The grand gates of Veloria, capital of the Leontheir Kingdom, stood tall as Cedric's caravan approached under the cresting sun. Towering spires pierced the skyline, and thick marble walls encased the city like a fortress of gold and ivory. Banners of royal blue and sun-gold fluttered from every parapet.
As Cedric's small entourage rode through the gates, crowds parted, murmuring among themselves. Noblemen and commoners alike cast curious glances at the young lord clad in blackened ceremonial armor with golden trim. At his side rode Victoria, a bastion of quiet strength. Behind them trailed wagons of trade reports, gifts, and the documentation of Thorne's revival.
"So this is Veloria," Cedric murmured, eyes narrowed at the cobbled grandeur. "A city where every stone speaks of legacy."
Benwick, riding just behind, cleared his throat. "And politics, my lord. Every shadow has ears."
-----
Upon their arrival at the Palace of Leontheir, they were greeted by a steward clad in crimson and gold.
"Lord Cedric Alwyn Thorne," he announced, bowing low. "His Majesty awaits you in the Lion's Hall."
Cedric descended from his horse with practiced grace. Victoria and Benwick fell in behind him, followed by two guards carrying the ceremonial chest of offerings.
The palace corridors echoed with the shuffle of attendants and soft clinks of armor. Murals of ancient battles, depictions of kings and saints, and lion-headed torches adorned the walls.
As they neared the Lion's Hall, the double doors were pushed open by royal guards in silver-embossed armor.
"Lord Cedric of House Thorne," came the herald's voice.
The Lion's Hall stood vast and circular, with stained glass bathing the floor in a kaleidoscope of gold and sapphire. The court nobles lined the periphery, whispering, observing. And at the head, upon a tiered dais crowned in sunlight, sat King Albrecht III.
The King was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mane of iron-gray hair and a regal presence that silenced the chamber.
Cedric stepped forward and knelt. "Your Majesty. I, Cedric Alwyn Thorne, answer your summons."
Albrecht's voice, deep and resonant, filled the hall. "Rise, Baronet of the Southern March."
Cedric rose, standing proud.
The King studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Your estate has made quite the stir, Lord Thorne. From near collapse to prosperity in under a year. Trade, arms, agricultural reform, loyal people. All from a house once marked for dissolution."
Cedric inclined his head. "Thorne rises, Your Majesty, because its people stood tall. I merely gave them the chance to do so."
A murmur of approval swept the hall.
Chancellor Verdan, standing beside the King, stepped forward. "We have reviewed your reports. There is clear evidence of economic surplus, military preparedness, and growing literacy. You employed new techniques and customs unfamiliar to the region. May I ask where you learned such things?"
Cedric offered a small smile. "A lifetime of study, Chancellor. Even when there was no land to rule, I prepared to rule it."
There was a pause—brief, but sharp with meaning. The King narrowed his eyes slightly, then gave a small nod.
"You present gifts?"
Benwick motioned, and the guards stepped forward, opening the chest.
Within lay a ceremonial blade forged by Hans, etched with runes and the Thorne crest. Alongside it, a ledger of trade revenues signed by Marlowe, a box of spiced fruit tarts from Annika, and rolls of cloth stitched in village workshops.
The King stepped down from his throne and approached the offerings. He lifted the blade, testing its weight.
"Fine craftsmanship."
"Our blacksmith Hans has recently reached B-Class in his forging," Cedric replied. "He is but one of many who have grown."
Albrecht turned to the crowd. "A B-Class craftsman in a Baronet's village. Remarkable."
He looked once more at Cedric. "What do you seek from the Crown?"
Cedric's tone remained measured. "Recognition. Support. And the opportunity to continue serving the realm not as a ruin, but as a cornerstone."
The King turned, returning to his throne. "Then hear my decree."
A silence fell over the hall.
"Baronet Cedric Thorne, for your diligence, wisdom, and leadership, I name you Warden of the Southern March. You shall oversee the defense and development of not only your estate, but of the surrounding borderlands. You shall report directly to the Crown."
Gasps rang out among the nobles. It was an honor typically reserved for Counts.
Cedric bowed deeply. "I am honored, Your Majesty. I will not fail you."
-----
After the official decree, Cedric was invited to a smaller chamber where select members of the nobility gathered with the King for further discussion. This was where influence was measured, weighed, and exchanged.
The chamber was circular, its ceiling a dome of star-forged glass. King Albrecht sat at the head of a long table. Around it sat powerful men and women—Counts, high lords, envoys, and advisors. Cedric found a seat near the middle, a place that spoke neither of power nor irrelevance.
A tall, hawk-faced man in a blue mantle spoke first. "So, Lord Cedric, tell us—how did you reform a wasteland estate in such a short time?"
Cedric met his gaze steadily. "By empowering those who had been overlooked. My people were not lazy; they were led poorly. I simply showed them how to lead themselves."
A woman with ivory hair and a calculating smile leaned in. "And your methods? Some whisper they border on revolutionary. Private workshops, incentive-based training, profit-sharing with artisans."
"Revolutionary, perhaps," Cedric answered. "But effective. And more importantly, loyal. A land is strongest when its people believe they are part of its success."
There were murmurs, some nods, some skeptical frowns.
King Albrecht watched the exchanges with interest. "I see the threads of ambition in you, Lord Thorne. Ambition is not a sin, so long as it feeds the realm and not only your own name."
Cedric inclined his head. "I would see the South rise with me. Not beneath me."
The King leaned back, fingers steepled. "Then let us see how high you can climb."
-----
Later that evening, as the palace quieted and the court dispersed, Cedric stood by the garden terrace, sipping from a silver goblet of spiced wine.
Victoria joined him, arms behind her back. "That went well."
He smirked. "Beyond expectation."
Benwick approached, carrying a sealed scroll. "Dispatches from the Thorne estate. Hans is preparing a new line of tools, and Annika has started teaching baking techniques to nearby villages."
Cedric nodded. "Good. Let the realm see what our people can do."
Victoria leaned on the rail. "So... a Warden now. Does it feel real?"
Cedric looked toward the spires of Veloria. "Real enough. But the game has only just begun."
She chuckled and looked at him sidelong. "I hope you're ready to play it."
Just then, Marlowe, the merchant representative of Thorne, stepped forward from the inner hall, flanked by Hans and Annika, who had also been invited to attend the royal gathering.
"Warden Cedric," Marlowe said with a slight bow. "Your reforms have not just saved us—they've put us on the map. The trade guilds in Veloria are already whispering about investment."
Hans folded his arms and grinned broadly. "Never thought a blacksmith like me would be presenting work at court. You pulled that off."
Annika curtsied, cheeks pink from the attention. "And now I'm teaching others how to bake! This is... more than I ever dreamed."
Cedric clapped Hans on the back and nodded at Annika. "It's only the beginning. But I'll count on both of you to help keep the fire burning."
Victoria smiled faintly as she looked at the group. "Our Baronet turned Warden leads not just with might... but with heart."
-----
High above the Lion's Hall, within the Moonfire Tower that overlooked Veloria's inner keep, King Albrecht stood before a window, his hands clasped behind his back. The candlelight flickered across his weathered face as he stared down at the palace gardens.
Behind him, Chancellor Verdan stood in silent observation.
"What do you make of him?" the King finally asked, voice quiet but clear.
Verdan was thoughtful. "Cedric Thorne is not a typical noble. His intellect is sharp, but what strikes me more is his conviction. He believes in what he's building. That is dangerous… and rare."
The King gave a soft grunt. "Dangerous men can be useful—if they are ours."
He turned from the window, his gaze now distant, reflective. "I remember House Thorne. Once one of our rising stars, until Leopold squandered his lineage through vanity. Now his son rises from the ashes like a phoenix."
"Your Majesty," Verdan asked carefully, "do you trust him?"
Albrecht poured himself a goblet of wine and sipped. "Trust is not the currency I deal in easily. But I see potential. And potential, Verdan, is worth nurturing."
He moved toward a desk strewn with maps and intelligence scrolls. "Place watchers on him. Quiet ones. I want to know if he's simply lucky... or something more."
Verdan bowed. "As you command."
As the chancellor withdrew, the King stared down at the map of the southern border.
A faint smile crept onto his face.
"Warden Cedric Thorne... Let's see if you can shake the pillars of this kingdom."