Chapter 90: Chapter 90:Taste of power
After One Day
Morning broke with fanfare. Trumpets blared from the palace towers, a sharp metallic cry that cut through the cool dawn.
Servants rushed along the cobblestone courtyard, spreading rose petals in neat arcs. The banners of the viscount’s house swayed proudly from every wall—black fabric stitched with a golden lion whose mane seemed almost alive in the light.
Aiden stood at the heart of it all. His armor gleamed like polished steel fire, each plate freshly oiled by Gerald’s meticulous hand. The cuirass clung to his torso, the greaves wrapped tight against his calves, the weight pressing into his shoulders.
Yet it did not bend him. If anything, he stood straighter. Taller. His golden eyes glowed faintly beneath the shadow of his helmet.
The sword at his hip remained sheathed. Today, he bore not a blade but a flag. A knight was not only meant to cut and bleed—he was meant to represent, to embody the house he served. And so Aiden held high the black standard of House Leonidus, its mythical lion snarling in golden thread. When the wind caught it, the beast roared silently, fierce and unyielding.
Around him stood nearly eighty knights, forty to a side, forming an unbroken lane. They stood with practiced stillness, shields polished, spears upright. The majority were veterans, some gray at the temples, scars hidden under steel. Only a handful—men like Aiden—were yet to be anointed.
And above, at the palace balcony, he saw them.
Flora. Luna. Sabrina.
All three dressed to perfection, painted in silks and jewels. From a distance they seemed like goddesses carved for worship, their stares sharp and unrelenting. He could not be sure if they saw his face under the visor, but he felt their eyes anyway, hot as brands against his skin. It was as though the armor was smoke and their gazes stripped him bare.
"Ohh, look—Lady Flora’s looking at me!" a knight beside Aiden puffed, his chest swelling like a rooster.
"Idiot, she’s staring at me," another scoffed on his other side. "Why would they waste a glance on you? You look like a pig that learned to walk on two legs."
"Fuck you. My mother and my grandmother always said I was handsome as fuck!"
Aiden almost laughed, the sound caught in his throat. But he bit it back. "Steady," he muttered. "Eyes forward. They’re here."
And indeed, the lords approached.
"The Earl... Earl Wessex is here."
"Yeah, and the drunkard too. Why the hell did our lord even invite that slob?"
The knights whispered low, but Aiden’s ears drank every word. He had learned to listen between breaths. Information was coin; information was weapon.
From their chatter, a picture formed. Four barons, two earls. All answered to Augustus. Yet even within that structure, fractures ran deep. The four baronhoods bent easily to Earl Wessex, while two belonged to the Earl of Northumbria—the so-called drunkard whose reputation was already rotting.
Typical nobility. Politics laced with daggers. Masks painted with rot.
Still, this was the field Augustus had thrust him into. His mission was clear: after his anointment, sniff out corruption among the earldoms and baronhoods. And what better scapegoat than the drunkard earl? His image was already in ruins. Blame would cling to him like grease to cloth.
Finally, the horns cried again. The palace gates opened.
Augustus stepped forth, clad in ceremonial robes trimmed with gold, Catherine at his side like a silver flame. Behind them, the guests followed.
Aiden’s eyes narrowed.
Two earls emerged.
The first—Wessex. A broad man with golden hair, cousin to Augustus himself, eyes sharp and green like blades of grass slicked with dew. His robe fit snug around his swollen belly, wealth dripping from every ring on his hands.
The second—Northumbria. The drunkard. Brown hair a mess, red eyes drifting unfocused, his steps uneven as though the earth itself tilted beneath him. His smile was lazy, his chin unshaven.
But Aiden’s eyes were not on them. They lingered on the women.
Earl Wessex’s wife walked at his side. Rumor claimed she had been a commoner. If so, then the gods themselves had lied. Her hair spilled black as midnight, her eyes shone gold like molten crowns. The green gown she wore clung to her figure, its fabric catching on her hips in ways that turned modesty into temptation.
"Lucky bastard," Aiden muttered under his breath, gaze tracing the sway of her ass.
"Hey," a knight beside him hissed. "You’re staring too much."
Aiden cleared his throat. "Sorry." But his eyes disobeyed, sliding past to the next.
The wife of Northumbria. A noble, through and through. Her hair was dark green, her eyes the same, glowing faintly as though touched by emerald fire. Her gown was layered, brown and deep green, modest to a fault, veiling her figure in folds of restraint. But Aiden knew. He felt it. Beneath that fabric was a body worth sinning for. Thank the gods she covered herself. Otherwise, his ember might have burned beyond control.
Behind the earls, four barons trailed, their heads bowed, their wives kept at distance. They all bent low before Augustus and Catherine, the ceremony stiff, the hierarchy undeniable.
Aiden too bent the knee, though slower than the rest. His heart resisted, claws digging into his chest. Yet discipline forced him down. His forehead almost touched the ground.
And Lilith’s voice whispered, velvet and cruel: [Lilith is smiling.]
His jaw tightened. Augustus... for making me bow this deep, I’ll fuck your wife harder.
When the nobles rose, so did the knights. Aiden’s gaze locked on Augustus. The viscount stood taller, pride swelling like a drum, basking in the bow of every man present. Power radiated off him—not just political, but visceral.
Aiden’s hunger twisted. This was not lust. Not even greed. It was hunger for that. To be the axis around which the world turned. To feel every knee bend in his presence.
His thoughts raced. He already owned the fief in the shadows: the servants, the maids, even Catherine’s body in secret. But the military? The two earldoms, the four baronhoods, the Thousand plus knights? They were not yet his. That was the piece he lacked. That was the piece he craved.
Catherine leaned close to Augustus, whispering in his ear. Augustus’s gaze shifted, finding Aiden in the ranks.
"Aiden!" Augustus called, voice booming across the courtyard. "I almost didn’t recognize you in all that shining armor. Come forward!" His smile widened, wolfish. "Here’s my future anointed knight. A real talent, I tell you!"
Gasps rippled among the knights. Heads turned. Aiden stepped forward, flag held high, every eye dragging over him now.
See? I am above you, chums, he thought, satisfaction curling in his chest.
He reached Augustus and bowed humbly, to him, to Catherine, to the earls and barons. "It is my utmost honor to stand in your noble presence, in all your Nobel presence.," he said, voice rich with admiration.
But inwardly, his mind sharpened. The knights. The nobles. The power shifting like currents in the air. He could see the strings. And he would cut them, tie them, reweave them until they all bound to him.
Lilith’s laugh brushed his ear.
’Augustus, yes, I will finish your mission... and mine as well. And much, much more.....’