Meanwhile, at the Imperial Palace.
Cassian was right in the middle of casually demonstrating a clever modern card trick to Lady Aria and two other blushing concubines currently sitting in the sunny garden pavilion, entirely unaware that his week-long vacation was about to violently collide with a holy aphrodisiac conspiracy and an aggressively overprotective knight.
He popped another juicy grape into his mouth, looking at Leo.
"You know, Leo, the weather today is perfect. I feel like absolutely nothing can ruin my peace and quiet right now."
"Is that so, brother? That's good... you deserve all the happiness," Leo replied, smiling gently as he watched the cards dance between Cassian's fingers.
Just then, Elias ran into the garden, panting heavily, his face pale with sheer exhaustion. "M-My Lord! The vanguards! Sir Lucien Arden has just passed the city gates! And he's already inside the palace!"
Cassian instantly choked, the grape lodging sideways in his throat. He violently coughed, his aristocratic composure shattering into a million pieces. "HE'S WHAT?!"
Before he could even begin to grasp the sheer gravity of his current situation, the heavy, ornamental double doors of the inner garden pavilion didn't just open—they practically slammed open with a loud, echoing thud.
*BANG!*
The violent crash reverberated across the manicured rosebushes, causing several nearby servants to drop their silver platters in sheer terror. The tranquil, sweet scent of iced plum wine and blooming jasmine was instantly, aggressively obliterated by a thick, suffocating wave of freezing northern air, heavy battlefield soot, and raw, unrestrained bloodlust.
Walking through the shattered peace of the doorway, looking like a literal demon of war freshly dragged from the abyssal trenches, was Sir Lucien Arden.
He hadn't even fully de-armored. His massive silver chestplate was still heavily marred with the scorched black residue of dissected Shadow Fiends, his white cloak was frayed and blood-splattered at the edges, and his ice-blue eyes were burning with a terrifying, unhinged intensity that made the surrounding atmospheric pressure drop instantly.
The concubines shrieked softly, instinctively scattering and retreating behind their silk hand-fans as the giant Knight Commander marched directly down the marble path toward the pavilion, his heavy sabatons leaving dusty, soot-stained prints on the pristine stone.
Cassian sat completely frozen on his velvet chaise lounge, a playing card slipping from his numb fingers while the half-chewed grape fell out of his mouth. Internally, his modern soul was screaming at the top of its lungs, letting out a long, agonizing, and thoroughly heartbroken wail.
'MY VACATION! MY SACRED, UNSUPERVISED PEACE!' Cassian's soul wept in pure, unadulterated despair.
'He's back! It's only been ten days! How on earth did he speed-run a three-month military campaign?! Did this absolute psychopath use a cheat code?! Why is he looking at me like I personally set his entire house on fire?!'
"Sir Arden..." Cassian drawled, forcing his default deadpan, arrogant 'Prince Cassian' facade back onto his face, though his knees were secretly trembling beneath his silk royal robes.
"You're back early. Did you happen to forget your favorite sword, or did the shadow monsters simply bore you to death?"
Lucien didn't answer with witty banter. He stepped directly into Cassian's personal space, towering over the seated prince and completely blocking out the afternoon sun like an eclipse. Without a single word, his large, leather-gloved hand reached down and gripped Cassian's pale wrist with a terrifying force that felt like an iron vise.
"Your Highness," Lucien's voice was a low, vibrating growl that sent an unbidden shiver straight down Cassian's spine. "Pack your things and leave the garden. We need to speak. Privately... Now."
"Let go of me," Cassian hissed, his crimson eyes flashing as he tried to pull his hand back, but Lucien's grip was entirely unyielding.
'Oh my god, his grip is like solid steel!' Cassian's mind violently panicked. 'Why is he so angry?! Did he find out I sneaked into the restricted vault while he was away?! Did he find the missing library logs?! Is this it?! Is this the exact moment he drags me to the execution block for Timeline Fifteen?!'
"What kind of imprudence, Sir Arden, dares you to hold the Prince of Edrath with such violence!" Cassian swallowed back his rising fear, trying every psychological trick he knew to force the knight to back down.
"That is because I am a Duke," Lucien stared down at him, his ice-blue eyes boring into Cassian with an unblinking, dominant focus. "A Duke of the West, and the only Duke closer to the Emperor than any royal bloodline. Being a prince means absolutely nothing to me right now."
Cassian startled, his chest tightening. 'Hiek!... Fuck! How could I forget that his family was bestowed the hereditary title of Dukedom by the Emperor himself because of his monstrous military achievements?! This guy, if he wanted to, could wipe out the royal family and the entire continent in one clean sweep! What do I do? How do I get away from him?'
"Excuse us, Ladies," Lucien spoke over his shoulder, his voice completely devoid of human warmth as he practically hauled Cassian up from the chaise lounge by his wrist.
The concubines didn't dare object; they merely watched in wide-eyed, stunned silence as the terrifying Knight Commander aggressively dragged the headstrong second prince out of the garden pavilion.
As they disappeared down the pathway, Lady Seline lowered her fan, her eyes sparkling with scandalous curiosity. "Perhaps the rumors were true, Aria... the hero Sir Lucien Arden and our beloved prince are lovers. Why else would the Commander be so viciously jealous of His Highness spending time with us?"
Down the long, vaulted corridor, Lucien shoved Cassian into a secluded, dimly lit royal alcove tucked away near the grand banquet hall.
The moment the heavy, velvet curtains of the alcove fell shut, sealing them in absolute privacy, Cassian violently ripped his wrist out of Lucien's grip, stepping back with a furious, venomous glare.
"Have you entirely lost your goddamned mind, Sir Arden?!" Cassian snapped, aggressively rubbing his reddened skin where the glove had bound him.
"I am a prince of the blood! Duke or not, laying your hands on me in front of the imperial court is an offense that could get your entire knighthood stripped away! If you are here to accuse me of something, then speak your mind or get the hell out of my sight!"
Lucien didn't flinch. Instead, he took a heavy, pressurized step forward, slamming his massive, gauntleted hand against the stone wall right next to Cassian's head. The impact rattled the brick, effectively trapping the prince between his towering, soot-stained frame and the cold stone.
"I am not here to accuse you of treason, Cassian," Lucien whispered, his face mere inches away, his breath hot against Cassian's skin as his ice-blue eyes flashed with a raw, desperate intensity. "I am here to save your foolish, reckless life. While you are busy gallivanting with your father's concubines without a single care in the world, do you have any idea what your brother Adrian and Duke Reinhardt have planned for you at the Victory Gala tonight?"
Cassian blinked, his defensive anger momentarily throwing a gear. "Adrian? He's supposed to be sick in bed with a severe nervous fever."
"It's a charade," Lucien hissed, his jaw locking so tight the muscle leaped. "I just intercepted a clandestine meeting between the Reinhardt faction and High Priest Raphael inside the cathedral catacombs. Tonight, during the welcoming banquet, a compromised acolyte is instructed to slip a drop of the *Sacred Nectar of the Fertile Mother* into your ceremonial wine chalice."
Cassian's face remained blank for exactly two seconds.
"The Nectar of the... wait. What the hell is that?"
"It is a highly restricted, ancient divine wine possessed only by the High Clergy," Lucien explained, his voice vibrating with an intense, suffocating protectiveness. "It is a potent stimulant designed to forcefully awaken and violently enhance the Valemont royal bloodline's latent fertility traits. The noble told the High Priest that just a drop or two... will instantly drive you into an uncontrollable, primal heat right in the middle of the grand ballroom."
The word *fertility* hit Cassian's brain like a physical, catastrophic bolt of lightning.
Instantly, the blurry, repressed memories of **Timeline Eleven** flooded back into his consciousness in vivid, high-definition horror. The memory of the Eastern Coast barbarian prince... the heavy iron bars of the designated breeding chamber... the sheer, unadulterated nightmare of being pregnant with eleven children in the span of five short years because of the goddess of fertility's nonsensical blessing. The phantom pains of contractions, endless crying, and infinite diaper changes flashed through his 79-year-old mercenary soul, making his face turn a sudden, ghostly, horrified shade of white.
'THE MPREG[1] PLOTLINE!' Cassian's internal voice shrieked in absolute, primitive, life-threatening terror.
'THEY ARE TRYING TO FORCE ME INTO THE MPREG PLOTLINE AGAIN! NO! NO, NO, NO, NO! I WILL DIE! I WILL BLOW UP THIS ENTIRE CONTINENT WITH DARK FORBIDDEN MAGIC BEFORE I CARRY ELEVEN CHILDREN FOR A REINHARDT LACKEY!'
"They want to ruin your reputation," Lucien continued, entirely misinterpreting the sheer, unadulterated existential horror on Cassian's face as a delicate prince fearing public disgrace.
"If you succumb to the heat and pair with a commoner or a servant in your madness, the King will be legally forced to strip your royal title and exile you to the border wastes on the spot. And once you are outside the palace walls without guards... Adrian will have you slaughtered."
Cassian was visibly trembling now. His chest was heaving, his pupils dilated into tiny pinpricks of pure, unbridled panic. He didn't care about the political exile. He didn't care about Adrian's assassins. He was entirely, profoundly traumatized by the reawakened psychological horror of the fertility drug.
In a state of complete, uncoordinated panic, his modern survival instincts entirely overriding his rational brain, Cassian didn't push Lucien away. Instead, he reached forward, his pale hands violently clutching the cold, soot-stained metal of Lucien's silver breastplate, burying his face directly into the knight's chest armor.
"You need to protect me," Cassian gasped out, his voice cracking with a genuine, desperate terror that he had never once shown in this lifetime. He clutched the heavy armor tighter, practically begging, his body shaking against the knight's immovable frame.
"Lucien... you have to protect me. Don't let them put that stuff in my cup. I'll do anything. I'll stay in my room, I won't go to the vault, I won't even look at the wine! Just... don't let that trait activate. Please. I am begging you."
Lucien's entire world violently short-circuited.
His muscles completely froze beneath his armor. His breath died in his throat. The cold, unyielding, arrogant prince who had brushed him off, who had commanded dark elements, and who had laughed joyfully at his departure... was currently clinging to his chestplate like a fragile, terrified bird, begging him for salvation.
The soft, sweet scent of jasmine from Cassian's hair drifted up to Lucien's nose, mixing with the metallic tang of dried blood and northern snow. An electric, intensely possessive jolt shot straight down the knight's spine, setting his blood on fire.
'He... he is trusting me for once,' Lucien's internal monologue roared in a chaotic, dizzying wave of dark satisfaction.
'He is clinging to me. He is asking for my hand to keep him safe from the world.'
Lucien slowly raised his massive, armored arms, wrapping them tightly around Cassian's waist, pulling the trembling prince so flush against his chestplate that Cassian could likely hear the frantic, thumping rhythm of the knight's heart.
"Breathe, Cassian," Lucien whispered, his voice dropping into a deep, terrifyingly absolute tone as his large fingers dug into the silk of Cassian's robes, locking him firmly in place.
"Look at me. Nobody is touching your cup tonight. And nobody is touching you. I will stand directly behind your chair, and if a single servant so much as breathes too heavily near your wine... I will split their skull before the glass can even touch the table."
Lucien leaned his head down, his lips nearly brushing the strands of black hair as his eyes flashed with a lethal, territorial promise. "I told you before I left for the North, My Prince... you are never escaping my sight. Let the vipers brew their little poisons. Tonight, I will show them what happens when they try to touch what belongs to the Commander."
'...What belongs to the Commander?'
'Wait, he doesn't mean my head, does he?'
The words hit Cassian like a bucket of ice water, instantly slicing through his paralyzing Timeline Eleven trauma. His head shot up in absolute disbelief. He broke out of the embrace, stepping back so fast his heels clicked loudly against the marble floor. He stared at Lucien, his sleep-deprived crimson eyes wide with a mixture of horror and profound disgust.
'What did this shiny lunatic just say?! Did he just say out loud that he won't let anyone else harm me but him? Or did he just claim ownership over me like I'm his fucking pet?! Excuse me, I am a twenty-four-year-old modern university student, not a decorative throw pillow for your knightly savior complex!... No, in fact, adding up my past lives, I am seventy-nine years old! I am fucking older than you, you bastard!'
"Your Highness," Lucien spoke, his ice-blue eyes darkening as he felt the sudden, freezing rejection radiating from the prince. He extended a gloved hand.
"The banquet hall doors are opening. Stay close to—"
"I can walk perfectly fine on my own, Sir Arden," Cassian snapped, his default cold, deadpan facade slamming right back into place like an iron shutter. He aggressively straightened his silk royal robes, shot Lucien a venomous glare, and strode out of the alcove without looking back.
"You go get changed so long now Sir Arden, we can't have the empire's hero covered in soot during his celebration now can we?"
His calm voice slowly faded as he disappeared further inside the palace.
'I need to handle this conspiracy myself,' Cassian thought fiercely.
'Relying on a yandere swordmaster is how you get locked in a tower.'
*****
At the Grand Banquet Hall, An Hour Later.
The Victory Gala was a magnificent, suffocating display of imperial excess. Hundreds of crystal chandeliers illuminated the massive ballroom, casting a golden glow over a sea of high nobles, foreign ambassadors, and celebrated knights.
But at the central royal table, the atmosphere was a toxic pressure cooker.
Cassian sat rigidly in his high-backed velvet chair, placed by strict imperial protocol directly next to his older brother, Crown Prince Adrian. Adrian's "nervous fever" had miraculously vanished for the evening, replaced by a smug, greasy grin that made Cassian's knuckles twitch.
Behind Cassian's chair stood Sir Lucien Arden, looking like an immovable statue of silver and steel. His hand rested firmly on the pommel of his holy broadsword, his gaze scanning every single movement of the passing servants with a lethal, unblinking intensity.
Just then, the ambient noise in the hall suddenly focused at the main entrance, causing everyone to turn their heads, including the royal family.
Cassian's blood went entirely cold as his eyes landed straight on the prominent figures standing out within the group that had just arrived. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his posture snapping into a rigid line.
'Duke Reinhardt actually dared to bring them here.' Cassian bit his lower lip so hard it threatened to bleed at any moment as he watched his past lover prominently making his way inside the banquet hall.
"Prince Thoris Madurai... that bastard," Cassian hissed under his breath, his hands grabbing the edges of his seat with a slight, involuntary tremble.
Emperor Cedric welcomed the Crown Princes of the Eastern Continent with a warm, resounding laugh, alongside Duke Reinhardt, who trailed close behind them like a shadow. The King knew very well that Vikra and Thoris wouldn't come empty-handed, and indeed, Vikra was legendary for his generous diplomatic gifts. Cassian knew that truth intimately—the riches were abundant in the Eastern Continent, but due to a harsh ancestral curse, their birth rate amongst themselves was devastatingly low. Hence, they routinely sought compatible, high-mana partners from other kingdoms and foreign bloodlines to continue their royal legacy. And unfortunately for him in timeline eleven, he was one of those baby machines.
"Ah, what a wonderful day it is for us to have a guest such as yourself, Lord Vikra!" King Cedric joyfully approached the eastern prince from below the dais, welcoming him with a brief, authoritative hug. Vikra had long been like a son to Cedric, given how well the King got along with the eastern tribal Chieftain.
Walking a half-step behind the imposing Vikra was his younger brother, Thoris—the very same Barbarian Prince of Cassian's age, the High Scion of the Iron Steppes and First Blade of the Horde.
As the formal introductions concluded, Vikra stepped forward, his deep voice carrying across the silent hall as he addressed the Emperor.
"Your Imperial Majesty, to ensure the permanent, unbroken bond between our domains, I request two things of the Valemont Crown tonight. First, a joint military summit to be held at your prestigious Academy, with my younger brother Thoris at the forefront as our representative."
King Cedric nodded favorably. "A reasonable and wise request. And the second?"
"A joint in marriage," Vikra stated smoothly, his amber eyes glinting. "A union between our bloodlines and one of Your Majesty's royal children."
Before the King could even process the request, Duke Reinhardt stepped forward from the shadows of the dais, a smooth, calculated smile on his face.
"Your Majesty, if I may offer a humble suggestion... Prince Adrian is the Crown Prince and must remain within the capital to oversee the governance of the realm. However... Prince Cassian is not only a pure-blooded heir of exceptional mana, but he is currently residing at the Academy where the joint military summit will take place. He is the absolute perfect choice."
Duke Reinhardt glanced toward the royal table, his eyes gleaming with a malicious, hidden triumph.
'It is far better than letting a simple commoner do the job,' the Duke thought hiddenly.
'With Vikra and Thoris here, we can hit two birds with one stone. We will violently trigger Cassian's latent fertility heat using the Nectar tonight, leave him exposed to the barbarian princes, completely strip him of his succession rights, and simultaneously gain the Eastern continent's enormous military support for Adrian's ascension and Cassian's limitless dowry while sharing eternal blood ties with the rich Eastern Continent.'
Up at the table, Cassian's knuckles turned white against his armrests. He could feel Thoris's wild, predatory gaze locking onto him from across the floor, while behind his chair, the holy mana radiating off Lucien Arden grew so intensely hot it practically singed the velvet upholstery[2].
'Timeline Eleven is officially banging on my front door,' Cassian panicked internally, his poker face remaining freezing cold as he stared down his enemies.
'They really want a war. Fine. But let's see who burns first.'
*****
[1] Mpreg (short for male pregnancy) is a fictional trope and plot device in which male characters become pregnant
[2] fabric or leather covers—used to make the soft, padded coverings for furniture like sofas and chairs