Chapter 19
The banquet at the royal villa marked a watershed moment, formally establishing Lucien's position at the pinnacle of imperial power. With the complete downfall of several princes and the Senate's forced compromise, preparations for the coronation proceeded with astonishing efficiency. The capital city ostensibly returned to order, but this order was built on a silent submission to the iron fist.
Duke Wilde kept his promise, using his family's influence to help stabilize the situation, but his anxiety grew daily. Lucien's seemingly tolerant yet subtly scheming gaze at the banquet was like a sword hanging over his head. He used every available covert channel, sparing no expense to search for Serena's whereabouts, but the news seemed to vanish without a trace. The Southern Territory seemed to have become an impenetrable fortress; everything about Sunset Manor and Serena was deliberately concealed by a powerful force.
He could only pin his hopes on that slim possibility—the Norton family. He tried again to send a clearer message in that direction, stating frankly that Serena was in danger and pleading for her protection. However, the Norton family of the Southern Territory had always maintained a low profile and had very little contact with the capital. Whether he would receive the message, and even if he did, whether they would offer assistance, remained uncertain.
Meanwhile, deep in the southern border, on the edge of the Rocky Mountains.
Mara led Serena through the hills and valleys for several more days. The journey became increasingly rugged, and the population dwindled. Serena was nearly exhausted, sustained only by her unwavering will to never return to captivity.
Finally, on a misty morning, they passed through a narrow crevice in the rocks, barely wide enough for one person to pass through, and the view before them suddenly opened up.
It was a secluded valley nestled among mountains. The valley floor was flat, with a clear stream meandering through it, its banks dotted with neat farmland and orchards. In the distance, a cluster of gray-white stone buildings, though small in scale, exuded a rustic and sturdy charm, weathered by time. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, mingling with the thin mist in the mountains, creating a tranquil scene that seemed utterly isolated from the world.
"Silverdure Valley," Mara's voice carried a barely perceptible hint of relief, "We've arrived."
They walked along a gravel path toward the complex of buildings. As they drew closer, Serena could see the details of the structures more clearly. Hardy vines climbed the stone walls, and the windows, though small, were spotless. Some simply dressed but neatly organized men and women were working in the fields or workshops. Upon seeing Mara, they stopped what they were doing, nodded slightly in greeting, and their gazes fell on Serena with curiosity, scrutiny, but no malice.
Mara led Serena directly to the most magnificent stone castle in the center of the valley. The castle wasn't as luxurious as Duke Wilde's mansion, but it possessed a dignified and imposing presence. The soldiers guarding the entrance wore simple leather armor, their eyes sharp and their movements efficient.
In the main hall of the stone castle, Serena met the current head of the Norton family, her uncle Calhoun Norton.
He was a tall, stern-faced middle-aged man with graying temples. His blue eyes bore a resemblance to the features of Serena's mother, but were sharper and deeper. He wore the dark hunting attire common among Southern nobles, devoid of any superfluous adornments, and stood there like a weathered rock.
His gaze fell on Serena, scrutinizing her and carrying a complex, indescribable emotion. There was reminiscence for his sister, an instinctive dislike for the Wilder family, and perhaps, an assessment of his disheveled yet still stubborn niece.
“Serena Wilde,” he began, his voice deep and strong with a southern accent, “Mara has informed me of the situation. Welcome to Silverdew Valley.”
His welcome speech was concise and restrained, without enthusiastic hugs or insincere small talk.
Selena, barely managing to stay upright despite her near-collapse, performed a perfect curtsy. Though her clothes were tattered, her posture still carried an air of noble bearing ingrained in her very being. "Thank you, Uncle, thank you for the protection the Norton family has provided," she said, her voice hoarse yet clear.
Calhoun nodded slightly. “The Norton family doesn’t get involved in the conflicts in the capital, so this place is secluded and safe enough. You can stay here for now.” He paused, his gaze sharp as he looked at her. “But, girl, you must understand. The Norton family provides protection, not unconditional protection. Your arrival means trouble. We need to know just how big that trouble is.”
His words were direct and realistic, without any beating around the bush. He was inquiring about Lucien's intentions and the Wilder family's attitude.
Serena took a deep breath, raised her pale face, and looked directly into Calhoun's eyes. "I understand, Uncle. The trouble I've caused... is great. Prince Lucien won't let me off easily." She didn't hide anything, briefly recounting Lucien's twisted possessiveness and imprisonment, omitting the most unpleasant details, but enough for Calhoun to understand its gravity. "As for my father... I don't know his current stance. But I beg you, don't drag the Norton family into the conflict with the Wilder family, or... the future emperor, because of me. If my presence poses a danger, I can leave."
Her words carried a clarity and resolve beyond her years. She craved security, but was unwilling to burden the family that had just given her a glimmer of hope.
Calhoun listened silently, his expression unchanged. Only after Serena finished speaking did he slowly begin to speak: "The Norton family doesn't cause trouble, but they aren't afraid of trouble either. They haven't survived to this day by bowing to power." His gaze swept over her tattered clothes and exhausted face. "You should rest first. Mara will arrange for someone to take care of you. We can discuss other matters later."
He didn't give a clear promise, but he didn't shut her out either.
Mara stepped forward and gestured for Serena to enter.
Serena bowed to Calhoun again, then followed Mara out of the hall. She was led to a clean, simple room on the upper level of the stone castle, with a warm fireplace, a soft bed, and a set of clean clothes provided.
When the door closed behind her, leaving her alone, Serena finally collapsed, her back against the door panel sliding to the floor. Tears streamed silently down her face, mingling with the dust and a sense of relief.
She is safe for now.
In a strange place, relying on unfamiliar relatives.
Although the future remains uncertain, the crisis has not been resolved.
But at least for now, she can catch her breath.
Meanwhile, far away in the capital, preparations for Lucien's coronation ceremony were in full swing.
A few days later, the dome of St. Lawrence Cathedral soared high, its stained glass windows filtering the pale autumn sunlight, casting dappled but cold light across the cold marble floor. The air was filled with the scents of old books, incense, and a deliberately maintained solemnity.
The church was packed. Representatives of the empire's most illustrious families gathered there, dressed in dark formal attire, like a flock of crows perched on branches. Duke Wilder stood in the front row, his face serene, but his hands, placed at his sides, were slightly clenched. He could feel countless gazes behind him—some sympathetic, some scrutinizing, but most filled with awe and submission to the changing of the guard.
There were no grand processions, no boisterous cheers from the crowd. The core of this power transfer was strictly confined to this solemn and enclosed space.
The heavy door was slowly pushed open.
All the whispers vanished instantly.
Lucien walked in.
He was alone, not dressed in the traditional, ornate robes and heavy crowns that symbolize imperial power. Instead, he chose a perfectly tailored, pure black military uniform, with a gold sash outlining his tall and straight figure. The only embellishments were simple silver embroidery on his epaulets and cuffs. His steps were steady, and the sound of his boots striking the ground echoed clearly in the silent church, each sound striking the heart of everyone present.
His face was expressionless, devoid of the joy of impending triumph or the heaviness of feigned humility. His deep purple eyes calmly swept over the crowd on either side, and wherever his gaze fell, the nobles lowered their eyes, none daring to meet his eyes for long. He was like a sword finally drawn from its sheath, having concealed all its brilliance, leaving only a pure, unapproachable sharpness.
He walked through the long central aisle and headed straight for the altar. There stood the archbishop, dressed in a solemn robe and holding a scepter. The elderly archbishop's face was solemn, but his eyes held a complex emotion that was hard to conceal.
There were no lengthy prayers, no tedious rituals. The archbishop raised his slightly trembling hand and slowly and solemnly lifted the dazzling crown, a symbol of imperial power that had stood for generations of monarchs.
“Lucien Augustus,” the archbishop’s voice echoed in the empty church, tinged with a barely perceptible hoarseness, “with the witness of the Most High God and all the nobles present, are you willing to shoulder the responsibility of leading the empire, to rule with law and justice, and to protect your people?”
Lucien slightly raised his chin, his gaze passing over the bishop as if looking into a more distant void. His voice was clear, steady, and without any inflection:
I accept.
There were no oaths, no promises, only a two-word declaration: I accept this power, I accept this position.
The archbishop paused for a moment, seemingly surprised by the brief response, but ultimately slowly placed the crown on Lucien's black hair.
He turned around and faced the crowd.
His face beneath the crown remained handsome, yet it seemed to be covered by a layer of frost that would never melt. His deep purple eyes clearly reflected the figures of all the nobles below, carrying a sense of absolute control and dominance.
No words were needed, no elaborate coronation. His very existence heralded the arrival of a new era—an era belonging to Emperor Lucien the Great.
Duke Wilder bowed slightly with the others. When he looked up, he met Lucien's gaze. That gaze lingered on him for a brief moment, cold, deep, devoid of any emotion, yet it made the Duke's heart clench. There was no gentleness towards an ally in that look, only confirmation of an item already traded, and... a lingering, cold aftertaste of something not yet settled.
The coronation ceremony ended in an almost oppressive silence.
Lucien did not give a speech, nor did he accept the cheers. He did not even linger in the church. He walked steadily out of the church along the way he had come, under the watchful eyes of everyone.
It was as if he came merely to complete a necessary formality and take away what rightfully belonged to him.
The church doors slowly closed behind him, separating the inside from the outside.
The nobles began to speak in hushed tones, their voices filled with awe and unease.
From this moment on, the rules of the empire have changed. Past alliances and old grudges will all be re-evaluated and redefined under the cold gaze of this new emperor.
Meanwhile, in the far south, in Silverdew Valley, Serena was completely unaware of what was happening in the capital. She had only just awakened from a nightmare about a noose and cold touches in the room Mara had arranged for her, her thin nightgown soaked with cold sweat.
She walked to the window, opened it, and gazed at the tranquil night in the valley and the distant, continuous black mountain shadows. A strange sense of unease gripped her.
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