Fifteen ornate imperial carriages rolled through the grand gates of the Imperial Pace of Ancorna, their dark cquered surfaces gleaming under the morning sun. Each was adorned with intricate golden filigree, bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Sorius Dynasty, a symbol of power that demanded respect from all who id eyes upon it.

  As the carriages came to a halt in the grand courtyard, the imperial guards stood at attention, their polished armor catching the light. A hush fell over the gathered nobles and officials, their gazes fixed on the woman emerging from the first carriage.

  Serena Sorius stepped down gracefully, her raven-bck hair cut neatly at the nape, glistening under the golden hue of the rising sun. Her sharp, discerning features carried an air of quiet authority, and the natural elegance with which she moved only reinforced her formidable presence.

  She was cd in an exquisite off-shoulder gown of midnight blue, its fabric embroidered with delicate silver threads that shimmered subtly as she moved. The fitted bodice accentuated her slender waist, while sheer, gauzy sleeves cascaded down her arms, adding an ethereal contrast to her commanding aura.

  Serena gazed at the towering structure of the Imperial Pace, its familiar white-marble pilrs and gilded rooftops unchanged since her st visit. A flicker of nostalgia crossed her expression, though it quickly vanished beneath her usual composure.

  “Finally home,” she murmured under her breath, her voice ced with the weight of years spent away.

  The moment was swiftly interrupted by the arrival of the Emperor himself.

  “Welcome home, Serena,” Emperor Andrew Sorius greeted, his voice regal yet measured. His piercing gaze nded on her companion—the man who had just stepped out of the carriage behind her.

  Baron Gray Josep.

  Dressed in a finely tailored deep-crimson coat that rivaled even the Emperor’s own ceremonial attire, Baron Gray exuded a level of refinement that few nobles could match. With effortless grace, he pced a hand over his chest and bowed slightly.

  “This humble subject greets His Majesty,” he said smoothly, his words measured and polished.

  The Emperor’s jaw tensed. Though his face remained neutral, a faint twitch of irritation betrayed his thoughts. Baron Gray—his future son-in-w—had always been a thorn in his side, a man too clever for his own good and too ambitious for the Emperor’s liking.

  Still, with diplomatic grace, Emperor Andrew forced a polite smile.

  “Yes, yes… Baron Gray,” he acknowledged, his tone cking enthusiasm.

  Not wanting to linger in conversation any longer than necessary, the Emperor quickly turned on his heel.

  “Let’s get going, shall we?” he announced. “The wedding is in two days, and there is much to be done. We mustn’t waste any more time.”

  With that, he strode forward, his robes billowing behind him, expecting them to follow.

  Serena cast a sidelong gnce at Baron Gray, who simply smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement and affection for Serena. Without another word, the two fell into step behind the Emperor, walking toward the grand halls where destiny awaited them.

  Training Grounds. South Wing, Imperial Pace

  “Did Her Highness Grace truly challenge Prince Benric to a duel?” one young knight muttered.

  murmurs spread like wildfire among the young knights-in-training and the high noble scions gathered at the exclusive training session in the South Wing of the Imperial Pace. The air buzzed with whispers of disbelief and excitement.

  “I heard she did,” another whispered. “But she’s never practiced physical combat before, has she?”

  As the gossip intensified, Grace Sorius strode confidently into the sparring grounds, her poise unshaken by the murmurs surrounding her. Dressed in a tailored deep-blue gown—modified for mobility—she radiated defiance. By her side walked Marie, a composed yet slightly wary presence, her posture upright but her fingers unconsciously tightening around her bow and arrows.

  In the center of the sparring grounds stood Benric Sorius, cd in the Imperial Sparring Uniform—a fitted ensemble of reinforced leather and navy silk, embroidered with the golden crest of the Sorius Dynasty. His expression was one of both amusement and exasperation as he regarded his younger sister.

  “Are you really going through with this, sister?” Benric asked, his tone ced with disbelief. “As far as I know, you’ve never trained in physical combat.”

  Grace smirked, tilting her chin up slightly.

  “Well, of course. Didn’t I send an official announcement for the duel immediately after you so generously invited me to this training session?” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Benric’s brows furrowed. He knew Grace well—too well—and her smirk spelled trouble. The st time they had an argument, he had beaten up her personal knight over a petty squabble about who would keep a small injured bird they had found near the Imperial Academy’s Forest. Ever since then, she had been scheming to get back at him.

  And now, this duel.

  To be fair, he had invited her to this session solely to mock her for her ck of combat proficiency, never expecting her to turn the tables on him.

  Benric sighed, rolling his shoulders. Fine. If she wanted to be humiliated, so be it.

  “Alright then, but don’t come crying when I beat you up!” he taunted, cracking his knuckles. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Grace blinked before letting out an exaggerated scoff.

  “Are you insane? Do you truly think I would step into the ring myself?” she asked incredulously. “Is your brain made of nothing but muscle?”

  Benric blinked, momentarily thrown off.

  “What? But… it was you who—”

  Before he could process her words, Grace dramatically gestured to her side.

  “Here! My champion!” she decred, stepping aside with a flourish. “Lady Marie, the disciple of Aunt Ravenna!”

  At that moment, Marie stepped forward in a fitted, high-colred tunic in a deep, matte bck, made from lightweight yet durable fabric that allows for swift movement. The tunic is accented with sharp silver piping along the seams, giving it a polished, regal look. The colr stands stiff and proud, embroidered with a small, intricate raven emblem at the throat, her normally calm demeanor faltering slightly as she flushed in embarrassment. The gathered audience gasped, their murmurs quickly shifting to excitement and awe.

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