THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

On the other side of the banquet, Count Nicalo gently guided Duke Harrick through the throng of glittering nobles. The Duke's face was a storm of emotions, his fingers restlessly biting at his nails, the frustration in his eyes unmistakable. His ire wasn't solely for David; the Archon's unexpected intervention had left him seething.

Count Nicalo, ever the picture of calm, placed a firm hand on the Duke's shoulder. Leaning in close, he whispered, his voice low and honeyed, "Compose yourself, Your Grace. Everything will be fine. Let the pieces fall into place. For now, enjoy the banquet, mingle with the guests, and find me later when the time is right."

The words carried an unsettling weight, their cool assurance snapping Duke Harrick out of his turbulent thoughts. For a fleeting moment, his eyes turned an eerie black, an unearthly gleam flickering in their depths.

Just as quickly, they reverted to normal, the transformation so subtle it could have been a trick of the flickering chandelier lights. His expression shifted into a polished mask of civility, a tight smile replacing the scowl. Without a word, he bowed slightly and turned, disappearing into the crowd.

Count Nicalo straightened his jacket, tugging at the lapels as he adjusted his attire. The faint strains of music reached his ears, a signal that the orchestra had begun their next piece. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flitted toward the center of the hall where David and Elara danced amidst the swirling couples.

A sinister smile crept across his face as he watched them. David's measured steps, his confident movements in sync with Elara's elegant poise, drew the room's attention. To the untrained eye, they seemed like an unlikely pair in a moment of unity, but to Nicalo, it was confirmation of his carefully laid plans.

Whatever role David thought he was playing, it was already too late. Elara, for all her strength and cunning, was ensnared. The trap was set, and the Archon was one more piece falling perfectly into his web. In time, everything would unravel exactly as he intended.

His thoughts were interrupted by a burst of lively laughter. A group of noblewomen had approached him, their jeweled gowns shimmering under the chandelier's glow. The leader of the group, a striking brunette with an intricate golden headpiece, offered her hand. "Count Nicalo, won't you honor us with a dance?"

He swallowed hard, the sudden interruption jarring against the sinister tide of his thoughts. He regarded the group with veiled disdain, though his lips curved into a charming smile. Internally, his darker impulses stirred, his mind idly wondering how much trouble one or two of these women might cause if they were to simply... vanish.

But he quickly shook off the thought, his years of practice in self-control winning out. "Ladies," he said smoothly, taking the brunette's hand with deliberate care, "one at a time, please." His words were light, playful, but there was an edge beneath them that none of the women seemed to notice.

As he led the first noblewoman onto the floor, he reminded himself of the stakes. His plans required finesse, precision, and patience. No distractions, no mistakes. For now, he would play the part of the charming count, but his mind remained on the grander game. Everything was in motion.

Across the room, David and Elara spun gracefully, their presence commanding the attention of every onlooker. Count Nicalo's gaze flicked toward them one last time, his smile deepening. The pieces were moving, and soon, the board would belong to him.

****

Mariana sat atop the dais, her normally composed demeanor shattered by a crimson flush that painted her cheeks. Her fingers clenched into tight fists as she stared at the dance floor, her eyes locked on her sister, Elara, and David gliding together in perfect harmony.

She could barely believe it. Elara, the Archon of Warfare, had left her throne moments earlier, citing a need to mingle with the influential guests from the capital. But Mariana knew her sister better than anyone—her true target had been David all along. The thought made Mariana groan inwardly as she slumped forward, cradling her head in her hands.

"Why am I even bothered by this?" she muttered to herself. Her voice was low, laced with frustration and tinged with confusion. It wasn't as if she had any claims over David—or at least, that's what she told herself. Yet, the sight of her sister's coy smiles and the way David confidently led her across the floor made Mariana's chest tighten in a way she refused to acknowledge.

Her gaze shifted below the dais, where a line of noblemen had formed, each eager to take her hand for a dance. She rolled her eyes at the display, the thought of entertaining their company utterly exhausting. "Vultures," she muttered under her breath, wishing she had seized her chance to approach David before Elara had swept in.

****

On the dance floor, David's mind raced. Every step, every turn was calculated, though his focus was far from the mechanics of the dance. He silently thanked his mother for insisting he learn such formalities back on Earth. At the time, it had felt pointless, a relic of outdated customs. Yet now, he realized the value of those lessons as he navigated the intricate waltz with the Archon.

David's hand rested on Elara's waist, his grip firm and assertive. The warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her gown was palpable, and when his hand shifted slightly, the Archon let out a low, sultry moan that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Such boldness," Elara murmured, her crimson eyes glinting as she looked up at him. Her voice was smooth, laced with a teasing edge. "You should know, young Spross, that behavior like this is reserved for couples."

David's lips quirked into a sly smile. "On this dance floor, Archon, you are not a ruler. You are simply a woman."

Her chuckle was soft, almost dangerous, as she leaned in close enough for her breath to graze his ear. "Careful, David. Words like that might lead you to reach for the sun."

Before he could respond, his vision suddenly flickered. The system flashed before him, stark and unrelenting:

[Warning: The course of fate has changed. Your level is too low to use role.]

David's steps faltered, and he barely had time to process the cryptic warning before a deafening explosion ripped through the air. The music screeched to a halt, and screams filled the hall as a section of the ceiling caved in, showering the room with debris.

David instinctively pulled Elara close, shielding her from the falling rubble. Dust and chaos consumed the grand hall as the once-glittering banquet transformed into a scene of panic. Through the haze, David's senses sharpened, his instincts screaming that this was no mere accident. Something—or someone—had orchestrated this disaster.

Elara disentangled herself from David, her crimson eyes now blazing with fury. "Stay close, David," she commanded, her voice steel-edged.

And as the dust began to settle, David's grip on reality wavered, the weight of the system's warning pressing down on him like a storm.