The glorious Imperial Hotel, an architectural marvel of Tsaravin, stood majestically above the city. Its adorned terraces, embellished with elegant sculptures and wrought iron arabesques, offered a stunning panoramic view of the capital. The sky, early in the morning, tinted the horizon with shades of orange and purple, though black clouds were approaching from the industrial district.
On the highest terrace, Damian Callahad walked with an imposing posture, his penetrating gaze observing the vastness of the city below. His attire consisted of a long dark blue velvet coat, adorned with silver filigree on the cuffs and collar. Beneath, a pristine white silk shirt and a lighter blue velvet vest completed the ensemble, along with precisely cut trousers that elegantly aligned with polished leather boots. His appearance, though not usual, was decided under the premise that at a meeting between nobles, Damian wished to be especially well-dressed for the occasion. The cold morning breeze lightly stirred his meticulously combed-back hair but did not shake his concentration. Details of his attire, like the gold buttons and the discreet pocket watch carrying a photo of his daughter, were noteworthy.
As Damian approached the corner of the terrace, his attention was captured by the figure of Thaddeus Lancaster from the North, who was waiting for him. This man, with his unkempt appearance and quality yet neglected garments, seemed the antithesis of the duke. There was a cunning glint in the old man's eyes, watching Damian with a mix of respect and calculation. His face was thin, so he disguised it with a bear's beard. His short hair, turned white by time, was also quite unkempt.
"Good morning, Count Thaddeus, what do I owe the pleasure of your invitation?" Damian asked, leaning on the arabesques and observing the city.
"Good morning, Duke Callahad, I just thought I should tell you something." The old man then turned to Lord Callahad. "Have you ever seen Emperor Alaric?"
Damian found the question strange. "Once, when I was four years old at Princess Madeline's wedding." The duke pondered a bit. "After that, never again. Why?"
"I am an old man, but when I was born, the emperor was already old. He saw me as a baby, and he will surely see me die." Thaddeus seemed to look around. "After he became very old, he completely stopped appearing. He hides his health, but at the end of the day, he is still a 120-year-old man."
"The oldest man in the world?" Damian asked, curious.
"Yes, there's no doubt about it." Thaddeus coughed a little, his breathing no longer what it used to be. "The empire is afraid of a civil war, they will try to bring the nobles to their side along with their armies."
"Okay, and why are you telling me this? We have never spoken, nor are we especially close. What do you seek with this?" "Who is this old man?" Damian wondered.
"He, he, he..." The old man laughed slowly before coughing forcefully. He observed the city attentively. "Today will be an important day, duke. Today the gears will go into action, and it will be people like you and me who will make the choices..."
"What choices?" Damian asked, trying to hide his emotions, but his eyes betrayed the anger he tried to conceal.
"Well... I recommend that you, your majesty, betray the emperor." Thaddeus then leaned against the arabesques.
The morning wind blew strongly, causing both their hair to sway in the wind. The silence was piercing. "Does this old man want us killed? Is he calling for a conspiracy against the empire here?" Damian feared.
"Stay calm, I'm not forcing or asking you anything. I'm just... giving you a hint." Thaddeus observed the duke from the corner of his eye.
"You should be careful with your words, old man. Your uncle is not known as 'The Terrible' for nothing. I've heard he sentenced his own older brother to death."
"Yes, yes... That's true. I wasn't born when Emeric Nyx Lancaster from the North was killed, but I heard many stories about it during my childhood..." Thaddeus observed Damian. "But please, let's change the subject. There's another... 'thing' I'd like to discuss with you."
Damian Callahad was a smart man. As smart as he was brave, having even faced death many times. During the war against the Sikhe Empire, the duke fought on the front and nearly died many times. His squads were regularly executed, but he survived.
Many say it's luck, others say it's skill. The truth is a "sixth sense" that kept him alert to danger. The duke was especially good at reading situations. This man felt fear of Thaddeus's next words.
"I know what your daughter is." The old count's dull and cloudy eyes shine.
"What do you know?" "I could throw him down there, then I'll come up with some excuse." Damian thought.
"I know she fits the description of the prophecy and will become empress. I would then like to be able to help the future imperial family." Thaddeus then lowers his guard.
"Help? How?" Damian asked, paying attention to the old man in front of him.
"Let me explain..." The old man coughs. "The machines of the stage are in my possession at the moment, and because of that, I can see what will proceed from this play. When you need help the most, come well-dressed at midnight and meet me in this place. I'll make sure to answer all and any questions."
"What is this old man? Friend or foe? I'm sure he's a fool," Damian thought. "Alright, but let me ask you, Count Thaddeus... Where did you hear about my daughter?"
"A little bird told me what you did to her mother, and truthfully, although it's not my place to judge, I want you to know that I found it disgusting." From his mouth come these words, but Damian notices admiration in his gaze.
"Is there anyone else who knows about this?"
"No... this will be our little secret." Says Thaddeus, observing him from bottom to top.
"Understood, if there's nothing else to discuss with me, I will go to the imperial palace. I hope not to meet you so soon again." Damian says, turning around and leaving.
"We both know you'll come after me." The old voice says as the duke walks away from her.
Damian Callahad then descends the stairs from the terrace to the elevator, where he enters his hotel apartment. The place was lit, and there were five guards at the door. Damian went further inside, looking for something, until he opened the door to his room and saw Sylvie lying in bed, sleeping in her semi-transparent white pajamas.
Her blond hair flowed over her breasts to her belly, her skin looking even clearer and more rosy. "She is absolutely perfect," thought the duke, filled with pride. He then approached his daughter and gently touched her head with affection.
"My princess, shall we get up? Daddy has a lot to do today."
"Da... daddy?" Sylvie asks, rubbing her eyes which, when opened, seem to shine in a deep purple color.
"Shall we have breakfast?"
"Yes! I want to." Says the little girl, right before her stomach growls.
Damian Callahad held Sylvie's small hand, guiding her gently out of the room, but not before dressing her in a coat. They both went downstairs to the first floor of the apartment and sat at the kitchen counter.
The duke then, still holding his princess, says, "Captain Ivan!"
"Yes, my lord." Says the soldier immediately after.
"Ask one of your men to get breakfast for my princess, she will want toast, a jug of red fruit juice, and baked potatoes." Says the duke, stroking his daughter's head.
"But daddy..." Said Sylvie. "I don't know if I can eat all that..." Her face fills with worry and sadness as she looks at her father.
"Don't worry, whatever you can't eat, I will eat, okay?" The duke hugs his daughter tightly.
The father and his daughter then wait for their breakfast to arrive, and when it finally does, Lieutenant Mikhail comes along. "Great toast," Damian thinks.
"Lord Callahad, I must inform you that I will accompany you to the imperial palace." Mikhail positions himself in front, with a slight bow.
"Perfect, no problem. I even prefer it, I wouldn't want to talk to the press." Says Damian, observing Mikhail's eyes.
The father and his daughter then start to eat, and as predicted, Sylvie couldn't eat everything, so her father helped her. After finishing, her father gave her a bath, and dressed her in a beautiful dark blue dress with white embroidery.
After getting ready, Mikhail then took them to the limousine. The hall of the grand hotel was almost empty, but the outside was crowded. Many journalists and other commoners were outside, eagerly waiting for the next noble to pass by.
"Mikhail, wasn't our presence here supposed to be almost a secret? How can the press know which nobles are going and I don't?" Damian asks, curious.
"It seems, my Lord, that this information was told to some sneaky journalist a day before. The media is like that, my lord, but we will take care of it soon enough." Says Mikhail, with unconcern in his voice.
As soon as they leave the Imperial Hotel, behind the darkened glass panes, a moment of silence takes over the place.
"Lord Damian, could you answer a question?" A redhead journalist with long hair asks.
Immediately after, a commotion takes over the people, and from questions to pleas for help arise among the screams of the commoners.
"Lord Damian! We are hungry!"
"Lord Damian! We are cold!"
"Oh duke! Have mercy on us, ask the emperor for peace!"
Damian Callahad is quickly escorted by Mikhail and his security to his limousine. His daughter was in his lap with her face covered by a white cloth. The duke, holding Sylvie carefully, advanced with firm steps towards the black limousine waiting for them. The vehicle, elegant and imposing, shone under the morning sun. Mikhail, with a vigilant posture, opened the limousine door for them, while the security formed a protective perimeter, keeping journalists and commoners at a safe distance.
Damian entered the vehicle, placing Sylvie by his side. The interior of the limousine was a haven of calm and luxury, with soft leather upholstery and windows with darkened glass, offering privacy and tranquility. He sat next to his guards, and in front of Orlov.
As the limousine set off, the voices of the crowd became a distant murmur. The driver skillfully maneuvered through the streets of the capital, taking them towards the royal palace. The journey was short, but the landscape passing by the windows reflected the opulence of the city's richest part.
Magnificent mansions with meticulously maintained gardens, elegant fountains, and marble statues adorned the way. Tree-lined avenues formed green corridors, and the scent of fresh flowers entered through the limousine's ventilation. The streets were wide and clean, and the few pedestrians walking there wore the finest clothing.
The contrast between the tumult of the Imperial Hotel and the luxurious serenity of the path to the royal palace was striking to the duke. Damian, looking through the window, contemplated the scenery, lost in thoughts about the day's events. Sylvie, by his side, seemed enchanted, having never left her castle before, it was her first time seeing the capital. Her eyes sparkled with every new sight.
"Daddy, daddy!" Says the little girl. "Can we live here?" Her little eyes fill with purity and happiness with a genuine request.
"Yes, my princess. I will make it so we can live here." "Soon, soon she'll forget about this," Damian thought.
As the black limousine approached the gates of the royal palace, an aura of magnitude and mystery filled the air. The palace rose like an imposing fortress, with high towers and bulbous domes that cut through the sky. The Gothic architecture gave it an unsettling air, its dark silhouettes and pointed shapes casting long shadows over the ground.
The massive stone walls of the palace, in shades of dark gray, were dotted with narrow windows, giving the impression of eyes silently watching Damian and his daughter's arrival. The towers, with their dark-colored roofs and intricate ornamental details, seemed to rise endlessly, touching the clouded sky now beginning to form above the capital.
As the limousine approached the main gates, they slowly opened, revealing a vast inner courtyard, paved with ancient stones and surrounded by dark Gothic corridors. The presence of motionless and silent guards made Damian feel like he was in the lion's den. They wore formal uniforms, but their expressions were inscrutable, as if they were living statues.
"Tell me, Mikhail, does every soldier who goes through the special forces learn to lose their emotions?" Damian asks.
"Tell me, Lord Callahad. Did the army take away what you felt?"
"Not from me." Damian strokes his daughter. "But from many people, yes. Don't get me wrong, it's just that from my experience, none of you feel anything for anyone other than yourselves."
Lieutenant Mikhail Orlov just nods. The limousine then follows an ancient stone path leading to the entrance of the palace. After stopping, Damian gets out of the limousine with his daughter, his guards, and accompanied by Mikhail. The marble stairs leading to the main door, a double door six meters high, carved in Lunabetula.
There were natural patterns that repeated, mimicking the phases of the moon, along with veins of a silver color that ran through its entire structure. At first glance, it was a particularly beautiful door, but Damian noticed something as he approached: "The veins... They have the shape of an octopus head?!", he wondered.
There, a servant of the house awaited them. A man in his early thirties. His blond hair fell in front of him with his head bowed before the Duke. Well-dressed, with tailored pants, formal shoes, a vest, and a dress shirt.
His daughter, on the ground, holds his hand. Sylvie then sees a brooch on his chest, which seemed to be silver, but in the shape of a kraken.
"Lord Damian Callahad, welcome to the imperial premises." Says the servant, showing his face. His eyes are blue, and his face is thin and beardless.
"Perfect, where should we wait? Will there be lunch or dinner?" Damian asks.
"Please, Lord Damian, follow me. I will show you the way." The servant moves forward before looking at the duke and continuing. "Answering your other question, there will be no lunch or dinner, but any food you wish will be delivered to you by the kitchen."
"When was the last time Emperor Alaric... held a dinner or festival?"
The servant then thinks for a few moments. Placing his hand on his chin. "It was twenty years ago, on his hundredth birthday. After that, he became very reclusive."
"Would you know why?" Damian asks.
"I imagine the age of his majesty forces him to be very careful. I imagine it's just for safety, not health."
Damian notices a brief exchange of glances for a moment. Mikhail and this servant.
"Sorry, I didn't even ask, what would your name be?" Asks the duke.
"Anton, forgive me for not introducing myself, but I imagined that your majesty would not care to know the name of a mere servant like me."
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"It's okay, Anton. I won't forget you." "I never forget," Damian thought.
Anton, with a discreet gesture, guided Damian Callahad, accompanied by his daughter Sylvie, Lieutenant Mikhail, and his security, through the corridors of the imperial palace. The interior of the palace was a vivid contrast between somber and opulent. The walls, painted in shades of gray and dark blue, were adorned with tapestries depicting historical scenes like Alaric I founding Sarcóvia after the fall of the Demon King and epic battles like the confrontation of the thirteen heroes. The black marble floor reflected the soft glow of the crystal lamps hanging from the high ceiling.
As they advanced, they passed several solid wooden doors, carved with symbols of the empire and covered in gold leaf. The air in the palace was perfumed with a mix of incense and beeswax.
They climbed a grand staircase, whose white marble steps were flanked by statues of angels and the thirteen past heroes: Gwynevere, Ulfhednar, Zephyr, Tiberius, Thalas, Rudaru, Mazino, Zephyris, Kaelen, Eirlys, Valerius, Nerissa, and the thirteenth, whose name time forgot. Every few steps, a colored stained glass window cast beams of light inside, creating patterns on the floor.
Finally, they arrived at one of the highest floors of the palace, where Damian's room was located. The corridor here was quieter, with little activity. The room doors were even more grandiose, with more elaborate carvings and polished bronze doorknobs.
"Perfect," says Damian upon arrival. "Mikhail, Anton... give me a moment alone with my security, please."
"Of course, your majesty, if that is your will," says Anton, who retreats along with Mikhail outside the room.
"Captain Ivan," says Damian as soon as the door closes. "I'm going to the meeting right now, I need you to stay with my princess and take care of her."
"Yes, My Lord, I will protect her with my life," Ivan Zinoviev realizes that his Lord is serious.
"They are plotting something," Damian whispers in Ivan's ear. "I can feel it."
The captain just nods.
"Daddy, where are you going?" Sylvie asks, in her beautiful blue dress.
"I'm going to have an adult conversation, my princess. Daddy will be back soon, okay?" Damian kneels to speak to her eye to eye. A warm hug follows.
"Okay, daddy, I love you." Says Sylvie with a smile.
"I love you too." The duke kisses his daughter's forehead.
Damian Callahad then stood up and left his room accompanied by Yuri and Igor, two of the five soldiers who constantly walked with him.
"Anton, thank you for waiting for me."
"Yes, my lord, no problem," says the servant.
"Great, then please, take me to the council. I want to know why they called me here so urgently." The duke finishes.
Anton nods his head, without saying another word. After a bow, he then guides the duke through the wonderful corridors of the castle. The steps echo through the silence of their walk until they find a steel door, armored, which could only be opened from the inside, apparently.
It was five meters wide and six meters high. There was a glass that allowed vision from the outside.
"General Borinov," says Anton to the intercom next to the door. "I'm with Duke Damian Callahad."
Without a response, the door begins to open. A heavy steel noise and machinery begin to sound as that reinforced steel giant slowly lifted.
The interior is a spectacle of opulence and meticulous design. In the center, a large dark wooden round table, polished until it shines, dominates the space. This table, large enough to accommodate more than twelve people, has the phrase "Holy land of the mother of God" on its edge. Each place at the table is marked by a sturdy chair, upholstered in blood-red velvet, with high backs and gold details.
The marble floor, a mosaic of colors ranging from white to black, is adorned with an intricate geometric pattern, forming a visual carpet that extends throughout the room. In the center of the floor, the empire's emblem is inlaid with gold, reflecting the light that enters through the tall colored stained glass windows.
The walls are covered in luxurious tapestries and portraits of ancient emperors and empire heroes, each with its own story to tell. At regular intervals, modern electric torches, disguised to look like medieval torches, provide soft but sufficient lighting.
There is a simple wooden door on the other side of the room.
Damian Callahad, with firm and calculated steps, entered the opulent council room. His eyes, as perceptive as they were calculating, quickly scanned the center round table, where the notables of the empire were already gathered surrounded by their imperial companions. The atmosphere was dense, charged with tension.
In the center, Katherina Alexandrov, a young woman of only twenty-three years, maintained an impeccable posture, her aura of coldness and control almost palpable. Her long black hair gracefully fell over her shoulders, and her dark eyes observed everything with calculated intensity. The Alexandrov family was known for having the only warm water ports in the entire empire, and because of that, the largest and only true maritime force.
To her left, Duke Stephan Vasilievich, with his unshakeable dignity and gray eyes full of wisdom and experience, examined a document in front of him. The wrinkles on his face told stories of past battles, and his posture still retained traces of the strength that once characterized him. Now in his third age, this man led battalions in more wars than the fingers on one hand can count. His hair was already white and thin. The cigarette in his hand carried a glowing ember.
Next to Stephan, Emeric Dracovic, a man marked by melancholy and introspection. His black hair with gray streaks framed a face that, although strong, was marked by loss and mourning. His eyes, once bright, now carried a distant look, reflecting his colorless world. Among all, in Damian's eyes, this was the only one who didn't want to be there.
Duke Arkady Kolovsky, with a strong presence. His face, marked by experience, transmitted authority, and his deep blue eyes took attention away from his mustache and goatee. This man, already in his forties with slicked-back hair, owns one of the main industrial sectors of the empire. In his lands is where most of the coal and iron are extracted and transformed into steel. This man smoked a cigarette.
General Arkady Borinov, a man marked by the war that had been his life. A veteran of the battlefield who lost his left eye and right hand. Sitting in an imposing posture, his dark green eyes assessed the room with the acute perception of a military veteran. His right hand, now replaced by a mechanical hand prosthesis, held his cigar.
Lord Henrik Alvar, the astute Minister of the Coin, displayed a subtle smile while flipping through some papers. His completely gray hair and astute brown eyes revealed a mind that worked incessantly.
"Let's sit, Lord Damian," says Henrik, who already knew him for many years.
"Good morning to all." Says Callahad, as he sits down. "What is this meeting about? I had to leave my lands in a hurry, accompanied by the emperor's soldiers. I hope there's a very good reason for summoning me here." After finishing Damian notices Katherina looking at him.
Her eyes were deep, her face thin, and her skin as white as snow. Her hair was completely black, and seemed to steal the light that should reflect off them. Her lips were thin but were made up with red lipstick.
"Yes, Lord Damian, we have good reasons for you to be here," says Borinov, Minister of Defense. "As everyone is present, I imagine we can start. Any objections?" Asks the general.
Some shake their heads in negation, others say a simple "no." Katherina moves her finger from one side to the other, showing no objections.
"Perfect. As you may know, the situation of the empire is critical. The rebels are spreading, and Thornisle may blockade us at sea at any moment," Borinov then smokes his cigar, enjoying the taste. "The emperor asked his advisors to do something, on the thirty-first of last month that's what we did." The general leaves his cigar in the ashtray. "It was noticed by us a lack of loyalty from the conventional army, and we suspect they are preparing for a coup d'état. So, my next words will be those of the emperor: 'Bring the nobles to our side. We need the lords united.'"
"The emperor wants our military strength?" Asks Duke Stephan. "Then let the emperor go fuck himself!" The old man yells, slapping the table.
A tumult begins in the room, guards and nobles shouting from one side to the other.
"You can't say that, duke!" Yelled Borinov, who got carried away.
"What silly reasons, ha! ha! ha!" Said Katherina, observing the commotion with an air of superiority.
"Stop!" Exclaims Lord Henrik. "Silence!"
The room goes silent.
"Please, Lord Vasilievich, I understand you have your reasons to express such disgust towards the emperor, but we are not here to force you into anything," says Henrik, with a calm and genius that automatically calmed the spirits. "We will negotiate... The great Emperor Alaric III agreed to payments by number of troops and equipment, as well as tax cuts for a new emerging industry." After finishing speaking, the minister of the coin then looks at Damian Callahad. "Lord Callahad, your lands, lands of your family that have long served the emperor, have always been especially productive, right?"
"Yes, Lord Henrik. We have always had an abundance of rare minerals, but what do you mean?"
"I mean that the emperor heard about your venture behind vaporium and found it interesting enough to decide to invest in your mines," After a pause and flipping through some papers, Lord Henrik continues. "Vaporium presence in your lands has not yet been confirmed, but silver, gold, platinum, rare stones, and rare earth minerals yes. We want to open three vaporium mines, one this year and the other two next year if the first brings results." The minister then turns more pages. "The first mine will be near Krasnaya Truda, the second in Siniy Truda and the third in Zhelty Truda."
"Interesting, I will notify my men to start work today through the telegram," says Damian, "why did they need me here so urgently just for this?" he thought.
"Duchess Katherina, the empire would like to invest in your fleet for its vertical and horizontal development," says Henrik. "It is in the empire's and the emperor's interest that the ocean be easily accessible from the capital. In addition, the emperor is willing to-"
"I am not interested," the silence sweeps through the room, like a knife slicing everyone's throat. "My lands give me access to the sea through the empire my ancestors built. The lands are mine by right, there are no precedents for this, okay?" Asks the lady, with a snobbish smile on her face. "Lord Henrik, is there anything else you want to talk to me about, or can I go back to my beaches?"
"Wait a bit, Duchess," says Borinov, "the door takes a while to open, let's finish with everyone before they go."
"Perfect, we will continue," says Lord Henrik, "Duke Kolovsky, your lands are the heart of steam and steel of this great empire, but our situation is critical," Lord Henrik flips through the pages. "After the recent discovery and invention of the first mechanoids, we realized how effective they can be on the battlefield," The Minister then looks at the general.
"Yes, it is undeniable that a battalion of five thousand men becomes much more dangerous if it has a hundred mechas," says Borinov. "For every ten thousand and five hundred bullets fired, one of our soldiers eliminates an enemy. With support and infantry mechs, we reached half this value."
"Lord Henrik Alvar, I would like to say that I imagine your proposal will be tempting," Arkady says, with a subtle smile on his face.
"Certainly, Duke of steam and steel," says Lord Henrik. "The emperor would like to expand the steel and military industries of Beliculus. There is much advantage in extending your lands through the mountains."
"Lord Henrik, my dear father Tiberius Valyana," says Duke Arkady, "said to the emperor when he won those lands: 'With my mind and my knowledge, I will not disappoint you.' Years later, he turned a territory on the edge of a mountain into the giant we have today. I tell you, Henrik, Borinov..." He pauses. "And to all the nobles here too. With my mind and my knowledge, I will not disappoint you."
"Perfect, Lord Emeric -"
"I refuse. Allow me to leave," the man says with a tone of discomfort in his voice. "My children are waiting for me." Emeric then stands up in silence, after cutting off the minister.
"I imagine we have finished for today, I ask you to stay in the capital because we will discuss all this better.," says Henrik.
"If there are any doubts, I would be happy to clear them," says the Minister of Defense, General Arkady Borinov.
"I will go after my daughter... and then I must return to the hotel. Do not summon me again so urgently for something like this, there was no attack."
General Arkady Borinov stands up, his imposing posture once again evident, and walks to the side of his chair, where a discreet lever is embedded in the wall, almost indistinct among the luxurious decorations of the room.
With a decisive gesture, Borinov pulls the lever down. There's a moment of silence before the sound of machinery begins to echo through the room, a deep and continuous noise that fills the atmosphere.
The immense steel door, which previously seemed impenetrable, begins to lift slowly. The movement of the door is accompanied by a chorus of gears spinning and pistons moving, a symphony of metal and strength. As the door rises, the light from the outside corridor begins to flood the room, bathing the room in renewed clarity.
The nobles then leave in silence, one by one.
Damian Callahad strokes the hair of his deeply asleep daughter after an afternoon of play. The sky was dark, there were no stars or moon. Dust and smoke stained the once blue skies. Ivan, who is outside the palace room, knocks on the door.
"My lord, a lady-... Ah, sorry! A duchess!" Says the head of security.
The atmosphere in Duke Damian Callahad's room is interrupted by the unexpected entrance of Duchess Katherina Alexandrov. The door opens gently, and she emerges as a vision of elegance, subtlety, nobility, and power.
Katherina is dressed in a way that her attire enhances the nobility of her status without losing a touch of sophistication. Her outfit, sculpted in fine fabrics and dark tones, gracefully contours her body. The clothing is elegant and suggestive, offering a glimpse of skin in strategically cut areas, but never crossing the line to vulgar. The fabric seems to flow with her with every movement, as if it were an extension of her own persona.
Her face, framed by black, silky hair that falls over her shoulders, displays a snobbish yet tempting look. The dark eyes of Katherina fix on Callahad with an intensity that speaks of confidence and slight disdain. There's something about her that attracts and repels at the same time, a dance of attraction and distancing. Her eyes shine as they cross.
Her lips, painted in a shade of red that highlights her expression, curve into an enigmatic half-smile. She walks through the room with a posture that radiates authority and self-assurance. There's an aura around her that is both inviting and inaccessible.
"Lord Callahad, thank you for having me." Her gaze pierces Damian. "You know... I've been thinking about talking to you for a long time..." Katherina sits down in a chair. "Since I was just a seventeen-year-old girl."
"Your charm is undeniable, but I don't think we can be together." Damian strokes his daughter's head. "I have other priorities."
"Sylvie, isn't it? Your daughter?" The duchess asks. "Well, little birds have told me some rumors about her mother." Katherina then covers her mouth with her hand, suppressing her laughter. "They told me you killed her, didn't they?"
"Who told you that?" Damian asks.
"People say that you are violent." The duchess approaches, her eyes shining. "I like men like that..." She then stops in front of the duke. "Won't you put down your daughter and pick me up in your arms?"
The duke is captivated by her. A beautiful and smart woman, someone who seemed to share his rare tastes. Men, let alone women. Damian leaves his daughter, sleeping in her bed, and leaves with Katherina to another room of the imperial palace bedroom.
"What does such a lovely lady want from me?" Asks Damian.
"I want you to join me, and together we become one." Responds the duchess as she throws herself into the duke's arms.
"Katherina, I've always dreamed of finding a girl like you." The duke then kisses her on the mouth.
Their lips meet, their heavy breathing muffled by the isolation of the luxury room. There was a double bed and some other furniture. The duke and the duchess begin to kiss madly, full of passion and warmth. Their hands pass over their bodies, feeling their shapes and their skins.
Katherina's skin was soft and fragrant, "What a taste!" thought Damian as he licked her neck.
"You are a fascinating woman, Katherina." Murmurs Damian, his voice hoarse with desire as they continue their dance of closeness and touches. "You always knew what you wanted, didn't you?"
Katherina smiles, a smile that is both predatory and charming. "And you, Lord Damian, are a man of ambitions and passions. I think we can be a powerful combination."
The two come even closer, the space between them diminishing until it almost disappears. There's a play of glances, a non-verbal communication that only they understand.
Katherina runs her fingers through Damian's hair, pulling him closer. "Let's make history together, Damian. Our names will be remembered, our feats, spoken in whispers of admiration."
Damian responds to her touch, his hands exploring the curves of her body with reverence. He whispers something in her ear, words that are absorbed by the privacy of the room.
The two look at each other. Katherina's dark eyes seemed to read the essence of who Damian Callahad was, what he truly did. The duke had always feared people knowing him, but she was different. "She knows me and it's okay," he thought.
"My duchess, I would like to take you to bed tonight, but I feel it's getting late and I must return to the hotel," says Callahad.
"I understand perfectly, my duke." Katherina observes him, her eyes sinking into her thin face. "I will visit you later, just know, Damian, that I love you." After saying that, the duchess then turns and opens the door. "I just came by quickly to see how you were, now that I have, could you accompany me to the door?"
Katherina rose from the chair with a grace inherent to her nobility, her posture elegant and confident. She moved towards the door.
"Of course," says the duke. "I will await your visits, Katherina. Should I wait for you at the hotel or in Callahad?"
"Maybe both, maybe neither," their gazes pierce Damian, her lips drawing attention. "It's getting late, I would recommend you go back home soon."
"In Callahad?" The duke asks."What other home do you have?" The duchess asks. "A noble's lands are the only home he will have... Everywhere a noble goes, he becomes a target for assassinations and conspiracies. Although this is also true in their own lands, in lands that do not belong to them, the chances are even greater." Katherina quickly kisses the duke's lips. "I would advise you not to listen to that Lord Henrik. He works for the emperor, not for you.""Thank you for your concerns, I should walk with guards," says Damian."I know how to defend myself," Katherina covers her snobbish smile with her hand.With these final words, Katherina Alexandrov, the enigmatic and powerful duchess, leaves the room, disappearing into the palace corridor. Damian stands still for a moment, reflecting on the intense exchange of their words. Then, he gently closes the door, his mind full of thoughts.Moments pass in the room, where Damian was silent with only his sleeping daughter in his lap. The duke was waiting for Mikhail Orlov, the lieutenant of the special forces accompanying him, who had gone to fetch the papers with information about the empire's proposal.He caressed his daughter's head and body. "I like Katherina, she captivates me. But who I really love is you," he thought.
"My lord!" Mikhail exclaimed from the other side of the door. "Permission to enter?""Permission granted. Come in!" said the lord, who then woke his daughter with a kiss on the head."Here it is, my lord," said Mikhail, while handing over the documents. A brown paper envelope. "Everything is ready for us to go now, shall we?" he asked."Yes, let's go. I will analyze this better at the hotel," said the duke. "I don't like this place," he thought.Then Lord Callahad walked through the opulent corridors of the Sarcóvia palace. And these corridors towards the exit carried both music and silence, both fantasy and science, both the only God, Markhal, and the absence of one.At the exit, which was empty, the limousine awaited them. Mikhail and Ivan led the way for the duke and his daughter. His chief of security then opened the door, and the noble placed her first before entering."Lord Damian!" Katherine shouted. "Come here!""Give me a moment, woman! I'm coming," said Damian, who approached while his security entered."There's something I have to tell you that I know, but I'll only tell if you promise not to kill me," she whispered with a little smile on her face.Damian felt there was danger in this woman, but the danger would not fall on him or his daughter. "Is she crazy about me?" the duke wondered. "Duchess, you should be careful. Talking about something like this at the palace door full of guards is dangerous.""I know, but promise me and I'll tell you," said Katherine, who kissed his face without anyone else seeing.Mikhail was in the car. Waiting for the duke to return, he thought, "Doesn't the duke know she's promised to another man? She's a real slut." He looked around, knowing his life hadn't been easy, though always very good. Mikhail Orlov, both as a lieutenant and a man, never regretted anything he did..., But today he regretted.Damian is in shock, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches what is now a fireball of a limousine. The twisted metal, the melted paint, car pieces everywhere."What the fuck was that?!" the lord yelled, running towards the limousine down the stairs. "Sylvie! Sylvie!" "My world is over!" he thought.Damian Callahad then slightly stumbles on something and realizes that Sylvie was clinging to his leg."Daddy? What happened?" asked the little girl, her face and hair illuminated by the high and strong flames of the car."How?" he asked. "How are you alive?!" The duke embraces her in happiness and starts kissing her."They tried to kill us, I can't stay here anymore," the duke thought. "These sons of bitches almost took my daughter from me... They crossed the line."