The Secret Mastermind

The Uncle Of Luvia

Chapter 2: The Shadows at the Feast

The evening air in the Whitic Kingdom carried a specific chill, one that smelled of the upcoming frost and the ancient stone of the palace. For Princess Luvia, this was the time of day when her mind worked the fastest. As she walked through the corridors toward the private dining hall, her silk skirts brushed against the floor with a rhythmic hiss, a sound that mirrored her own restless thoughts.

She was thinking about the concept of a "throne." To the commoners, it was a seat of power. To the lords, it was a prize. But to Luvia, watching her father and brother, it often looked like a heavy, invisible weight that bent the spine and grayed the hair. She adjusted the lace at her wrists, feeling the familiar prickle of social anxiety. She loved her family, but she hated the "performance" of royalty—the way every smile had to be measured, and every word weighed.

As she entered the dining room, the warmth of the hearth hit her. It was a large, circular room, less formal than the Great Hall. Here, the tapestries told stories of family hunts rather than bloody wars.

"There she is," King Ethan said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. He stood by the fire, a goblet of wine in his hand. He looked at Luvia with eyes that held no judgment, only a father’s warmth. "We were just discussing whether you’d fallen into one of your books and forgotten we existed."

"I was merely observing the sunset, Father," Luvia replied, offering a small, graceful curtsy before moving to his side. "It was particularly vibrant today. A sign of wind, the gardeners say."

"Or a sign of a restless kingdom," a younger, more energetic voice chimed in.

Leo, the Crown Prince, was already seated, though "seated" was a generous term. He was slouched with a boyish energy, tossing a small apple into the air and catching it. Despite his relaxed posture, the muscle in his arms—developed from hours of grueling swordsmanship—was evident. He was the golden boy of Whitic, the hero the people wanted.

"Restless? No," Queen Lily said as she entered from the side pantry. She wasn't followed by a train of servants. Instead, she carried a tureen of steaming soup herself. "The kingdom is at peace because your father keeps it so. Let’s not invite trouble by looking for it in the clouds."

Lily set the tureen down and walked over to Luvia, kissing her forehead. She smelled of rosemary and flour. Even though she was the Queen, Lily’s hands were often dusted with the remnants of her baking. She claimed it kept her grounded to the earth, reminding her that a Queen's first duty was to nourish her people.

"Sit, sit," Lily urged. "I’ve made the lamb stew with the leeks from the north garden. And there is fresh bread—still warm enough to melt the butter."

They took their seats. For the first twenty minutes, the conversation was light. Leo told a hilarious, slightly exaggerated story about a squire who had accidentally tripped into the horse trough during drills. Ethan laughed so hard he had to set his spoon down, and even Luvia felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a genuine smile. This was her sanctuary. Inside these walls, she wasn't a political asset; she was just Luvia.

However, as the meal progressed and the plates were cleared, the atmosphere shifted. It was a subtle change, like a cloud passing over the moon.

King Ethan leaned back, his expression turning solemn. He looked at Leo, then at Luvia. "The Council met with me this afternoon," he began. "Privately."

Luvia felt the familiar tightening in her chest. The Council was made up of old men who saw the world in terms of borders and bloodlines.

"They are pushing for the formal investiture, Leo," Ethan continued. "They want you to be named the High Regent by the winter solstice. They say the people need to see the 'New Sun' of Whitic rising."

Leo stopped mid-bite. The playfulness vanished from his face, replaced by a mask of duty that Luvia hated. "The solstice? That’s barely a month away, Father. I thought we had until my twenty-fifth name-day."

"The borders are growing loud, my son," Ethan said softly. "The neighboring kingdoms look at my gray beard and they see an ending. They need to see a beginning. They need to see you."

Luvia put her fork down with a sharp clack. "So, they want to turn him into a statue? A symbol to be paraded around so the lords feel safer in their beds? Leo is the best swordsman in the realm, Father, but he is still learning the intricacies of the law. If you rush this, the Council will try to lead him by the nose."

"Luvia has a point," Queen Lily added, her voice quiet but firm. "He is our son before he is their King. Must we give him to them so soon?"

Ethan reached out, taking Lily’s hand across the table. "I don't want to. But a King’s life is not his own. Leo, what do you think?"

Leo looked at his hands—strong, calloused hands. He looked at Luvia, and she saw the flicker of fear he hid from everyone else. He didn't want the crown yet. He wanted to ride his horse through the forests and practice his forms in the sun. But he also loved his father.

"If the kingdom needs me to stand taller, then I will stand," Leo said, his voice steadying. "But I won't be a puppet for the Council. If I am to be the New Sun, then I will choose when I shine."

Ethan nodded, a look of immense pride—and immense sadness—crossing his face. "Spoken like a true heir of Whitic. We will prepare the ceremony. But we will do it our way."

Luvia watched her brother. She felt a pang of protectiveness so sharp it hurt. She hated how men were forced into these roles of violence and leadership, and she hated even more that the world expected her to simply sit by and watch. She vowed then, in the silence of her own mind, that she would be Leo’s shadow. If he had to be the sun, she would be the one to watch his back where the light didn't reach.

The family moved to the private solar after dinner. It was a tradition. Leo picked up a practice sword—a blunt, heavy wooden thing—and began to move through his forms in the center of the room. He did this to relax, the repetitive motion helping him process the weight of the conversation they’d just had.

Luvia sat on a cushion, watching him. She loved the way he moved—the fluidity, the precision. He wasn't just swinging a piece of wood; he was drawing a map of his own discipline.

"Your footwork is wide on the third turn," Luvia remarked, her voice cutting through the whistling of the blade.

Leo stopped, panting slightly. He looked down at his feet. "Wide? I thought it was perfect."

"If you were on a narrow bridge or a muddy slope, you’d lose your center," Luvia said. She stood up, walking over to him. She didn't touch the sword, but she pointed to the floor. "Keep your weight on the balls of your feet. You're leaning too much on your heels, like Father does. But you don't have his heavy armor to balance you yet."

Leo tried the move again, adjusting as she suggested. A look of surprise crossed his face. "It's faster. How do you see that? You don't even like training."

"I don't like doing it," Luvia replied with a small smirk. "But I am an expert at watching. You’d be surprised what you learn when you aren't the one holding the steel."

King Ethan watched them from his chair by the fire, a soft smile on his lips. "You two will be a formidable pair. The sword and the mind."

The peace of the room was absolute. The fire crackled, the scent of the Queen’s cooking still lingered, and the future, though heavy, felt manageable as long as they were together.

Then, the doors to the solar didn't just open—they were flung wide.

A guard rushed in, his face ashen. "Your Majesty... I am sorry to interrupt, but... he is here. At the gates. He refused to be turned away."

Ethan stood up, his hand instinctively moving to the side where his sword usually hung. "Who? Who is at the gates at this hour?"

Before the guard could answer, a figure stepped past him. The man was tall, his frame lean and wiry, wrapped in a travel-stained cloak of deep obsidian. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face that was a jagged, older reflection of the King’s. His hair was streaked with silver, and a long scar ran from his temple to his jaw.

Luvia felt the blood drain from her face. She had seen this man in the old portraits tucked away in the dusty corners of the library.

"Ulfric," Ethan whispered, the word sounding like a curse and a prayer all at once.

"Hello, brother," the man said. His voice was like grinding stones. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on Leo’s practice sword with a look of pure disdain, before finally landing on Luvia.

"So," Ulfric said, stepping further into the warmth of the room, bringing a chill with him that the fire couldn't touch. "This is the 'New Sun' of Whitic? And the little princess who thinks she can see the gaps in a man’s guard?"

Luvia felt Leo move, stepping firmly between her and their uncle. The atmosphere of the room had shattered. The dinner, the laughter, the safety—it was all gone. The man who had been exiled for treason, the man who hated the very idea of the peace Ethan had built, was standing in their sanctuary.

"Why are you here, Ulfric?" Ethan demanded, his voice gaining the iron of a King. "You were forbidden from crossing the Silver River on pain of death."

"Death is a small price to pay for a front-row seat to a collapse," Ulfric replied, his gaze returning to Luvia. He smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. "I’ve come to see if my niece and nephew are ready for the storm. Because the world outside these walls doesn't care about your honey cakes, Ethan. It’s hungry. And it’s coming for your children first."

Luvia gripped the fabric of her dress, her mind racing. She didn't know how she knew, but she felt it in her marrow: her life as a protected princess ended the moment that door hit the wall.