The City of Serathis, Empire Erengrad’s Capital
The news of the Black Covenant’s failure reached Dietrich at the same time the Borgia envoy rode through the gates of the imperial capital. The timing couldn’t have been worse for him. As he paced in his chambers, furious over the silence from the assassins he had paid dearly to hire, the city below was alive with chatter about the arrival of the very people he wished destroyed.
The envoy made an imposing sight. Thirty Borgia knights rode at the front; their presence was truly a magnificent sight, with their warhorses four times larger than the usual horse. The Grand Duke themselves led them, seated tall in their saddle, wrapped in full armor that caught the sunlight and made them seem untouchable.
Between the Borgia Knights rolled a white carriage, its frame polished and its windows veiled, with a bright gold Borgia crest on the door. Whispers ran wild through the crowd; everyone knew that within sat the Grand Duchess, whose beauty was said to rival the dawn. Guarding her are the knights of Wyndham, fifty strong, their disciplined ranks marching in perfect step with the Borgia escort. Together, the two banners—Borgia and Wyndham—fluttered high above.
Curiosity filled the streets. Citizens crowded every corner, craning their necks, eager for a glimpse of the infamous Grand Duke. For years they had heard stories of the grand duke, the one who commanded the Northern borders and held back the endless tide of monsters that threatened the empire.
The one people are rumoring about their hideous looks or scary face, but also the rumor from the villages calling them beautiful beyond belief. The people whispered now as the envoy passed, their hushed voices carried by the breeze.
"It can’t be true. There’s no way the Grand Duke is handsome," one man muttered, his eyes wide as he leaned close to his neighbor.
"Then how do you explain it?" came the reply. "How else would the Grand Duchess—our most beautiful omega—ever agree to marry him?"
Before the man could finish, he let out a sharp gasp and crumpled to the cobblestones, asleep before his body hit the ground. His neighbors recoiled in shock, unsure of what had happened.
From her horse near the rear flank, Mara smirked knowingly. She had seen the dart fly. In front of her, Marvessa calmly lowered her hand, slipping another tiny weapon back into its place at her belt. Her expression was sharp, her golden eyes narrowed in annoyance.
She had heard every insult, every slight whispered about her Grand Duchess, and she had no intention of letting them go unanswered. To Marvessa, silence was better than lies, and a few drops of sleeping draught delivered that silence perfectly well.
Another murmur rose from the crowd, sharper this time, questioning the Borgia bloodline. Another dart flew. Another body slumped gently to the ground, snoring before their head even hit the stone.
Mara chuckled under her breath, shaking her head in amusement. "You’re going to run out of darts at this rate," she whispered, leaning closer so only Marvessa could hear.
"I can always make a new one," Marvessa replied bluntly, her voice carrying the weight of both irritation and pride. She turned her face forward again, her gaze locking on the white carriage as though daring anyone else to insult its passenger.
To the people watching, it seemed like witchcraft, like some hidden curse carried by the Borgia knights. Each time their whispers turned sour, the guilty simply collapsed where they stood, leaving the rest of the crowd to watch in uneasy silence. Mothers pulled their children back, shopkeepers closed their shutters, and farmers lowered their eyes.
The envoy moved forward without breaking pace. Their rhythm is steady, the Borgia knights kept their cold stares fixed ahead, unbothered by the gossip, unshaken by the fear. To them, there’s nothing new with the people’s reactions. Wherever their banners flew, whispers followed, and wherever they marched, the people of the empire couldn’t really accept their mixed blood, even when they needed their protection against the monsters.
By the time the envoy turned deeper into the capital, the streets had grown silent. Only the sound of hooves striking stone remained, echoing between the tall walls of the city.
Closer to the palace, the royal knights saw the banner of Borgia and quickly opened the gates. Their knees buckled under the weight of Roxanne’s alpha dominance as she rode past, her presence pressing down on them like an unseen force.
"Summon Liselotte!" Dietrich said as he heard about the news.
His blood boiled in rage; he still couldn’t believe what he heard. He truly thought that the Black Covenant would give him a different result than his own shadow knights. And now he has to greet the Grand Duke, the head of the principality, his own cousin, the better alpha than he is.
Liselotte looks beautiful in her new green dress, the same color as the one Dietrich uses. Her beauty made Dietrich stop for a while, admiring it, caught him off guard, and actually softened his face. "We have to greet the grand duke." He said coldly, and Liselotte just nodded.
They stood at the main palace gate, staring at the envoy, which grew closer. He can see Roxanne riding her massive horse; it has been twelve years since he saw her directly. Her armor was forged in deep black, every plate jagged and layered like the scales of some ancient beast.
The surface caught the crimson light of the setting sun, turning her into a silhouette wrapped in fire. A long mane of dark hair spilled out from beneath her helm, swept up by the hot wind, dancing like living flame around her shoulders. Original content can be found at novel✶fire.net
The helm itself was sharp and horned, its design both elegant and cruel, hiding her face but amplifying her presence. Behind her, the red banners of Borgia snapped in the wind, but even they seemed dim compared to the aura she carried.
"You look like you want to go to war," Dietrich said, trying to hold his ground against Roxanne’s overwhelming dominance, one she did not bother to conceal.
"Am I not?" Roxanne replied, her voice sharp as steel. She removed her helmet, and the sight of her face made the nobles gathered around the emperor gasp. Her beauty is fierce, intoxicating, and dangerously alluring, the kind that promises both desire and destruction.
"I truly hope you had a pleasant journey to the capital," Dietrich said with a grin, his teeth gritted as he fought to withstand Roxanne’s alpha presence.
"Oh, it was amazing." Roxanne smiled with a predator’s ease, then strode to the carriage and pulled open the door.
From within emerged Vivianne. If Roxanne is fire and steel, Vivianne is light and air. Her platinum hair spilled like liquid moonlight over her shoulders, catching the sunlight with every step. Her eyes, a delicate shade of light purple, glowed softly, like twilight skies fading into dawn.
There’s no sharpness in her beauty, no intimidation, only an ethereal grace that made the air seem gentler around her. Draped in white and adorned with gold, she looked less like a grand duchess and more like a vision from the divine, her radiance calming even as Roxanne’s presence unsettled.
The nobles, still shaken by Roxanne’s fierce allure, now stared in awe at Vivianne’s quiet magnificence. Together, the two women embodied opposing forces, war and peace, and fire and light; they commanded absolute reverence. Seeing Vivianne de Borgia up close made the chancellor finally understand why the emperor had been so eager to claim her.
Liselotte’s beauty, once considered unmatched among the high nobles of the empire, could not compare. Her charm was celebrated in every court and whispered about in every hall, yet standing beside Vivianne, it seemed ordinary. Vivianne redefined beauty itself. With her silver hair glowing like strands of moonlight and her light purple eyes carrying the gentleness of dawn, she appeared less like a woman and more like a vision sent from the heavens.
Dietrich couldn’t tear his eyes away from Vivianne. His gaze lingered, hungry and unguarded, drawn helplessly to the omega who stood like moonlight beside the dark storm, which is Roxanne. For a moment, he forgot himself, lost in her soft, divine presence.
Then Roxanne’s voice cut through the illusion like a blade. "My wife, Vivianne de Borgia." The words struck him harder than any weapon, dragging him back to reality.