Eldovian Era, Year 1704, 5th day of the 2nd month

The ducal office was beautifully decorated and maintained. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the most elegant city in the Empire and the green lands beyond in sprawling magnificence. The young man who stood before one of these windows and appreciated what lay beyond the glass wondered once again why this hadn’t been the place his ancestors had chosen as the Imperial Capital.

He understood the statement of making a new and vast city in a land that had become so reliant on long-established ones, but here in Fountain Ridge there was a far better climate. The Imperial Capital, where he lived, often became an extension of the Singing Sands Desert to its north-west in the drier months.

Hearing approaching voices in the hall outside, the young man turned from the window and waved away his life-long servant and bodyguard who offered him refreshments. The young man took several steps to the lounge setting and sat regally upon the couch that faced the remainder of the large office. He placed his hands on his lap with a practised elegance that would have made his etiquette teacher jump for joy. His eyes fluttered closed as his head dipped ever so slightly, enough to be imperceptible to most who observed him. It was a habit long practised and lectured into him.

“You are above them, above them all. You should never look up to talk to another.”

Above all except his father, though that would change soon enough too. Time was an enemy to all, and it was exactly why he sat here and not in his official office back in the Capital.

The doors to the ducal office were thrown open in a flurry, thoroughly disturbing the peaceful silence.

“I don’t care about the damn pelts he’s brought from the south, Ludwig, just pack it away and—‍”

The old Duke paused in his tirade and froze upon realising that his office was not as empty as he had expected. He glanced briefly from the man’s face to the Imperial Ring on his finger, hesitating only because it had been so long since they last saw each other.

The Duke dropped to his knees and leaned forward to kowtow, “Your Imperial Highness, I apologise profusely that nobody has greeted you—‍”

“Do skip the formalities, Cornelius, I would have sent a messenger ahead weeks ago if I intended for this visit to be made public,” stated the young man from his seat. He raised a hand ever so slightly and made a small shooing motion without opening his eyes.

The servant behind him directed the Duke’s man out of the office, closing the door to seal Cornelius and the Imperial Prince of the Eldovian Empire inside alone.

“May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of your visit then, Highness?”

The Duke rose slowly to his knees, but dared not go so far as to stand without permission.

The Prince’s eyes finally flickered open. He decided not to comment on the Duke’s disrespect in rising without permission. The Prince had far more pressing matters to concern him, “I am mere months away from becoming Emperor, but more and more of my advisors, and my father’s advisors, are beginning to question why none of our bloodline are producing heirs. Do you understand how unstable my throne is now that they have questioned my entire family’s virility, Cornelius?”

“I am aware, Highness,” stated the Duke, his head lowering further in deference.

The Prince stared back, “We have spent over a decade trying to find a solution to the problem you are responsible for letting happen, and nothing has come of it. Not even the emissary from the Holy Empire seems to have a solution for dealing with an Elven Curse.”

The Prince paused for a moment, his anger not showing in his expression, but clearly being conveyed with his young eyes, “If no solution is found, the Eldovian Dynasty our family has ruled for seventeen hundred years will begin to fall in less than two decades.”

“I understand, my Prince,” Cornelius conceded, “but the words of the curse are clear, ‘No child shall ever be born to those who knowingly associate with the name Kildare’.”

The Prince gritted his teeth before he spoke, “I know the words of the curse, Cornelius, they have followed me all of my life as the youngest Kildare currently living … that we know of.”

Cornelius looked up, “That we know of, Highness?”

The Prince sneered, as if the arrogant old man didn’t know.

“I know how you feel about mixing with the common folk and spreading the family’s noble seed. However, one of your sons did not share your beliefs. Whether or not he acknowledges it, your blood, the Imperial Blood, flows in his veins,” stated the Prince.

Cornelius frowned, “Are you asking me to forgive his betrayal?”

The Prince leaned forward towards Cornelius, “I’m asking you to look past your hurt feelings and realise that we are a dying bloodline without the only member of our family who doesn’t claim association with our name.”

Cornelius’s eyes widened as the same epiphany occurred within his own mind. Could his third son, the one who had defied him nearly all his to marry a commoner, really be the answer to their problem?

The Prince straightened, then stood to deliver his orders.

“Find him, Cornelius, but do not make him aware of it. If we can manipulate the situation so that he may produce heirs for us, at least some of his sons can become mine and our Dynasty can be secured despite that elf’s meddling.”

The Prince made his way to the servant’s passage he had entered from. His servant opened the door at his brisk, singular knock. He paused, “Time to put the past behind you, Cornelius, our future is at stake.”

The Prince stepped into the passage and left as if he were never there.

Cornelius Kildare stood and weighed the Prince’s words for a moment before calling out to the door, “Ludwig! Summon Raymond Shadowsmith!”

Only the best could be trusted with this mission. Raymond was without a doubt one of the best assets Cornelius had.