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Chapter 34 - Three Sons of Princess Lilith De Lyria Von Draken Mistglen De Zorathian
“KYAAAAH!” I gasped, startled, and looked up to see the one responsible. And there he was-
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Fenris. Along with Eamon and Idris.....
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Prince Fenris, with his brothers, Eamon and Idris, forming an imposing triad around me. The hall’s dim light illuminated the rich fabrics of their attire, casting an eerie glow on their figures, making the palace feel colder, darker. The walls—lined with grand tapestries of battles long past—seemed to absorb their presence, whispering secrets from a time when their ancestors had carved this kingdom from conquest and betrayal.
Prince Fenris
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The eldest of the three, Prince Fenris exudes an aura of malevolence, his very presence a harbinger of darkness. His golden hair cascades like molten gold, framing a face of haunting beauty marred by eyes as cold and unforgiving as the winter sky. Ruthless ambition fuels his every move, and his charm is a weapon honed to bend others to his will. His laughter is a chilling melody, revealing a twisted delight in the suffering of those he deems inferior. Luxana has long been the object of his obsession, a pawn in his quest for power, and he will stop at nothing to claim her as his own, even if it means sacrificing his own brothers on the altar of ambition.
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Prince Eamon
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The middle brother, Prince Eamon, is eclipsed by Fenris's domineering presence. His blond hair contrasts starkly with the turmoil churning within, framing eyes of pink sapphire, their warmth extinguished by the bitter realities of his existence. Eamon is consumed by his internal strife, weighed down by expectations and the suffocating presence of his brothers. His love for Luxana, a secret harbored since childhood, is tainted by resentment towards Fenris and his effortless charm. Eamon feels ensnared in their twisted game, torn between his desire for Luxana and the bonds of family. A tempest brews within him, born of vengeance and a desperate longing to break free from the oppressive mantle of royalty.
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Prince Idris
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The youngest, Prince Idris, is a phantom of the night, his purple hair an ethereal corona atop a hauntingly beautiful face. His eyes, as blue as a moonlit lake, hold an intensity that unsettles even the staunchest of hearts. Embracing chaos as his birthright, Idris finds thrill in reckless pursuits, unafraid to plunge into the abyss. To him, Luxana is not a person, but a symbol of unattainable freedom, a challenge to be conquered in his quest for liberation. Idris thrives in the shadows, delighting in the fear he inspires in others. Beneath his flamboyant exterior lies a keen mind, always scheming, always calculating, with one burning desire – to shatter the chains of royal expectations and taste the sweet nectar of freedom, no matter the cost.
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The lives of Prince Fenris, Prince Eamon, and Prince Idris have always been shrouded in mystery, their characters indelibly shaped by their upbringing in their mother's enigmatic kingdom. As sons of Princess Lilith De Lyria Von Draken Mistglen De Zorathian, the 3rd Concubine, their shared past remains a source of intrigue and speculation, with questions surrounding the influence their mother's legacy has had on their personalities. The brothers carry the weight of their royal lineage, forever marked by the looming shadow of their enigmatic heritage, inspiring unease and trepidation in those who cross their paths.
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As Fenris effortlessly lifted me into his arms, he rose to his full height, towering over the still-squatting Cillian. His eyes, piercing and intense, locked onto Cillian with a gaze that could only be described as glacial. The air between them crackled with palpable tension, a silent battle of wills unfolding in the opulent hallway of the Imperial Sun Palace.
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Fenris's face, typically an impassive mask, now bore an expression of barely concealed contempt. His jaw clenched, the muscles along his neck tightening as he stared down at Cillian. The disparity in their positions—Fenris standing tall and proud while Cillian remained low to the ground—seemed to underscore the power dynamic at play.
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Cillian rose to his feet with a calm, composed demeanor. His face remained expressionless, betraying no hint of shock or surprise at the sudden turn of events. The air crackled with tension as not only Fenris but also his brothers, Eamon and Idris, fixed their steely gazes upon Cillian.
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I remained motionless in Fenris's arms, feeling like a delicate bird trapped in an ornate cage. The world around me seemed to slow, each moment stretching into eternity as I observed the silent confrontation unfolding before me.
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Cillian broke the taut silence, his voice low and measured. ""Ah, what a delightful surprise to see such esteemed individuals gracing us with their presence once again, here to partake in yet another rather inconsequential task, as is their usual custom."
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(Meaning: "Well, well, who do we have here? Seems like some worthless punks have appeared for some randomass bullshitted work, as usual.")
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Fenris's grip on me tightened imperceptibly as he responded, his tone glacial. "Your charm doesn't ceases to amaze, for your utmostly kind information. While we may be here for what you deem inconsequential, I assure you that even the smallest actions can wield great power. Perhaps you should not underestimate us."
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As the exchange continued, my mind raced. Oh great, here we go again! Just what we needed—our standard male lead squaring off against the female lead's bros. Because nothing says "romantic tension" like a bunch of guys flexing their egos over one girl! Classicly cliché! But, of course, the fate of the world (or at least the female lead's hand) depends on who can flex their muscles the hardest. I mused, not to mention how I found myself paralyzed by the intensity of the moment.
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Eamon stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Cillian. "Indeed, it's often the underestimated that prove to be the most formidable. We may not fit your notion of significance, but remember, every legend has its humble beginnings. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we will be taking our leave. We trust you won’t interfere with our departure."
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A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Cillian's lips. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of family matters. By all means, gentlemen."
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I caught a final glimpse of Cillian over Fenris's shoulder. He stood alone in the hallway, his figure growing smaller with each step, yet his presence seemed to linger like a shadow in my mind. Without another word, the brothers turned in unison, carrying me towards the palace exit. As we approached the waiting carriage.
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The carriage door opened, and I was gently placed inside. As it lurched into motion, I found myself swept away from the Imperial Sun Palace, leaving behind a maelstrom of unanswered questions and unspoken truths, like always.
-Hallway; Imperial Sun Palace; Elmir-
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In the opulent hallways of the Imperial Sun Palace in Elmir, a scene of intrigue and tension unfolds. The air is thick with the weight of recent events, and the ornate walls seem to whisper secrets of power and betrayal.
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Cillian, a figure of authority and cunning, stands motionless for a moment, his mind churning with thoughts of political machinations. The Dominions, it seems, have found a way to suppress Elmir, but this setback only serves to fuel Cillian's determination.
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With a graceful pivot, Cillian breaks his statuesque pose and takes a deliberate step forward. His voice, rich with confidence and a hint of defiance, echoes through the corridor as he declares, "But, that doesn't mean the game's over." The words hang in the air, a challenge to unseen adversaries.
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A shadow shifted at the edge of his vision as Ian, his second-in-command, emerged from the dimness behind him. Unlike Cillian’s stoic presence, Ian’s gaze was sharp, constantly assessing, ready to adapt at a moment's notice. “So, what’s our next task?” he asked, his tone measured, his eyes fixed on Cillian, waiting for a direction.
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Cillian paused, a thoughtful hum escaping his lips as he folded his arms, glancing sidelong towards the grand doors that led deeper into the palace. “Hmm… depends on the Emperor’s wishes.” There was a hint of unease in his voice—Cillian was known for his confidence, yet even he held a cautious respect when speaking of the Emperor, whose merciless hand dictated the fates of even the bravest in the realm.
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From farther back, a familiar voice broke through Cillian’s thoughts. It was Kyrll, his childhood friend and the only one who could speak freely to him without fear. “You don’t suppose we meet him, do you?” Kyrll’s tone was tinged with wry humor, yet his eyes betrayed a flicker of genuine concern. Even he knew the risks associated with confronting the Emperor under such circumstances.
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Cillian snorted, his laugh a harsh sound that echoed down the empty hall. “Meet him?” He scoffed, shaking his head, an amused yet dark smirk playing on his lips. “Not even a coccidia would think of crossing paths with him after such a disgrace.” His tone turned serious, his words weighted with truth, as he strode forward, leaving Ian and Kyrll to follow in his wake.
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The Emperor was a figure both revered and feared, a man who tolerated no failure and accepted no excuses. And after what had happened with Elmir, seeking an audience with him was as close to a death wish as one could get.
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As Cillian strides away, his footsteps echoing off the polished floors, the tension in the air is palpable. The hallway, once a symbol of imperial might, now feels like a chessboard where every move could lead to triumph or disaster. The three figures, bound by loyalty and ambition, disappear into the depths of the palace, leaving behind only the whispers of their conversation and the promise of more intrigue to come.
To be Continued...
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