A FORCED PROMISE
Everyone turned around—and were met with a sight none of them could have anticipated.
Their gazes darted among one another in disbelief before shifting back to him.
"What are you doing here, God of Darkness?" the Goddess of Water demanded. At the subtle flick of her fingers, the elderly man beside her lifted the child into his arms.
"I told you—I will protect her," said the man cloaked entirely in black, his imposing figure barely concealed beneath the thick black fabric hooded down, hiding his eyes. His voice was low and icy, more a wolf's growl than speech.
"We don't recall inviting you—" the Water Goddess began, her tone sharp with scorn. But before she could finish, the old man interrupted.
"Ho ho ho... What a pleasure it is to meet you after such a long time," he said with a broad, unfazed smile, approaching slowly with the child nestled against his chest.
His eyes briefly swept down to the infant, wrapped delicately in a white shawl, whose tiny limbs shifted in soft, subtle motions.
"We are grateful that you've offered to lend a hand," the old man continued warmly. But the God of Darkness didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the child.
"I will protect her," he repeated, in that same gravelly tone that reverberated through the clearing.
The Water Goddess stepped forward, her brows furrowed in agitation. "I said no one invited you," she spat coldly.
The Air Goddess scratched her chin thoughtfully. "Um… well, the last time you blessed a king, he almost destroyed the world. So… I don't really think it's a good idea to give her to him."
The Water Goddess added sharply, "Besides, you were banned from this realm. What gives you the right to return now?" She swept her arm, pulling water from the nearby river, making it twist and whirl mid-air.
"Enough!" the old man said, sweeping his eyes across the assembly. The command in his voice made the Water Goddess falter and retract her water with an irritated snap.
"There's no point in squabbling like cats and dogs! If he wants to help us, we should be grateful. And anyway, that incident happened ages ago," he reasoned, voice steady with authority.
"Incident?" the Water Goddess snarled. "You call that an incident? Do you even remember how many of my people were slaughtered because of him? You think I'll ever forgive him for that?"
"Let the past remain in the past," the Fire God muttered from where he sat, arms crossed, eyes closed. "If he wants to help, so be it. We can always check in on her from time to time."
"He's right," the old man nodded, extending the newborn toward the dark figure. "Please take care of her, Lord Nyxarion."
Nyxarion stepped forward and gently accepted the child, his gaze sweeping slowly over each of them. Some looked uneasy—others, like the old man and Fire God, remained calm.
Then, in a swirl of shadows and wind, Nyxarion's form dissolved into a tornado of darkness, vanishing from sight.
"You shouldn't have done that… More than any of us, you know how dangerous this could be," the Water Goddess snapped, her fury rippling through the river beside them.
"It was the will of the Mother Tree," the old man said, stroking his beard, his eyes fixed on the void left behind. "The moment she was freed from the curse and he was able to enter this realm… the decision was already made."
The Water Goddess groaned, her frustration audible as, one by one, the other deities vanished into thin air.
~__________~
The Next Day
The royal palace stood like a towering monument—its structure resembling an immense tree rooted in the heart of an endless field of grass.
Its pristine white walls shimmered under the sunlight, starkly contrasting the vibrant greenery surrounding it.
The grand gates—massive and ornate—creaked open on their own as the Earth Scions moved in perfect synchrony, responding to an unseen rhythm.
The carriage driver called out, guiding the elegant vehicle forward through a path adorned with blooming flowers of every hue.
As the carriage rolled to a halt, the royal servants stationed by the gate moved in unison, their every step polished and precise.
Edward stepped down first, adjusting his long overcoat. He offered a gloved hand into the carriage with effortless grace.
With gentle care, Bethany stepped out, dressed in flowing white, cradling the newborn swaddled in a golden shawl—still sound asleep.
The servants bowed in unison, their heads low. Standing in the center was a young boy, barely five years old.
Clad in a robe of red and gold that glimmered even beneath the shaded sky, his golden hair fell like silken threads across his forehead. His posture was perfect—one hand on his chest, the other clasped behind his back.
"Greetings, Lord Ashford," the boy said with practiced politeness, his voice clear and confident.
Edward and Bethany bowed slightly in return, their hands over their hearts. "Greetings, Crown Prince William De'Anthony," they said in unison, smiling softly.
William's face lit up. "You really don't have to be so formal with me. I've told you so many times—just call me by my first name!" he said with a youthful grin.
Excited, he hopped down the stairs one step at a time while the servants held their collective breath, only relaxing when he landed safely on the ground.
"Can… can I see her?" he asked, puffing his cheeks in a pout, fingers fidgeting as he looked up at them hopefully.
"Please forgive me, Crown Prince," Edward replied gently, "but my daughter is only a day old. Exposure to foreign mana, any external energy, could be dangerous for her right now."
He bowed his head slightly. "So I must decline your request"
William's expression fell, his shoulders drooping.
Bethany inhaled deeply. "His father is just overprotective," she said softly, ruffling the prince's hair. "I'm sure you understand. His Majesty would do the same if it were you."
"I… I see. I'm sorry I troubled you both," William said quietly, stepping back.
The grand marble staircase stretched ahead, wrapped in a plush red carpet that shimmered like silk. The servants moved with flawless precision. Some gently guided the disappointed crown prince away, while another figure walked down from the staircase, bowing to the Ashfords.
A man in his 40s dressed impeccably in a black-and-white suit, with his slicked-back hair and a single monocle on his right eye, the man radiated elegance. He was Deltan, the Emperor's personal aide and head butler.
"Crown Prince William waited over half an hour just to catch a glimpse of the young princess," Deltan stated coolly as he guided them inside the palace.
"I meant no disrespect," Edward replied, calm yet unwavering. "But as I said—my daughter is not yet ready to meet others."
For a fleeting moment, the air grew colder.
Deltan paused. As he turned back, the golden rim of his monocle glinted beneath the chandelier's glow. His eyes, normally serene, briefly flickered with an icy sharpness before his courteous demeanor returned.
"I understand," he said with a nod. "I will explain it to His Majesty."
But the unspoken warning behind his words was loud and clear.
The mention of the Emperor reminded them both of who truly ruled the Empire
It was a brutal game of power, so common now it was whispered throughout the Empire… though any who spoke too loudly were often silenced—permanently.
Bethany gently placed a hand on Edward's arm, and the tension in his frame eased.
"Please do so," Edward said, voice firm. He swung his overcoat aside, revealing the emblem stitched into it—a golden sword embedded in a stone.
Deltan's gaze flickered to the symbol, his eyes narrowing briefly before he turned on his heel and began to lead them inside.
"Please rest assured, Lord Ashford," he said, walking ahead with effortless grace.
The red carpet stretched endlessly as they walked, the echo of their steps swallowed by the grandeur of the palace walls.
Deltan stepped aside and bowed low, signaling their arrival.
At the far end of the throne hall, beneath an arched dome of celestial engravings and stained glass, sat a man cloaked in indomitable authority.
The throne itself gleamed—a seat of power sculpted from gold, encrusted with diamonds, pearls, and rare Tara gemstones, said to exist nowhere else in the world.
The figure on the throne wore a regal overcoat of deep gold, its embroidery of Eed Rose twined in red vines. Two swords crossed in the center of his chest, their design woven into his garments like a royal decree.
A crown, forged from the Empire's core treasures, rested firmly on his head. It wasn't just a crown—it was a proclamation of dominance.
He sat with his head tilted slightly downward, eyes hidden beneath darkness, scanning the bowed figures of Edward and Bethany.
His gaze lifted, cold and calculated. Golden irises stared out, void of warmth—illuminated only by the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.
"I heard," Emperor Alexander De'Anthony said, voice heavy with disdain, "your daughter was born… useless."
His words fell like daggers.
Edward's fist clenched tightly at his side—a reaction the Emperor didn't miss.
With a lazy flick of his hand, Alexander signaled them to rise.
Bethany instinctively drew the baby closer to her chest, her expression contorting—as though she had swallowed something bitter.
"She is not useless," she bit out, each syllable laced with unfiltered fury. "Not as long as she bears the name Von Ashford."
Edward gently touched her arm, shaking his head in caution.
The Emperor smiled—but it was a cruel, hollow thing. His lips curved, yet his eyes remained untouched.
"If you want my support," Alexander said, his voice now sharp as a blade, "you'll have to make a promise."
His eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction as the words left his mouth.
"When your daughter turns five… you will announce her engagement with the crown prince William De'Anthony."
His voice echoed through the hall like a decree from the heavens.
A forced silence swallowed the room.
Everyone knew the Ashford Duchy stood second only to the throne in power—commanding fear, loyalty, and unmatched influence throughout the Empire.
Whispers of the longstanding enmity between the royal family and the Ashfords thrived behind closed doors. The Emperor had tried every possible means to suppress their influence, but each attempt crumbled beneath Edward's unrivaled strategy and Bethany's unmatched strength.
And now, unable to dominate them… he had chosen to bind them.