Unresponsive, not from the confrontation, but by design. Duke Raine who ruled a full quarter of the empire, matched his silence. From barons to marques, every lord of the east owed fealty to him. Many of them present for the trial today, growing uneasy, no longer finding entertainment in the situation.
Count Shaun, signaling for his house's knights and mages to remain blended among the crowd, found quiet satisfaction in his son's actions.
Ashton on the other hand was focused, like a sword only half drawn, his threat unmistakable.
"Your Grace," Ashton finally said, his tone firm and unwavering. "My point is proven?" With confidence in his voice, almost mockery, unflinching in the face of imperial authority.
Ashtons actions perceived by the crowd as arrogance, yet some recognize his authority blended together with capability crystalizing a serene certainty. The discerning present, recognized the situation becoming stale, neither side willing to step aside. The eastern lords readying for potential commands, while the rest keep wide eyes.
Regardless of reaction from the crowd, one thought was unanimous, echoing every mind in the crowd that has grown twofold.
Ashton defied someone well beyond his own station. Best of all, he did it naturally, as if he belonged and was bred for this moment.
"Whatever the reason," Duke Raine no longer veiling threat in sophistry, "The men of Raine are beyond your correction. Back away."
The crowd's reaction was immediate, an audible wave of tension rippled through the garden. The duke had left no room for liberties in his words. Final, absolute, the crowd believed the demand was, certain Ashton would step back.
Yet the reality was unchanged, Ashton not only didn't budge but he pressed harder.
His mana which was only heavy enough to buckle the knees of his targets, grew more substantial. The density in his mana previously rising like hot air, now forced downward like a raging tornado.
Ashton himself was not in control of his mana, a foreign feeling, but a calculated action. He wanted not just defiance, but a loud domineering display.
[Father may be aware by now, perhaps even mother too. They at the minimum, can feel my intention]
The vortex of Ashtons mana, naturally cause the illusion magic to fall out, the people trapped within it still stunned from the mental torture, begin to feel the pain on their bodies clearly.
The consequences of his actions didn't enter Ashton's mind. He didn't intend to face them, at least not directly. He was already sketching a path around them, a plan unfolding with ruthless precision.
Then he saw it.
A flicker of light. Mana. A variable.
Blonde hair flowing in the storm of his mana, a figure protecting itself in thin overlapping layers of magical defense, emerald eyes locked in meeting with his own.
Isebell, still among Ashtons victims when his mana erupted was consequently caught in the assault. The realization like a wall Infront of his mana, the personification of his defiance subsides.
Isebell's image was clarity, it stirred an emotion unwelcomed. Embarrassment.
Embarrassment that he had forgotten her. That in his growing satisfaction, in the righteous fire of his display, he had overlooked someone who mattered.
Not to him. But to the Duke.
Harming Aaron, his heir, and his knights could have been explained to the duke. It could have even been excused, but Isebell was different.
Isebell was much more than the daughter of a duke, she was a public figurehead in her own right. Hurting her is not a slight only to her and her family, but to the entire east of the empire.
[Fool, that was nearly politically catastrophic. If I had brought her under the weight of illusion and mana from the start it would have been fine]
Ashton felt heat rising across his skin, embarrassment, raw and unfiltered. Sweat formed on the back of his neck as the scene around him shifted. To the crowd, it must have looked as if he'd struck Isebell without cause. As if he'd lost control.
[I should have just put her under to begin with] He repeats to himself again
Ashtons mana lifted for only a few seconds, before the duke could speak in condemnation, before the crowd's response was decided, Isebell still in eye contact with Ashton opens, "Thank you."
Bowing her body slightly to Ashton, his mother and siblings. "I apologize for my brother, he was in the wrong." Straightening her posture upward, her eyes scan Ashton over. Having learned about him magically, she observes him physically.
His tall presence coupled with wide clavicles that rest round shoulders on each side, peeking and pressing through his tailored shirt. Clean, well kept hands fitted for poetry or combat alike. Skin unmarred by scars and worry, untouched by the world he braves.
Isebell was enchanted. Magical prestige that captured her heart, and his physical presence stuck in her mind.
[Would you look at that... Is she a fool, or does she hate her father? Or perhaps a longer, deeper scheme...]
Isebell's words and wondering eyes restored Ashtons confidence which briefly vanished. Responding to Isebell, but looking at the duke, "No problem, as long as you remember whose house you're in, we will get along fine."
"Hm Hm Hm." The quiet chuckle of Isebell, "I look forward to getting along, my lord"
Dukes Raine's eyes meet Ashtons, more intently then with Isebell. His voice unspoken, and emotion discreet. He doesn't respond, with the glare of the entire garden on him, Isebell had broken the stage he stands on.
Raising his hand, a signal for his knights who just regained lucidity to disperse.
Turning his back on the crowd and looking Count Shaun in the eye, his eyes burrow, his voice dry and stern, "This was no mere assertion of will, it was beyond defiance. It was invitation, one that I will be answering. One that your county will answer for."
Walking away from the garden, not back to his carriage but to his booth in the colosseum, his anger weakening his stride, falling on the support of his cane. Isebell rushes over to her father, concern heard in the taps of her boots along the ground.