Ascension Of The Villain

It was the day before Althea's coronation ceremony.

The scent of lavender and sandalwood lingered in the air as wisps of steam curled along the marbled floor of the dressing chamber. Vyan stood still, fresh out of a hot bath, his bare skin still flushed from the recent soak and the strain of sword training earlier that morning.

He rolled his shoulders slightly, the dull ache of muscle and steel still thrumming under his skin.

His sparring partner today had been Iyana. Naturally. It was the weekend, and that meant she was home—albeit reluctantly letting herself rest in a place that had quietly become her haven. Their swords had clashed under the morning sun, her strikes swift and brutal, his counters laced with fire and laughter. Yes, she allowed him to use magic. It had been a good morning.

Now, the hush of routine filled the room.

A male servant carefully fastened the silver buttons on Vyan's embroidered vest, smoothing the fabric with practiced ease. Another adjusted the folds of his cloak.

Truth be told, it took him a long time to get used to this sort of service. But here he was now. He still got ready on his own most of the time, nowadays mostly using magic, but sometimes, he let them assist—especially on occasions like today.

"Master," Benedict said as he entered, a subtle bow accompanying his words, "there's something you should know."

Vyan lifted his gaze to the mirror. "Go on."

"A few individuals attempted to bribe some of the kitchen staff. They were looking to buy proof, anything at all, that might suggest… you're capable of magic."

Vyan didn't react much. He rather studied his reflection in the tall mirror before him.

Of course they attempted such a futile move.

And of course nothing had come of it. The servants had said nothing. Not a whisper. Not a hint. They'd looked the fool in the eye and pretended their master was as magically mundane as fresh bread.

After all, everyone who served in Ashstone—be they knight, servant, steward, or the vassals—had taken the Sacred Oath. And no one broke the Sacred Oath. Not when the punishment was enough to turn blood cold and bones brittle. Not when the reward for loyalty was so much more than just coins.

Vyan wasn't a cruel master. He didn't bark orders and rule with fear. He remembered their names. Greeted them back with respect. Placed an order to Benedict to always give them off on their birthdays along with a bonus. Sick leaves were allowed. Their families were financially supported.

He was generous with incentives. Fair with punishments. He knew—he knew—that loyalty couldn't be demanded. It had to be earned. And he'd never had to raise his voice to inspire it. He was never a villain with them; it was a different story with the capital people.

So no, he wasn't surprised they didn't sell him out. Even without the Sacred Oath binding them, his people wouldn't have.

A soft chime glowed at the corner of the room—a crystalline shimmer that pulsed once, then again. One of the male attendants paused, glancing toward the shelf where a sleek communication artifact was beginning to glow. He didn't hesitate. With a respectful bow, he gestured for one of the nearby maids.

"Bring the artifact to the Master," he said.

The maid returned swiftly, cradling the artifact as one would a fragile creature. Vyan took it without a word, fingers brushing the smooth surface until the message folded open—a silent flutter of magic revealing a small, handwritten note inside.

A quick sweep of his thumb over its surface revealed Clyde's message. Vyan's eyes narrowed slightly as he read.

"Several attempts on Althea's life have already taken place.

Two of the servants tasked with poison-testing her food are dead.

She is safe. Don't worry. Everything will go as you planned."

Vyan exhaled through his nose, eyes shadowed with an emotion too complex to be just anger. "I figured as much," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

There was no shock. Just a bitter acknowledgment of something he'd already predicted. Good thing he had sent Clyde to protect Althea. Knights were good and all, but a skilled mage was better.

Gently, he handed the artifact back to the maid, who bowed and returned it to its original resting place.

Vyan slipped into his coat, the pastel green fabric catching the soft morning light that filtered through the high windows. He didn't put on the earring he normally wore on his grand duke duties, he wore one that Iyana had gifted—it was pretty and suited it.

The silver accents at his collar glinted faintly as one of the servants attached the jeweled brooches, white gold lapel pin, and diamond cufflinks before finally handing him the final accessory—his pocket watch. He clasped it with fluid familiarity.

"You look perfect for the occasion, Master," Benedict remarked, standing a respectful distance away, his tone both approving and proud.

Vyan glanced into the mirror, adjusting the folds of his collar with one hand as a small smile tugged at his lips. "Thank you," he replied softly, eyes still fixed on his reflection. "I was hoping so." He studied himself one last time before tilting his head slightly. "Did Iyana have her breakfast today?"

Benedict's hesitation was brief—barely a pause, but it was enough. "She did," he said, "but not much. She barely took a few bites."

Vyan's smile dimmed, not from surprise, but from the familiar weight of worry that nestled in his chest like an old companion.

Of course she hadn't eaten.

She'd been doing that lately—slipping away from the table early, pushing food around on her plate with no real intent to eat, brushing off concerned glances with tight smiles and dismissive waves.

For the past several days, Iyana had been quietly at war with her own appetite. She would order the servants to tell Vyan that she'd eaten—knowing he didn't wake up as early as her and wouldn't see for himself. But the problem with lying in the Ashstone Estate was simple: you couldn't.

Not under the Sacred Oath.

The servants couldn't lie to their master, not even to protect someone he loved. And even if they could—Vyan would've known anyway. He was observant to a fault when it came to her.

He sighed softly, brushing his fingers back through his damp hair and drying it up in the process with magic. "In that case," he murmured, voice laced with a confident smile, "I'll make sure she eats her lunch properly."

Benedict nodded in acknowledgment, knowing that their future mistress wouldn't be able to resist their master's charms.

"Are all the other preparations done?"

Benedict nodded. "Yes, everything is ready."

A grin spread across his face. "Perfect."