Chapter 143
Atticus moved through the wide hallways of the royal castle with confidence in every step.
Servants and maids quickly lowered their heads as he passed, while several knights offered respectful nods after noticing the crimson armour he wore. A little bit over a year ago, such a thing would have been impossible.
Back then, Atticus had never even stepped foot inside the royal castle. House Arkala had always been noble, but being a viscount family only carried so much weight. They possessed traces of the ancestral blood, yet that meant little when dozens of other noble houses could claim the same thing.
His father had changed that.
The man had spent years maneuvering through politics, forging alliances, abandoning others, and making decisions that many would call ruthless. Some even called him untrustworthy behind closed doors for turning his back on the Fraysers that had supported House Arkala for decades.
Atticus disagreed.
His father had simply understood something most nobles never did. Loyalty was valuable, but only when it helped a house move forward. The moment loyalty became a chain, it had to be discarded.
That philosophy had elevated House Arkala higher than it had stood in generations, and now it was Atticus's responsibility to continue the climb.
One day, House Arkala would stand amongst the ducal houses. It would sit just beneath the crown itself, and the path toward that future began with ensuring Prince Melakar eventually claimed the throne.
Still, Atticus knew political support alone would never be enough.
Since childhood, he had been taught every lesson his father could provide regarding power, influence, and noble politics. From all those lessons, one fact stood above the rest.
Power earned respect. Fame multiplied it.
A noble whose name was known throughout the kingdom possessed influence that extended far beyond his lands. If people spoke about you, remembered your victories, and associated your name with greatness, opportunities appeared naturally.
That was what Atticus needed.
He needed his own achievements., his own legend.
The Crimson Guard was only the beginning. Within two years, he intended to stand at its head, and after that he would aim even higher. Before any of that could happen, however, Valers needed to know exactly who he was.
The capital needed to recognize him.
More importantly, it needed to recognize him more than those arrogant bastards from the Crown's Hand.
By the time those thoughts finished crossing his mind, Atticus had reached the wing reserved for the royal family. The First Prince's chambers stood ahead, guarded by two Crimson Guards positioned outside the doors.
He recognized both immediately. Not because he cared enough to learn their names, but because they often bought drinks for the others.
They were low bloods after all. Their families possessed enough wealth to secure positions within the Crimson Guard, and in return they used that prestige to acquire contracts, influence, and favorable treatment for their businesses.
Prince Melakar received gold for his faction while their families received status. It was a practical arrangement.
That did not mean Atticus respected these two.
His eyes narrowed as he approached.
The two guards remained still outside the chambers, standing comfortably at their posts. Neither appeared particularly alert, and neither appeared to be doing the task they had actually been assigned.
Atticus stopped directly in front of them.
"You two were supposed to be accompanying His Highness," he said coldly. Both men immediately straightened. "What exactly are you doing standing out here?"
One of the guards opened his mouth, clearly intending to explain himself, but Atticus's expression only darkened.
"You were given a simple duty," he continued. "Stay near the prince at all times and ensure nothing inconveniences him. Instead, I find both of you loitering outside the chambers while His Highness is somewhere else entirely."
The two men exchanged a brief glance before one finally gathered enough courage to answer.
"His Highness ordered us to remain outside, Sir Atticus."
Atticus frowned. “Why is that?”
The two guards exchanged glances with one another. Neither seemed particularly eager to answer. Eventually, one of them cleared his throat and spoke.
“H-He is with the Fourth Daughter of Duke Hellar, Lord Atticus.”
Atticus stared at him. The guard shifted uncomfortably under his gaze before continuing.
“They have been inside the chambers for almost two hours now. I don't think His Highness will be coming out anytime soon.”
For a brief moment, Atticus felt a headache forming. “So he missed weapons training again?”
Both guards nodded at the same time.
Atticus slowly exhaled through his nose and forced his expression to remain neutral.
Showing frustration here would accomplish nothing. More importantly, it would be foolish. Regardless of his personal opinions, Prince Melakar was still the man House Arkala had chosen to support.
The prince possessed influence, intelligence, and enough political instincts to eventually claim the throne. At least, that was what his father believed.
Unfortunately, everyone had vices. Prince Melakar's vice happened to be women.
Especially noble women.
That single weakness had created more problems than Atticus cared to count. Rivalries, rumours, offended fathers, jealous brothers, and political complications that could have been entirely avoided.
Still, it wasn't Atticus's place to lecture a prince.
So he simply nodded. “Continue standing guard then,” he said. “And if His Highness leaves the chambers, make sure you accompany him to his other lessons.”
“Yes, Lord Atticus.”
The two men straightened immediately, and Atticus was preparing to leave when one of the soldiers suddenly spoke again.
“Lord Atticus?”
He paused. “What is it?”
The man hesitated briefly before asking, “Have you already decided who will participate in the arena tournament with you?”
Atticus raised an eyebrow. “Why?” His gaze swept across both men. “Are you interested?”
The guard swallowed. “Well... yes.”
Atticus almost laughed. “The registrations are already over.”
The man immediately shook his head. “That might be true for commoners, Lord Atticus, but rules like that rarely apply to people of your stature.”
The guard offered a cautious smile.
“As you understand, protecting His Highness is an honourable duty, but life inside the castle isn't exactly exciting. Most days we spend more time standing still than doing anything useful.”
His companion nodded in agreement.
“An arena tournament would be a good opportunity to get our names out of these halls.”
Atticus studied the two men carefully. For the first time since arriving, he actually considered them.
Neither possessed exceptional talent. Neither came from an important bloodline. But they were still Crimson Guards, and that alone placed them above most of the people entering the tournament.
More importantly, they were ambitious.
That wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
After all, ambition was the foundation of every worthwhile achievement, but that wasn't enough for Atticus.
Ambition was useful, but ambition alone did not make someone worth bringing into his party.
So instead of agreeing immediately, he studied the two men for another moment before asking, “And why exactly should I take either of you with me? I already have two men prepared to participate.”
The question immediately caught them off guard.
Both guards glanced at each other, clearly searching for an answer. Unfortunately for them, it was obvious they had not thought that far ahead.
Atticus wasn't surprised.
While some members of the Crimson Guard understood the value of the tournament, many considered it beneath them. They were noble sons and daughters serving the First Prince. In their minds, proving themselves in an arena alongside commoners and adventurers was unnecessary.
A few understood better.
Winning the tournament would place them in front of the entire capital. It would show that the Crimson Guard produced the strongest defenders of the First Prince.
These two, however, seemed more interested in getting an opportunity rather than having a vision. Seeing no reason to continue the conversation, Atticus simply turned away.
“Focus on your duties instead,” he said coldly. “That would benefit you more.”
He had barely taken two steps before one of them called out.
“Wait, Lord Atticus.”
He paused, and slowly looked back over his shoulder. “What?”
The guard swallowed before speaking. “I have a proposal.”
That at least managed to hold Atticus's attention. He turned around fully and narrowed his eyes.
“Go on.”
The man straightened slightly. “My family supplies a large amount of food to the arena. We also have connections with several members of the management committee.”
Atticus immediately lost interest. “So what? If your grand idea is helping me cheat, then forget it. I don't need advantages handed to me.” His gaze hardened further. “I'm more than capable of winning on my own.”
The guard quickly shook his head. “No, Lord Atticus. I wouldn't dare suggest something like that.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
A small smile slowly appeared on the man's face. “What I'm saying is that I have enough influence to alter the tournament roster.”
Atticus frowned. “What would I do with that?” He spread a hand dismissively. “The people participating are hardly worth worrying about. Most of them will be trash. At best, there might be a party from Astra Academy capable of putting up a decent fight.”
The guard's smile widened slightly. “I'm not talking about them, Lord Atticus.”
For the first time since the conversation started, genuine curiosity and confusion entered Atticus's expression. He couldn't tell what the man was hinting towards.
“Then who?” He asked sharply. “Be clear. I don't want to waste time here more than necessary.”
The guard hesitated only briefly before opening his mouth. “I don't think you've heard yet, but another party registered yesterday and was approved.”
Atticus folded his arms. “Who?”
“Your cousin.”
As soon as he heard that, he stood still for a few seconds, then a wave of anger surged through Atticus so quickly that even he was surprised by it.
His expression darkened, and he took a step forward.
“He's not my cousin.” The temperature in the corridor immediately dropped. “He is a bastard of the Fraysers. Nothing more.” His voice hardened with every word. “He is not related to me. Do you understand?”
Both guards visibly paled. Without thinking, they stepped backward until their backs pressed against the chamber doors.
“Yes, Lord Atticus!”
“Of course, Lord Atticus!”
Only then did Atticus force himself to stop. Slowly, he took a breath and pushed the anger back down where it belonged.
Losing control over a Frayser's existence was beneath him. At least that was what he told himself.
After several seconds, his expression returned to normal. Then he looked directly at the guard and asked, “You're certain that bastard registered for the tournament?”
The guard immediately nodded. “Yes, Lord Atticus.” He took a slow breath before continuing. “I heard it directly from the registration office. The bastard registered with two fellow soldiers. The only reason I even paid attention was because those small-dicked halfgars wouldn't stop talking about his surname.”
For a few seconds, Atticus said nothing. He simply stood there while the information settled in his mind.
So it was true.
Rayne Frayser had actually entered the tournament.
Slowly, Atticus nodded to himself.
The image of the bastard immediately surfaced in his thoughts. He remembered the trial. He remembered the way Rayne had looked after being beaten bloody. More importantly, he remembered the look in the man's eyes before entering the trial chamber.
That gaze. Atticus hated it.
It wasn't fear, it wasn't respect, it wasn't even hatred.
It had almost felt like the bastard was looking through him rather than at him, and for some reason that memory had stayed with Atticus far longer than it should have.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “So,” he said at last, “you can arrange things so that the bastard fights me before someone else defeats him?”
The man nodded eagerly. “Yes, Lord Atticus. One command from you and I'll make sure it happens.”
Silence followed between the three of them. Atticus folded his arms behind his back and considered the offer.
His father would disapprove.
He had made his position clear many times already. The Fraysers were finished. Their power was gone. Their influence was gone. A lone bastard surviving somewhere did not change that reality.
House Arkala had moved beyond them. That was what his father always said. Yet despite all of that, Atticus still remembered Rayne's face.
And if he was being honest with himself, part of him wanted to see that face again. Only this time, he wanted to break it properly.
Eventually, he looked back at the two men.
“Make it happen,” he said calmly. “I'll think on your proposal.”
Both men immediately straightened.
“Yes, Lord Atticus!”
Atticus nodded once before turning away.
“Find me at the training grounds this evening,” he said without looking back. “If you want a place in my party, then I'll decide after seeing whether either of you can actually hold a sword properly.”
The excitement on their faces was obvious even without turning around. They quickly agreed, but Atticus paid little attention to their responses.
His thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
With measured steps, he continued down the corridor, the sounds of the castle slowly returning around him. Servants moved through side passages while distant voices echoed from deeper within the royal wing.
Atticus ignored all of it. His mind remained fixed on a single person.
A bastard who should have disappeared from his life long ago. A bastard who still carried the Frayser name.
And as he walked through the castle halls, only one thought continued repeating itself inside his head.
In that arena, he was going to break Rayne Frayser so thoroughly that the man would never dare look him in the eye again.