Chapter 99: The Game Before the Duel

  The hall of House Kelcrest was filled with candlelight, the flickering glow reflecting off polished marble floors and high-arched windows. At the center of the grand chamber, Lord Darion Kelcrest stood with arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping over Thalron, Marcus, Vira, and Arixa as they sat before him.

  Thalron exhaled, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. “Three days,” he muttered. “Not a lot of time.”

  Darion nodded. “No, it isn’t. But the Rite of Proving is not simply a duel—it is a performance. And to perform, you must first secure your place on the stage.” His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his words carried a deeper warning. “The duel will be set during a noble gathering—one of the Empire’s famed social events. And you, Thalron, will not be invited.”

  Marcus smirked. “So we crash the party.”

  Darion nodded. “Precisely.”

  Arixa grinned. “Now that’s more my style.”

  Darion sighed. “It’s not that simple. The nobility of Nireen do not take well to unexpected guests. If you are to walk into this gathering uninvited, you must give them a reason to keep you there.” He gestured toward the group. “These social gatherings are where the elite boast and posture, where status is solidified through careful maneuvering. You will need to be more than just another face in the crowd.”

  Marcus leaned forward. “So what’s the plan? We show up, impress the right people, and then Thalron throws down a challenge?”

  Darion gave a small smirk. “If only it were that easy. The elves favor settling disputes through duels, but they do not entertain challenges from just anyone. You must first be interesting enough for them to care. That means mingling, gaining their attention, and proving that your presence is worth acknowledging.”

  Marcus folded his arms. “Sounds fun… and way too easy.”

  Thalron shook his head. “It’s not.”

  Darion continued, his tone serious. “This is where your minders come in.” He gestured toward Marcus, Vira, and Arixa. “You will need two companions who will attend the gathering with you, guiding you through the social expectations.”

  Thalron frowned. “Minders?”

  Darion nodded. “Powerful elves do not speak for themselves. Their influence is shown through those who represent them.” He held up two fingers. “Minder One will act as your voice—speaking on your behalf, navigating political conversation, and handling noble etiquette.” He shifted his gaze. “Minder Two will be someone radiant, a presence that demands attention. Beauty, grace, and quiet strength are valued among the nobility. You must have a companion who draws eyes to you simply by standing at your side.”

  Arixa furrowed her brows. “You mean a trophy.”

  Darion nodded once. “That is how the nobles see it, yes.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to object, but before he could speak, Stem’s voice echoed in his mind.

  "Marcus, I am well-versed in Elven culture and courtly interactions. You should volunteer for Minder One."

  Marcus blinked. “Huh.”

  Vira raised an eyebrow. “Huh, what?”

  Marcus exhaled before raising his hand slightly. “I’ll do it.”

  The room went silent.

  Thalron stared at him. “You?”

  Darion frowned. “You understand that this role requires deep knowledge of elven customs and political maneuvering, correct?”

  Marcus nodded. “Yeah.” His mind was already adjusting to the information Stem was feeding him, the intricacies of noble etiquette, the unspoken rules of conversation, the delicate balance of flattery and posturing. “I can do it.”

  Darion and Thalron exchanged glances, skeptical.

  Darion began a rapid series of questions—testing Marcus on proper greetings, noble hierarchy, and Elven philosophy.

  Marcus answered each question flawlessly.

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  The room grew tense as Marcus recited an ancient elven proverb perfectly, his tone calm, his words precise.

  Darion’s eyes widened slightly. Thalron let out a slow breath.

  Vira smirked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Told you.”

  Darion chuckled. “You continue to surprise me, Marcus Elder.” He turned back to the group. “Now, as for Minder Two—”

  He barely had time to finish before Vira cut in. “Oh, that’s easy. Arixa.”

  Arixa, who had been half-listening, suddenly froze. “What?”

  Vira smirked. “You heard me.”

  Arixa scoffed. “I’m not wearing some frilly noble dress.”

  Vira’s grin widened. “Oh, but you could.” She tilted her head, studying Arixa. “With the right gown, you’d be stunning. You’ve got that whole ‘feral warrior with a noble’s blood’ thing going for you. It’ll drive them insane.”

  Arixa narrowed her eyes. “I hate this.”

  Thalron crossed his arms, smirking. “You did say you owed me.”

  Arixa groaned. “Ancestor's Grace...i don't like this!”

  Vira nudged her. “It’s survival. You standing next to Thalron will make him seem intriguing. They’ll want to know more. That’s how we control the conversation.”

  Arixa sighed heavily before nodding. “Fine. But if anyone calls me ‘radiant,’ I’m breaking their jaw.”

  Darion chuckled. “You’ll fit right in.”

  As the group absorbed the weight of the plan, the air in the chamber shifted. The playful jabs and casual remarks fell away, replaced by something more serious—the realization that the next few days would be more dangerous than any battlefield they had stepped onto before.

  Darion’s expression turned sharp, his eyes settling on Vira. “Vira, don’t worry. I have another task for you.”

  Vira arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And here I thought I was going to be left out of the festivities.”

  Darion smirked but didn’t share in her amusement. “You will work in the shadows.” He folded his arms, stepping toward the center of the room where the candlelight cast elongated shadows against the high walls. “There will be many attempts to discredit or disrupt Thalron’s claim. You must uncover them before they can be acted upon.”

  Vira’s smirk widened, the glint in her golden eyes flashing with mischief and something more dangerous—anticipation.

  “Now that is something I can work with.”

  She leaned back against a marble column, already running through the possibilities in her mind. The elven court was a nest of vipers—whispered schemes, secret alliances, and assassins hidden beneath silken robes.

  For all their wealth and grace, elves had an uncanny ability to gut their enemies without ever drawing a blade.

  Vira hadn't spent much of her life navigating dangerous social landscapes, but she was a natural when it came to knowing how to slip into conversations unnoticed, how to extract information from the most stubborn of tongues, and—most importantly—how to make herself disappear when the time came.

  She would not play the part of a noble, nor would she need to.

  Vira gave Darion a lazy salute. “Consider it handled. Any leads?”

  Darion’s gaze flicked toward a map of Nireen displayed on the far wall, his fingers tracing a path toward the noble districts. “House Maevren and House Ulthar have the most to lose if House Veylan secures its claim. They will not want Thalron complicating the balance.”

  Marcus, leaning against the table, tilted his head. “Let me guess—House Maevren’s got the gold, and Ulthar’s got the muscle?”

  Darion nodded. “Exactly. One will try to silence Thalron through influence, the other through force. You’ll need to anticipate both.”

  Vira grinned. “Sabotage, blackmail, political maneuvering… Gods, I love this game.”

  Thalron shot her a look. “This isn’t a game.”

  Vira smirk faded, "Sorry Thal, I promise I'm taking this seriously."

  She pushed off the column and stretched, already eager to get started. “I’ll start making contacts. Information is best gathered when the right people think you’re just a passing whisper.”

  Darion studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Then go. We have three days, and we need to be ahead of their moves before the gathering even begins.”

  "Be careful Vira Marcus said, with a tinge of concern."

  "I may be a mage but, I picked up a thing or two during the months I spent with Ragn",

  Vira gave a mock bow before turning on her heel. The hunt had begun.

  The room grew quieter as Darion shifted his attention fully to Thalron. The noble’s gaze was thoughtful but edged with a quiet intensity.

  “Thalron,” he said, “you will be at a disadvantage the moment you step into that gathering. It is important that you do not break under the insults. There will be many.”

  Thalron’s jaw tensed, but he nodded. “I can endure them, my mother's training goes beyond sword play.”

  Darion’s expression darkened slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Enduring is one thing. Surviving is another.”

  The words settled over the room like a challenge.

  Thalron inhaled slowly, his fingers clenching at his sides. For years, he watched as his mother forced herself to endure the sneers, the dismissals, the mockery. She had taught him, that simply standing strong against it was enough.

  But Darion was right.

  Simply enduring would not be enough here.

  Marcus, watching the exchange, finally spoke. “So tell me, Darion. What exactly do we have that will get these nobles’ attention?”

  Darion studied him. “A noble house reestablishing itself after exile is not enough to warrant interest—not unless you bring something powerful to the table.”

  Marcus smirked. “We defeated the Thane of Xenor and his army… and built a city.”

  A silence followed his words, stretching out as Darion’s expression shifted. His hand came up to rub his temples, a long sigh escaping him.

  “So the rumors were true.”

  Thalron arched an eyebrow. “You heard about that?”

  Darion gave a dry laugh. “Everyone in the empire has heard about that.”

  He leaned back against the edge of the table, his eyes narrowing. “Yes… that will get their attention. The nobility thrives on spectacle, on grand stories that set them apart.

  Arixa crossed her arms. “So we just walk in and flex?”

  Darion shook his head. “No. You walk in and make them want to hear your story. You make them listen, not because you demand it, but because they cannot help but be drawn to it.”

  Marcus exhaled, exchanging glances with Thalron and Arixa.

  Darion straightened, his tone firm and final. “We have little time to prepare. There are dances to learn, clothing to select, and noble traditions to refine. Welcome to the most dangerous battlefield in Nireen.”

  Thalron smirked, rolling his shoulders. “We’ve never backed down from a fight before. Let’s get to work.”