The Vallis ancestral hall thrummed with silent power. Grand chandeliers dripped with enchanted crystal, their glow illuminating the polished obsidian floors. The walls bore murals of battles past, of bloodlines intertwining like rivers to form the empire. The air was thick with old magic, a lingering force that bent to the will of those seated at the grand council table.

  Adrian’s seven wives sat arrayed in obsidian thrones, their combined aura flattening the air like an oncoming storm. Each of them was a force in her own right—rulers, strategists, and warriors, their influence spanning across the empire’s veins. They did not gather lightly, and they did not speak without purpose.

  Lady Evelina, first wife and architect of Vallis diplomacy, spoke first. Her voice was frost-stitched silk, gliding across the chamber. “The Spire’s taint lingers on the boy.” Her gaze flicked to Adrian, her silver-ringed fingers resting on the arm of her throne. “You let the Spire test him, knowing what it does to young minds.”

  “Necessary,” Adrian countered, his fingers drumming on his cane. “The Inquisition’s new Exarch hunts Convergence Marks without hesitation. Liam requires sharper edges.”

  Lady Catriona—Elric’s mother, her hair a fiery cascade—leaned forward, her presence crackling like a waiting inferno. “And when those edges cut us? The Spire’s madness runs deep.”

  “Controlled risk.” Adrian’s cane tapped a map sprawled between them, its ink shifting like living veins. “Our agents confirm the Exarch approaches the western provinces. Liam’s public debut at the gala will draw their gaze from Amara.”

  Lady Seraphina, strategist of war and mistress of the Vallis legions, traced troop movements with a single jeweled nail. “A duel, then. Let the boy publicly humble the Exarch’s champion. His victory becomes our propaganda.”

  Mara’s protest was swallowed by the sheer weight of the gathered power. But before she could find her voice, Lady Rosalind—Saintess of the Empire and the softest of Adrian’s wives—laid a gentle hand on hers. “We’ll shield Amara, child,” she said, her voice warm yet unyielding. “But your son must play his role.”

  The debate raged—wives divided, alliances shifting like the tides. Each spoke with conviction, their words weaving a complex web of strategy and risk. Lady Aurelia, mistress of espionage, whispered of whispers—spies within the Inquisition, false trails being laid. Lady Thalia, commander of the eastern battalions, argued for military intervention rather than political maneuvering. The tension crackled like a drawn bowstring, waiting for the deciding word.

  It came with the sharp clang of steel against wood. Lady Helena, the warrior, had slammed her sword onto the table. “Enough. The boy fights. I’ll train him.”

  Adrian’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Then it’s settled.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The Training Begins

  Dawn broke over the Vallis stronghold, light spilling across the marble training courtyard. Liam stood at its center, his breath misting in the cool air, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of a dulled training blade. Before him, Lady Helena loomed like a living legend—scarred, battle-worn, yet possessing the grace of a predator.

  “No magic,” she said. “If you cannot win with steel, you cannot win at all.”

  Liam barely had time to react before her blade struck. The impact sent him reeling, feet sliding across the polished floor. He barely blocked the next strike, his arms screaming under the force.

  “Too slow,” she barked, striking again. “You think your power will always save you? The Spire tested your mind. Now I test your body.”

  Hours passed. The sun arched overhead, shadows shifting as Liam fought to keep up. Every block, every dodge was met with another attack, another lesson. He learned to move, to think with his body as well as his mind. His muscles burned, sweat dripped from his brow, but still, she pressed him harder.

  “Again.”

  By nightfall, Liam collapsed to his knees, the training blade falling from his grasp. Helena sheathed her sword, nodding. “You’ll do.”

  The Duel

  The gala was a spectacle of wealth and power, nobles adorned in silks and gems, their laughter echoing beneath vaulted ceilings. But at its heart stood the dueling ring, a raised platform where challenges were met, honor was tested, and reputations were forged.

  Liam stepped onto the platform, his breath steady, his stance sure. Across from him stood the Exarch’s champion—a seasoned duelist draped in crimson, his eyes sharp with arrogance.

  A hush fell over the hall as the duel began.

  The first clash of blades rang like a bell tolling doom. The champion was fast—faster than anyone Liam had faced—but Liam had spent weeks under Helena’s relentless training. He deflected, countered, learned as he moved. The champion struck high—Liam ducked low. A thrust aimed for his ribs—he sidestepped, letting the momentum carry his opponent forward.

  Then, a flicker of magic—just a whisper of control. The champion faltered for half a heartbeat. It was enough.

  Liam struck, his blade pressing against the champion’s throat.

  Silence. Then, applause—measured, knowing. Adrian’s wives exchanged glances. The message had been sent.

  Liam Vallis was ready.

  And the world would soon know it.

  The Aftermath

  As Liam stepped off the dueling platform, his pulse still thundered in his ears. The Exarch’s envoy watched him with unreadable eyes, and whispers filled the hall like a rising tide.

  Archduke Greystone intercepted him, wine goblet in hand. “Your grandfather’s theatrics bore me, boy. Let’s discuss reality.”

  “Reality, Your Grace?”

  “The Exarch’s champion arrives tomorrow.” Greystone’s smile showed too many teeth. “A half-giant bred for slaughter. Adrian sacrifices you to buy time.”

  Liam’s mana spiked involuntarily. “I’m no sacrifice.”

  “Prove it.” Greystone pressed a token into his palm—a sigil of entwined serpents. “My healers await… should you survive.”

  The challenge horn sounded.

  The half-giant loomed nine feet tall, its fused armor seething with anti-magic runes. The crowd roared bloodlust.

  Adrian’s final lesson echoed: “Magic is deception.”

  Liam stepped onto the sands, dagger raised. The half-giant charged.

  At the last breath, Liam changed—not a shield, but a mirror. The anti-magic runes reflected, searing the giant’s own flesh.

  As the beast faltered, Liam’s dagger found its throat.

  The crowd’s cheers curdled into fearful silence. Liam locked eyes with the Exarch’s shadowed envoy and raised the bloody blade.

  “Come and see,” he mouthed.

  Amara’s laughter echoed in his mind, sweet and terrible.