To the father who was gesturing to him to receive the letter, Luciano looked up and asked, “is it from the formidable country of Armenia? It’s so sudden. What’s their agenda?”

“Father, do you think this letter is lacking in respect? It is addressed to the King of Serrat, but they didn’t bother to spell the addressee in Serratian. It’s in their own language.”

“I don’t think that was the intention. The language of Armenia has long since been used throughout the whole world.”

“That country once flourished and dominated many lands. And yet…”

He shrugged, shaking his head as if to say “good grief,” and let out a loose laugh. “You just don’t seem to like Armenia.”

“They appear to want to take up arms against Teges. Wouldn’t it be convenient for us?”

The country of Teges was a greedy neighbour. Coveting that which was not their own, they were always looking for a chance to seize more territory and expand their influence. Their aggression kept Serrat on constant edge, in the case of a full-blown war. In recent years, numerous small skirmishes had developed on the border, but they had not yet resulted in total warfare. But this relationship was a ticking time bomb. If an altercation arose between the two countries – Armenia, and Teges, the intense belligerence of their clash would force Serrat to lie low. If only, for a little while.

“I welcome the alliance, Luciano. How about you?” King Ismael gestured to his son, asking for his opinion.

Luciano hesitated for a moment before sighing and giving out a reluctant agreement.

“If Father approves, then I have no objection. But I think it will be better if we deliberate carefully.’”

Reaching for the nearby bottle of wine, King Ismael filled two cups and handed one to his son, who received it in response.

Taking a sip of his wine, King Ismael recounted their history. “Armenia is not completely unrelated to us; we do have blood ties. The Armenian king welcomed Princess Bethania from Amoroso to be his wife after the death of his first wife. Bethania died at the young age of seventeen on the day she gave birth. She is my cousin. Her mother is my mother’s sister.”

“Then, the child that Princess Betania bore is surely a princess. That girl… Was her name Alana?” Luciano questioned.

“Yes, that is correct. Princess Alana is a distant relative; your grandmother is her grandmother’s sister. She should be around the same age as Mileia.”

“Given the interests of the country, if I were Father, I would break my son’s current engagement and arrange for him to be engaged with Alana.”

King Ismael, who was slowly cradling his own glass of wine, suddenly stopped his hand. He did not respond, waiting for his son to continue.

“My fiancée, Flavia, is the daughter of the Duke of Vent, but he is a nobleman of Serrat. Even if it is a match that strengthens the country from within, it is useless in diplomacy. However, if Princess Alana is to be my partner, the alliance with Armenia will be stronger. In other words, she will be held as a hostage.”

“Hostage? But Princess Alana being your consort will bring a great burden to you. My deceased cousin, Bethania, was unable to give birth to a strong daughter. In short, the princess is weak, lacking a will or determination to make her own decisions. She has never even left the castle. In fact, I’ve never seen her in public… You understand what I mean, right? A weak princess’ voice will not be heard. She will never leave Armenia.’’

“Yes. That’s true. She has no power.” Luciano spoke frankly, yet the slight droop of his eyelashes betrayed a crestfallen expression. “Then, according to my father’s wishes, as it is the only other option, I will make Flavia my wife next year.”

Noticing his son’s disappointment, King Ismael extended his hand in a loving gesture to Luciano. “Son, I arranged the engagement with Flavia because she loves you. I want you to love her too. I want you to lead a happy and fulfilling life.”

“You mean like Father and Mother? You two had an impossible, fairy tale-like romance. I’m not interested in women. I think that anyone who can give birth to the next generation can be a wife.”

Love — it was a foreign concept, at least in the romantic sense. Luciano understood only platonic love; after all, both his parents and sister were dear to him. However, he could never conceive the idea of holding a woman in his heart, in his arms, in a relationship like that of his parent’s.

As he recalled all these events of the past, his fists clenched, nails biting into the palm of his hand, nearly breaking his skin. His grip was so tight, a thin layer of sweat formed from the exertion.

With regret consuming his mind, Luciano made a vow: to erase both of them, just as they did to his own country.

“God-damned, filthy trash.” Luciano’s mind was filled with every hateful word he would spit back at them, cursing their names to the heavens. They should feel his pain tenfold; retribution was only fitting and just.

These intense feelings of hatred surged, coming to the point that he could no longer contain it, trembling with pure, unadulterated loathing. Suddenly, he heard a woman’s voice from behind him.