Lord of the realm

Chapter 201: Imperial Elder Princess

"You didn’t come here to discuss ancient history," Jaenor said.

Gwendolen smiled slightly.

"No, I didn’t. I came to discuss the future. Specifically, what role you’ll play in shaping it."

She paused their walk, turning to face him directly.

"You’ve become a significant force, Lord Arkwright. Divine beast, merged powers, capability to engage the Seven Sins in direct combat. That makes you valuable. The question is, valuable to whom? Whose interests will you serve?"

"My own," Jaenor said immediately.

"And the people I care about. I’m not interested in being anyone’s tool or servant."

"I wouldn’t expect you to be," Gwendolen said.

"But independence is a luxury that becomes increasingly difficult to maintain as your power and influence grow. Eventually, you’ll need allies, resources, and political backing that no individual—no matter how powerful—can provide alone."

She resumed walking, and Jaenor fell into step beside her.

"The Empire can offer those things. Protection for your duchy, legitimization of your bloodline’s status, and resources for defending against demon threats. In exchange, we’d expect cooperation—not servitude, but partnership. You’d maintain autonomy while working toward goals that benefit the realm as a whole."

"And who defines those goals?" Jaenor asked.

"Your mother? Your sister? You?"

"Ideally, through consensus among those with power and vision," Gwendolen said.

"But realistically? Yes, people like my mother, my sister, and me. We’re positioned to see the larger picture, to coordinate responses to threats that transcend local concerns."

"People like me, you mean. Positioned to make decisions that affect millions without their input."

"Precisely," Gwendolen said without shame.

"Democratic ideals are beautiful in theory, Lord Arkwright. But in practice, the vast majority of people lack the knowledge, perspective, or capability to make informed decisions about complex issues. Leadership requires both power and the willingness to use it, even when doing so is unpopular."

There was no deception in her words.

She genuinely believed what she was saying and had built her entire worldview around these principles.

Jaenor found it simultaneously admirable and disturbing.

"You’re remarkably honest about your elitism," he observed.

"Why wouldn’t I be? False modesty serves no purpose between intelligent people."

She looked at him directly.

"You’re not a common villager, Lord Arkwright. You’ve manifested power that makes you functionally immortal, bonded with a divine beast, achieved things that will be recorded in history books. Pretending you’re not exceptional would be absurd."

"Exceptional doesn’t mean superior," Jaenor countered.

"Power doesn’t grant moral authority or the right to dictate others’ lives."

"Doesn’t it?" Gwendolen’s tone was genuinely curious rather than argumentative.

"If you have the power to save thousands of lives, don’t you have the responsibility to do so? And doesn’t that responsibility grant you authority to make decisions others cannot?"

"That’s a dangerous path," Jaenor said.

"Justifying control through capability. It’s how tyrants are born."

"Or how effective leaders are made," Gwendolen countered.

"The difference is in how power is wielded, not whether it’s wielded at all. Someone will always hold authority, Lord Arkwright.

The question is whether it’s people with vision and competence or people who gained positions through birth or manipulation rather than actual capability."

She stopped walking again, this time moving closer to him. Not threatening, but intimate, close enough that he could see the flecks of darker grey in her pale eyes.

"You fascinate me," she said quietly.

"You have tremendous power but show restraint. You understand political realities but reject cynicism. You’re intelligent, capable, and apparently incapable of the casual cruelty that power so often breeds."

Her gloved hand reached up, and for a moment Jaenor thought she might touch his face. But she simply adjusted his collar, which had been slightly askew.

"That combination is rare. Vanishingly rare. It makes you either the realm’s greatest hope or its most dangerous threat, depending on the choices you make."

"And you want to guide those choices," Jaenor said.

"Shape me into an asset rather than a threat."

"I want to understand you," Gwendolen corrected.

"To determine if we can work together toward mutual goals, or if our interests will inevitably conflict."

She stepped back slightly, and something shifted in her demeanor. The calculating assessment was still there, but underneath it...

Attraction, interest.

The kind that had nothing to do with politics.

Jaenor felt it like a physical presence, and his body responded despite his mental caution. Gwendolen was attractive, not in the obvious way of someone who relied on beauty, but in the way powerful, intelligent people often were. Confidence and capability were their own aphrodisiac.

And she knew it.

Knew exactly what effect she was having and was using it deliberately.

"You’re trying to seduce me," Jaenor said bluntly.

Gwendolen laughed, a genuine amusement that transformed her face from merely striking to genuinely beautiful.

"How refreshingly direct. Yes, that’s one of several approaches I’m employing. Physical attraction is a tool like any other, and I’ve found that intelligent men often respond well to women who match their mental capabilities while also being physically desirable."

She moved closer again, and this time her hand did touch his face, gloved fingers tracing his jawline with deliberate slowness.

"But it’s not purely manipulation, if that’s your concern. I genuinely find you interesting. Attractive, even, in ways that transcend strategic value. That combination of power and restraint, intelligence and integrity—it’s intoxicating."

Her eyes held his, and Jaenor felt the pull. His younger, more impulsive instincts screamed at him to close the remaining distance, to explore where this obvious interest might lead.

But his harder-won wisdom recognized the trap.

"You’re offering me exactly what a young man with power might want," he said quietly.

"Physical intimacy with someone beautiful and intelligent, political alliance that makes my life easier, validation that what I’m doing matters."

"And those are all real offerings," Gwendolen said.

"Not false promises. I genuinely want all of those things, in different measures and for different reasons."

"But there’s always a price," Jaenor said.

"Always obligations that come with acceptance. Compromises that seem reasonable at first but accumulate until I’ve surrendered the independence you claim to respect."

Gwendolen’s expression showed approval even as her seduction attempt was rejected.

"Very good. You see the structure beneath the offer and understand how influence compounds over time."

She stepped back, and the intimate atmosphere dissipated, replaced by something closer to professional respect.

"Most men your age would have already agreed, thinking with parts of their anatomy that lack higher reasoning."

"I won’t pretend I’m not tempted," Jaenor admitted.

"You’re intelligent, powerful, attractive—everything you just described. But I’ve seen what happens to people who let others make decisions for them, even with good intentions. It rarely ends well."

"So you’ll reject the imperial alliance entirely?" Gwendolen asked.

"Maintain complete independence regardless of the difficulties that creates?"

"I didn’t say that," Jaenor corrected.

"I said I won’t surrender my independence for the illusion of ease. But cooperation on specific goals and coordination against common threats—that’s different from pledging loyalty or accepting your authority over my decisions."

He met her pale eyes directly.

"If you want my cooperation, earn it through actions rather than manipulation. Show me the Empire actually prioritizes protecting its people over political advantage. Demonstrate that working with you produces better outcomes than working alone. Give me reasons to trust based on evidence rather than promises."

Gwendolen was silent for several long moments, studying him with an intensity that felt almost physical.

Then she smiled—and this time it was genuine, reaching her eyes in ways her earlier expressions hadn’t.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I came here expecting to recruit or neutralize you, depending on which proved easier. But you’ve done something unexpected."

"What’s that?"

"Made me reconsider my approach entirely. You’re right that manipulation and seduction are my usual tools. They work efficiently on most people, and efficiency is something I value highly."

She began walking again, gesturing for him to follow.

"But you’ve proven resistant to standard methods, which means I need to adapt. Become more honest, more direct. Earn trust rather than manufacture it."

"And you’re capable of that?" Jaenor asked skeptically.

"Changing your entire approach because one person didn’t respond as expected?"

"I’m capable of adapting to achieve desired outcomes," Gwendolen said.

"And the desired outcome here is securing you as an ally, a genuine ally, not a controlled asset. If that requires being more forthright than usual, I’ll manage."

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the eternal snow falling around them in gentle spirals. Despite the initial tension, Jaenor found himself relaxing slightly. Gwendolen was still dangerous, still calculating every word and gesture. But there was something refreshing about her honesty, even when that honesty revealed how manipulative she normally was.

"Can I ask you something?" Jaenor said eventually.

"Of course."

"Why are you really here? Not the political reasons or the opportunity to meet me. The actual reason you personally came rather than sending subordinates."

Gwendolen considered the question carefully.

"Because I’m bored," she said finally.

"The imperial court is endlessly predictable. The same political games, the same maneuvering, the same people pursuing the same goals they’ve had for decades. It’s all necessary, all important, but it’s also soul-crushingly monotonous."