Daniel

“Break her engagement?” Ethan said, bewildered. “Why would you want to break her engagement? It’s no secret that Dathan is a broken, incompetent asshat, but why would you want to get the Princess out of her engagement?”

Daniel tried to remain calm. "I have no idea where that came from. I thought it was from you?"

Ethan sounded distraught. “Focus on the situation. We will talk about this later.”

Daniel took a quick breath.

The glove lay at Dathan’s feet like a broken commandment. He sat there, lip bleeding from Daniel’s punch, rage barely held together by ceremony. The crowd pulsed with whispers now—no longer private. Everything was recorded. Everything would be replayed.

House Leren’s senior envoy—a thick-necked man with more rings than sense—shoved through the edge of the gathering.

“This is a breach of ritual!” he snapped. “Physical aggression before formal acceptance? You insult two Houses—three if you count the throne!”

Daniel didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what he could say that wouldn’t make it worse. He had reacted.

“I demand censure!” he shouted. “A full apology and punitive atonement. This is no longer a private matter—this man should be stripped of his station and beaten before the Empress’s court—”

“Excuse me, Envoy.”

General Li Zhenhua stepped forward, and the crowd moved with instinctive deference. He didn’t glare. He didn’t shout. But the way he said those three words hit harder than any slap across the face.

“Do you care to repeat what you just said?”

The envoy froze.

A thousand years of military tradition bristled behind the General’s shoulders. His robes barely shifted, but the air around him did—condensing with the weight of his authority and his mana. The kind of authority that came not from rank, but from a career of ending wars.

“You would call for my son-in-law—an acknowledged member of House Li—to be publicly stripped and beaten? In this court?”

His tone didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened with each word.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

The envoy paled visibly.

“I—he breached—”

“He accepted a challenge. He responded with discipline. You want ceremony? We’ll give you ceremony.”

He looked straight at Daniel.

“Ethan. My son-in-law.”

Daniel straightened reflexively, calm as ever. “Yes, my lord?”

“Did you know,” the General asked, his tone cool and deliberate, “that it is a breach of Imperial tradition to strike a duel challenger with anything other than the ceremonial glove before formal acceptance?”

Daniel hesitated. Hell no he didn't know that. Ahh to hell with it. “Yes, my lord.”

A pause.

“And why,” Zhenhua asked, “did you breach that tradition?”

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Daniel didn’t look away.

“Because he insulted my wife. And the Princess. And I couldn’t stand for that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Also… his face was very punchable.”

There was a pause—just long enough to make the crowd hold its breath.

Zhenhua blinked once.

People were trying really hard not to laugh.

“I see you were upholding the honor of our house and the Princess. Still, you broke tradition. What do you intend to do about that?”

Daniel considered it. He bowed to the General.

“I’ll send him an apology letter later.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Zhenhua nodded. “Good enough.”

Nathan snorted. Then broke into open laughter. Gavin followed, more quietly, arms crossed with visible amusement. Even Lucas’s mouth twitched—just enough to be noticed. The ripple passed through the Li contingent and out into the crowd, infecting the atmosphere like well-contained wildfire.

The Leren household sputtered with protest, but no one interrupted the General.

“Now for the duel. The glove thrown. The blow was struck. The contract now lives in ritual space. You want justice?” Zhenhua said, folding his hands behind his back. “Then let it be witnessed properly.”

He turned to face the dais without raising his voice.

“Let the duel be sanctioned by Empire. Set before the Pillars. Three moons hence—at the opening of the Imperial Martial Tournament.”

His words didn’t fall, they landed like stone—heavy and binding.

Daniel glanced around.

Lucas’s eyes had narrowed. Gavin looked ready to snap a halberd over his knee. Nathan’s mana was leaking again—he radiated hostility like a bonfire dared to go out.

Daniel just stood there. Numb.

Then, another sound.

Subtle, a single, controlled exhale that quieted the room more than a shout.

The Empress had risen. And the world held its breath.

She moved like a celestial body altering orbit.

The crowd parted before her as though pushed by something older than fear. In their conversations leading up to this gala, Ethan had always described her as clinical, unshakable.

But in person?

She was terrifying and stupid hot.

Because she made no effort at all.

Her silver and storm-gray robes swayed with perfect balance. Her diadem—shimmering with faint celestial alloy—caught light without casting a shadow.

She stopped before Dathan, who stood with spine straight and teeth clenched.

The Empress lifted one hand—just two fingers. She pressed them to the center of his forehead. Daniel felt the air fold. Not pulse. Fold.

A binding sigil flared to life. Burned gold for a single moment—then vanished beneath Dathan’s skin.

He swayed slightly. Did not speak.

The Empress turned. Her eyes met Daniel’s.

And the world tilted. Her gaze wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cruel. It was deliberate.

Like she was deciding what kind of equation he was.

Then she stepped forward, just once, and touched his cheek.

Two fingers. Light pressure.

Heat bloomed under his skin—not pain. Not even power. Just presence.

A glyph burned at his temple—impossibly fast—then vanished.

It didn’t hurt.

But it changed him.

He felt the magic settle into his body like gravity finding a new anchor but still unsealed. Before he knew what was happening, the Empress kissed Daniel on the spot she touched. Magic lit up the air like a bonfire. A seal settled in place; Daniel could feel it.

The Empress pulled back and spoke, giving Daniel a smile that made him want to swear loyalty right there, her voice steady and final.

“Let the duel be marked. Contract sealed under Imperial sanction. Three moons hence. In front of all houses. Under banners and oath. No further insults will be tolerated. No escalation permitted.”

She turned again, now to the crowd.

“Let this conflict burn its flame. Let the Empire bear witness.”

The silence afterward was ritual.

And then the aftershocks came.

Sophie’s veil shifted slightly. Her hands folded in front of her, but Daniel could feel the tension in her mana. It prickled like frost across a fireline.

Shen Minhua’s expression had frozen. The amused tilt of her mouth had vanished. She stepped back—just half a pace—but her eyes had darkened.

Lucas moved closer, placing himself slightly in front of Daniel without a word.

Nathan leaned toward him and whispered, “You just got kissed by the Empress.”

Gavin grunted. “Marked, you idiot.”

Nathan smirked. “You saw what she did. That wasn’t just protocol.”

Daniel’s brain was catching up. The Empress touched him.

Ethan’s voice piped up again. “Well. That’s one way to put a crown on your head.”

Shut. Up.

“You felt it, didn’t you? That mana? It wasn’t just a mark. That was—”

—An anchor. A memory. A brand.

Daniel exhaled slowly. The sigil beneath his skin still glowed faintly. He didn’t know what kind of magic she had used, only that everyone in the room had seen it.

And they would remember.

Back near the dais, the Empress nodded once.

Her attendants stepped forward, retrieving ceremonial scrolls and dispersing the pressure glyphs that had activated during the ritual. She did not look back at Daniel or Dathan.

Her work was done.

She returned to her throne without a single glance behind her.

But Daniel knew.

The game had changed.

This wasn’t just a duel anymore.

It was a message.

And his name was now inked into the next three months of Imperial spectacle, whether he wanted it or not.