Outside the gates of the Vane mansion stood a large, ornate carriage bearing the emblem of a coiled snake along its side, the unmistakable crest of the house of Thornwall.

Beside it, a single horse stood still while a man dressed in a blue robe and a tall black hat dismounted from the driver’s seat in a single practiced leap.

He moved with purpose toward the gates, where the Vane family butler had already arrived to receive him.

Two maids lingered at the entrance of the mansion, pressed close to the frame, nervous looks etched plainly across their faces.

"Good morning to you, sir. To what do we owe this visit?" the butler asked, his expression composed and unhurried.

"My master, Lord Victor Gremont, would like to have a word with the owner of this house," the soldier replied.

The butler gave a measured nod.

"Please give me a moment to fetch her."

However, before he could turn away, a voice cut through from within the carriage.

"What was that?"

The carriage door swung open with force, and a single foot struck the ground before the rest of the figure followed.

By the time the man had fully stepped out and straightened himself, every member of the Vane household present had gone very still.

There, standing beside the soldier, was the son and heir of Thornwall County, Victor Gremont himself.

He was nothing like the rumors that had circulated about him, the ones that painted him as some indolent noble boy grown fat off his father’s wealth, too pampered to step beyond his own estate walls.

He was tall, with long blond hair tied back in a neat ponytail, dressed in a sharp blue attire that complemented his pale blue eyes with almost deliberate elegance.

The kind of man one might mistake for royalty at a glance.

He looked toward the butler, and the cold weight of that gaze alone was enough to send both maids retreating back inside the mansion.

The butler, however, did not so much as flinch.

"Is there a problem, Lord Victor?" he asked, his tone unchanged.

Victor let out a slow, audible exhale, as though the very act of being present was testing his patience.

"You are well aware of who I am, so I need not introduce myself. And yet you have the audacity to keep me waiting outside simply to go and fetch a woman?"

"I cannot permit anyone entry without first obtaining permission from the lady of the house—"

"Don’t push your luck with me."

Victor stepped forward in an instant.

His hand shot out, grabbed the butler by the collar, and dragged him forward until his face met the iron of the gate with a sharp, ringing thud.

"Listen closely. I have had quite enough of this household. I did not want to come here to begin with, and I would not have, if not for my father making it necessary."

The butler said nothing.

"You lowly scum should be grateful I showed my face here at all. Once this land is mine, you will be the first to answer for how you have treated me today."

Then, a woman’s voice rang out from the direction of the mansion.

"Victor. How may I help you?"

Victor released the butler and turned.

Emilya was walking toward the gate, unhurried and composed, with Adrian at her side.

His expression was harder than usual, something coiled beneath the surface of it.

Liora followed a half step behind them both.

"Ah, there she is," Victor said, dusting off his hands with casual indifference.

"I have been waiting for you."

"Have you?" Emilya replied without missing a beat. "Your words ring hollow, given that you were just manhandling my staff."

"You need not concern yourself with a servant. What you should be asking is why I am still standing on this side of your gate. Invite me in."

Emilya reached the gate and held her ground, close enough now to see every detail of the smug expression Victor wore.

It turned her stomach.

"I am afraid I cannot do that."

"Excuse me?"

"Anyone who raises their hand against my workers has no right to step inside this house." Her voice carried no waver.

"That is not a point I am willing to negotiate."

Victor’s expression shifted, though not toward anger.

Instead, a slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face as he leaned back slightly.

"My, my. The rumors were wrong about you as well. I had half expected to find you broken with grief after losing your husband. And yet here you are, still sharp enough to argue with me."

Emilya’s composure cracked, just slightly. The words had found their mark, and both of them knew it.

After all, the death of her husband was not something she has gotten over.

"You have said a great deal since arriving," Adrian said, his voice cutting through the moment with calm precision, "and not one word of it has explained why you are here. If you feel the need to verbally assault a grieving woman before making your purpose known, then perhaps your purpose is not worth hearing."

Victor’s eyes moved to him slowly.

The child that dares to speak.

He stepped to the side, positioning himself directly in front of Adrian, looking down at him with the sort of expression reserved for things one considers beneath serious attention.

"So this is who is meant to rule this land." A short, dismissive laugh escaped him.

"The duke would find this genuinely amusing. But rules are rules, I suppose."

He gestured broadly.

"The duke has made his preferences clear. He would rather see this territory change hands through a proper contest than simply allow it to be absorbed by force. I do not particularly care for the method, but I will not object to it either."

He folded his arms.

"The terms are straightforward. Should I defeat you in a Dai Jo, I claim the right to take this land however I see fit. Should you manage to win, the same right extends to you over my territory. Free and fair, as they say."

"This is an outrage," the butler said sharply from where he stood, still braced against the gate. "You are challenging a child to a Dai Jo. Have you no sense of honor, Lord Victor?"

Victor’s eyes cut toward him.

"If he is old enough to rule, he is old enough to compete."

Liora had noticed the brief flicker of uncertainty in her lord’s expression the moment the term was spoken.

She leaned forward quietly and brought her voice close to his ear.

"My lord, a Dai Jo is a formal duel between nobles fought for the right to claim something. Whoever loses is considered disgraced until they recover their standing. I do not know all of the details, but I believe you are permitted to name a champion in your place, should you choose."

Adrian gave a faint sound of acknowledgment.

He turned it over quickly.

Victor almost certainly knew the county had no capable fighters to offer, which meant he was expecting Adrian to either humiliate himself by stepping forward personally or be forced to concede by default.

A calculated move, dressed up as fairness.

Adrian exhaled slowly.

"I accept."

The butler went rigid. "My lord—"

Emilya remained composed, her expression unreadable, as though she had long since decided she would trust whatever choice her son made.

Liora had expected a refusal, and the answer caught her off guard.

Victor, on the other hand, looked precisely as satisfied as a man who had already won.

"Excellent. We shall meet at the plaza in my county. Come prepared, and come at your best." He turned and began walking back toward his carriage, unhurried and entirely unconcerned.

He paused once before climbing in, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Do try not to get yourself killed. It would be a shame for your mother to have to bury someone else so soon."

...

[A\N]: I hope you enjoyed this Chapter.