acknowledge Yvain’s potential under different circumstances. Perhaps, it was a rare nod to what might have been from a man typically focused on the pragmatic realities of power.
“But that’s… mainly because of my master,” Yvain muttered, almost to himself.
“I suppose so,” Burn shrugged nonchalantly. “Thanks to her, you’ve managed to get this far. But let’s face it, there's only so much you can achieve with that approach.”
Yvain swallowed hard, lifting his gaze to meet Burn’s.
“Let’s take control of this land, boy. Even a king must conquer his own kingdom,” Burn said with a sly smirk. “I’ll lend you my support.”
To subdue the rebellious noble faction, nothing short of total war would suffice. Yeahhhhh, here we go, finally we’re getting to the fun part again!
But do you feel it too, boy? Doesn’t it feel akin to making a pact with the devil when you acquiesced to this approach?
Burn's proposal was dripping with tempting promise. It seemed to sweetly corrupt the innocence of his heart. After all, in the harsh reality of their circumstances, this was a pragmatically ruthless strategy.
"I will allow your forces to pass through my gates," Yvain declared, reluctant, but resolved.
"You're right. I need to assert control over those noble houses," he continued, his expression darkening slightly at the mention of one in particular. "Especially... Velaryon."
Damn right!
***
That night, the capital of Edensor was swathed in a tempest as sullen as the king's summons. Clouds, as if smeared by a toddler with a gray crayon, blotted out the moon, unleashing a downpour that seemed to critique the very notion of shelter.
The wind howled through the streets like a chorus of disgruntled spirits, perhaps protesting the late-hour convening of the realm's nobility.
Among the summoned was Duke Velaryon, who navigated the deluge with the enthusiasm of a man walking towards his own surprise audit. As lightning cast its accusatory flashes across the sky, it seemed to spotlight the Duke's carriage.
The king’s order had been clear. All vassals bearing a title from Viscount upwards were to attend, an edict that gathered the realm's glitterati under one roof to ponder their collective fate.
The Duke couldn’t help but admire the timing.
“Nothing like a dark and stormy night to discuss potentially dark and stormy politics,” he mused to himself.
At least he had his confidence.
At least the latest batch of war machines, sleek titans of combat sent from distant intergalactic merchants, had recently been tucked away into the fortified corners of his duchy. That quite buoyed his spirits and stiffened his spine.
Duke Velaryon strode into the throne hall of Edensor.
As one of the highest-ranking nobles in the kingdom, he naturally attracted the gaze of his peers. They circled around him, their whispers painting the air with intrigue and speculation.
The Duke’s plan for the evening was precisely to probe the depths of the relationship between Emperor Burn and King Yvain.
What kind of agreement did they have?
With each step towards the throne hall, the Duke rehearsed his approach. And the others likely had the same intention.
As the heavy doors to the hall swung open, Duke Velaryon entered.
Huh?
King Yvain sat alone on the grand throne of Edensor, his small pre-teen figure dwarfed by the ornate, looming seat that seemed more a monument to past glories than a fitting perch for such youthful royalty.
The vast hall, with its towering columns and shadowed alcoves, swallowed his presence, rendering him almost spectral in the dim light.
But…
Yvain was… alone?
Alongside Duke Velaryon, among the attendees were the most prominent figures who stood out by their titles, distinct dispositions and the power they wielded within the realm.
Marquis Reune, from the western border adjacent to Soulnaught, was a seasoned diplomat hardened by the proximity to a burgeoning empire. Or, simply put, a man who knew how to flip sides at the speed of light.
His sharp eyes and meticulously groomed beard framed a face used to smiling in diplomacy while calculating odds of survival. His attire was a perfect blend of martial readiness and aristocratic elegance, hinted at his dual role as defender and statesman.
To his north, the aging Duke Eldric Olfield commanded respect through his venerable presence. His domain, a fertile expanse of agriculture and livestock, supplied the kingdom’s heartlands. Duke Olfield, with his silver hair flowing like the rivers that nourished his lands, stepped forward.
From the south, Duke Marlon Merweather represented the kingdom’s maritime strength. Middle-aged, robust, with a commanding aura sharpened by the sea winds, his territory's fleets were crucial for trade and defense.
Flanking these titans of the realm were their vassals and the kingdom’s direct vassals. each distinguished by their regalia but unified in the air of urgency that the king’s summons had sparked.
Yet none were as powerful as Duke Velaryon, the king's maternal uncle, who owned hundreds of precious stone mines and was the proprietor of the largest business and company in the entire kingdom. He also had significant stakes in both maritime and agricultural riches.
But who they truly were?
Honestly, this narrator is not sure why these old fucks needs to be described in such detail. It’s a waste of word count, really. Huh? Ohh… they’re important to let us know how Burn is operating on a different level completely?
Oooooohhhh… got it. Got it. Yeees, the contrast. Yes. They seem important now, but when Burn crushed them, we’ll see what kind of protagonist we have. Okay. Well played. Well played.
THUD.
Yvain’s scepter struck the floor, its sound resonating through the throne hall with a tone sharper than any sword.
Okay, okay, it’s starting. It's starting!
"Welcome, my esteemed lords and ladies of Edensor," he began, his gaze sweeping over the assembly of nobles who had gathered.
"I must express my gratitude that you've all made the journey here in person. It seems that only by accepting Emperor Burn's offer could I ensure such a full attendance.”
Yvain sighed. The sight of their king waiting for them did not inspire these nobles to greet him first. Instead, he had to initiate the pleasantries.
“Had it been merely my summons, I suspect I would have received a litany of creative excuses instead of your august presence. It's heartening to see where your loyalties truly lie when push comes to shove."
Ooooooohhhh! The burn! Pun intended!
His smile was as thin as the veiled sarcasm in his words, highlighting the irony of their newfound respect for their young king.
"Aren’t you curious why your king is greeting you all alone in this hall?"
