Chapter 206: Chapter 206: The Weight of the Name

The thick oaken doors creaked shut behind him as Albrecht Thorne stepped into his private study. His boots left faint prints of dust and sweat on the marble floor, and his shirt clung to his chest. His broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath, but his expression remained unreadable.

Behind him, a soft but firm tapping of polished shoes announced the arrival of his ever-faithful butler.

Frederick moved like a ghost of discipline: thin, slightly hunched from age, dressed in impeccable formalwear. His skin was pale and deeply lined, his pure white hair combed neatly back. Despite nearing ninety, his eyes retained the sharpness of a hawk.

“I told you at Lady Livia’s wedding,” Frederick said, voice dry as parchment. “Sooner or later, it will kill you. You do know you have soldiers who could assist with this, don’t you?”

Albrecht grunted, pouring himself a glass of chilled water from the crystal decanter by the desk. He didn’t sit.

“Are any of them as strong as I am?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “You know damn well they’re not. Some are close… but none have stepped into the Ascendant threshold.”

He downed the water in one motion, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned toward the window.

“Right now, they’d just get in the way. I won’t throw lives away without reason. I’m still capable. Alone, for now.”

Frederick folded his hands behind his back and let out a quiet sigh.

“If you say so. But you know the burden will fall on one of your children eventually. That means choosing a proper heir. And I assume Lady Livia is no longer in the running.”

Albrecht didn’t answer. He only stared out at the darkening horizon beyond the glass. The lands of Thorne stretched far — forests, rivers, cold winds — all his to protect.

’And eventually… someone else’s.’

Albrecht didn’t turn away from the window. The weight in his silence was heavier than the stones that built the estate.

“I know,” he said finally. “Livia’s out of the question.”

Frederick gave a small nod, unsurprised.

“And Damon? Kael?” he pressed, his tone neutral but probing. “After what they pulled at the Hunt Festival…”

“They shamed the family,” Albrecht interrupted. His voice was low, cold. “But the academy seems to have knocked some sense into them. Still… after Noel’s mother died, I wasn’t in my right mind. Let too much slide. Thought I could beat honor into them. I was wrong.”

He clenched his jaw. His hands remained at his sides, but the muscles in his forearms tensed.

“I should’ve raised them differently,” he muttered.

Frederick arched an eyebrow, lips twitching into something between a smirk and a frown.

“Well, better late than never, as the saying goes. Though if I may — you’ve acted like a boy yourself at times. You really should listen to your elders more often.”

Albrecht finally turned to face him, one brow lifting.

“Then let’s hear it,” he said. “What would you recommend?”

Frederick didn’t hesitate. “You mean regarding the heir?”

“Yes.”

The old butler took a step forward, as if the gravity of the question demanded it.

“You have Sylvette. She turns nineteen this year. Brilliant with magic — more so than her two older brothers combined. She’s calm, tactful, and respected within the house.”

A pause.

“But…”

Albrecht’s eyes narrowed. “But there’s Noel.”

Frederick nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

The air in the study grew heavier.

Frederick’s voice remained even, but his eyes carried a spark of something sharper — understanding, perhaps, or warning.

“You know perfectly well that while the public doesn’t hear the truth, families like ours do. The things that boy’s done… they travel fast, even when they’re buried under official lies.”

Albrecht walked to his desk, resting both hands on its polished surface. He didn’t look at Frederick.

“He changed,” Albrecht said. “Noel changed too much, too fast. It’s impossible not to notice. After everything — the way we treated him… the way I treated him — he still came out the other side stronger.”

His fingers curled slightly against the wood.

“I thought he’d break.”

Frederick let out a quiet breath.

“Perhaps he did,” he said. “And rebuilt himself into something sharper. Stronger. Or maybe… he just got tired.”

Albrecht looked up at that.

“Tired?”

“Of all of you,” Frederick said plainly. “Of this place. Of us. There’s a real possibility he won’t accept the heirship, no matter what you offer.”

Albrecht was silent.

“If that’s the case,” Frederick went on, “then Sylvette is the logical choice. She’s ready. Willing. And most importantly — she still wants it.”

A moment passed.

Albrecht gave a slow nod, gaze unfocused.

“You might be right.”

Frederick, as if timing it perfectly, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a letter sealed with deep blue wax.

“Then perhaps this will help make things clearer,” he said, extending the envelope. “The official invitation to this year’s Hunt Festival. It arrived this morning. Host family: House De Nivaria.”

Albrecht took the letter without opening it. He studied the seal in silence.

“They’re close,” he muttered. “Their lands border ours to the east. We’re the two houses that control the southern frontier.”

“Precisely,” Frederick confirmed. “You know the rules: each house may send three children. I assume you’ve already made your selections?”

Albrecht nodded once.

“Damon. Sylvette. And Noel.”

Frederick didn’t react at first, but a faint flicker of surprise touched his expression.

“Leaving out Kael,” he noted. “Any particular reason?”

Albrecht didn’t hesitate.

“I want to see the ones most likely to inherit what I leave behind.”

Frederick tilted his head, his tone still calm but just edged with curiosity.

“So you’re discarding your firstborn as heir to House Thorne. I imagine Lady Mirelle won’t be thrilled by that decision.”

Albrecht’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m not here to please her,” he said flatly. “I’m thinking about who can bear the weight of our name. The name matters more than blood order.”

Frederick gave a short, satisfied nod.

“Then I’d say you’re finally making decisions like a proper lord.”

Albrecht turned toward the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the silver hound above the mantle — jaws open, ready to bite.

“Let’s see how they perform at the festival,” he murmured.

Frederick said nothing. He simply turned and walked toward the door.

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