The Art of Unmaking Kings - Read on MistNovel

The city of Oakhaven gleamed like a blade under the afternoon sun. From the viewing deck of the diplomatic transport, Prince Kaien Liyang watched the capital of Kareth unfold beneath him in a display of sterile geometry. Glass towers rose at intervals so exact they almost hurt the eye, connected by elevated railways that hummed with a quiet, mechanical hum. No curves softened the architecture, and no gardens broke the expanse of steel. Even the sky seemed disciplined here, with clouds arranged in neat, orderly formations.

Kaien felt his magic recoil, pressed down by the anti-enchantment wards that saturated the air. The sensation reminded him of being underwater, where every breath required conscious effort. He had prepared for this, of course. His mother had warned him that Kareth’s capital would feel hostile to anyone born with spirit-sight. Knowing, however, and experiencing were different creatures entirely. His jaw tightened, an involuntary reaction to the suffocating pressure.

The transport docked at the governmental complex, a fortress of frosted glass and brushed metal. Kaien descended the ramp with practiced grace, his silk robes a deliberate splash of crimson and gold against the monochrome surroundings. He had chosen the traditional cut specifically to remind these people of the culture they had declared war against for three generations.

The welcoming committee waited in a perfect line. At its center stood Prince Aric Daven.

Kaien had studied intelligence reports and seen surveillance images, but none had captured the sheer physical presence of the man. Aric stood like a monument, broad-shouldered and battle-hardened, dressed in a formal military uniform that somehow made the diplomatic occasion feel like a surrender ceremony. His dark hair was cut with military efficiency, and his eyes held the steady, assessing gaze of someone who had learned to see people as tactical variables.

Their gazes met, a silent and immediate strike in their unspoken war.

The handshake was performed for the cameras. Aric’s grip was firm enough to register as a challenge, his palm bearing the calluses of a man who still trained with weapons despite his princely status. Kaien felt the rough skin against his own and offered a disarming smile in return.

“Prince Kaien,” Aric said, his voice carrying the clipped cadence of a man who measured his words like ammunition. “Welcome to Kareth.”

“Prince Aric.” Kaien’s smile was an expression designed to seem warm while revealing nothing. “Your city is… impressive.”

“We value function over decoration.” The unspoken translation was clear: We are not charmed by your illusions.

“How refreshing.” Kaien’s tone suggested it was anything but. “I look forward to seeing more of what Kareth has built.” His own meaning was just as pointed: I am cataloging your weaknesses.

The treaty signing took place in a hall designed to intimidate. The ceiling soared overhead, held aloft by supports that demonstrated Kareth’s engineering mastery. The treaty itself rested on a table of polished steel, the document precise and impersonal. Every clause had been negotiated by diplomats who would never have to live with the consequences.

Kaien signed his name with a brush, the ancient characters flowing across the page in ink mixed with powdered pearl. Aric signed with a metal stylus that etched his name into the document with permanent precision, two completely different approaches to leaving a mark on history.

The gathered ministers applauded with carefully measured enthusiasm. Speeches were delivered, promising a future of peace and prosperity. Kaien barely listened. He watched Aric instead, cataloging the way the prince’s jaw tensed at certain phrases, the nearly imperceptible way his fingers tapped against his thigh when the Zhenyan ambassador spoke of “cooperation in mystical and material sciences.”

The reception afterward was performed with the same mechanical efficiency as everything else in Oakhaven. Kaien moved through the crowd like water, his charm precisely calibrated for each interaction. He laughed at the right moments and asked thoughtful questions, subtly encouraging people to underestimate him. It was a performance he had perfected under his mother’s brutal tutelage.

The first genuine moment came when the formal obligations ended and a servant led both princes to a private antechamber. The door sealed with a pneumatic hiss, and the masks came off.

“Let’s establish something,” Aric said, moving with military directness to pour himself water from a steel carafe. He did not offer Kaien any. “I know what you are.”

“A prince?” Kaien settled into a chair with deliberate elegance, arranging his robes like plumage. A diplomat? Do clarify.

“A manipulator who hides behind pretty illusions and empty words.” Aric’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were describing a chemical equation. “You will use your magic to charm, confuse, and control. You will treat this alliance as a game where the winner is whoever extracts the most advantage.”

“My,” Kaien said, his smile sharpening. “Such harsh accusations for someone you have known for less than an hour.”

“I have studied you.” Aric set his glass down with a precise click. “Your diplomatic history reads like a textbook on manipulation. You orchestrated trade wars, undermined treaties, and sent ambassadors home, somehow agreeing to terms that benefited Zhenya exclusively.”

“I prefer to think of it as being exceptionally persuasive.”

“It is deception.”

“It is statecraft.” Kaien’s voice cooled by several degrees. “But please, continue assuming your dependence on tangible things gives you perfect understanding. It makes you remarkably simple to read.”

Something dangerous flickered in Aric’s eyes. “And your reliance on tricks that manipulate perception makes you fundamentally dishonest.”

“Better dishonest than boring.”

The silence stretched between them, hostile and electric. Kaien rose with fluid grace, smoothing his robes.

“I believe we understand each other, Prince Aric. This marriage serves both our nations’ survival. We will play our parts until the ceremony concludes. After that…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished and full of threat.

“After that,” Aric agreed, his voice low, “we will see who outmaneuvers whom.”

Kaien walked to the door, then paused and glanced back. “I look forward to the journey. Do try to keep up.”

As the door sealed behind him, Kaien allowed himself a genuine smile. This would not be a simple political arrangement.

This would be a war.