The ballroom fell completely silent, and somehow, the silence felt louder than the music had.
Lioren’s hand was still raised high above his head, his expression so calm it was almost insulting, as if he’d just casually asked about the weather rather than interrupted the King.
Behind him, Therin’s left eye began to twitch with a terrifying, rhythmic intensity. The poor aide had lived through some major military campaigns, so many northern blizzards, and a surprise dragon-lizard stampede, but the look currently plastered across Lioren’s face was easily ten times worse than all of them combined. That wasn’t the face of a rational grand duke. That was the smug, utterly unhinged expression of a man who had decided to set fire to the political chessboard just to see how pretty the sparks looked.
Please don’t, Therin prayed silently to every deity he’d ever ignored. Whatever insane, absurd idea just popped into your head, my Lord, please keep it behind your teeth...
"Duke Roscaire," the King spoke up, his booming voice cutting through the suffocating hush. The King leaned back in his throne, his gaze fixed on Lioren, squinting his eyes in deep, genuine confusion. "You wish to speak on the Ostharian accords?"
"I do, Your Majesty," Lioren replied easily, taking one slow step forward. He sounded almost relaxed, like a veteran lecturer stepping up to explain basic arithmetic to a room full of toddlers.
The Werestian court let out a collective, hesitant breath. Oh. Of course. The Grand Duke was the hero of the northern border! He was obviously stepping in to challenge the security risks. He was probably going to demand stricter house arrest for the Ostharian prince, or perhaps suggest transferring the hostage to an isolated military fortress. That made sense. That was tactical.
"Go on," the King permitted, gesturing with a heavy, jeweled hand.
"I couldn’t help but notice the terms being thrown around," Lioren began, his voice carrying effortlessly over the silent hall. "Count Elorius mentions a ’guarantee of peace,’ and you suggest binding Prince Xavion to a noble household for integration. Politically speaking, I understand the logic. But practically? We need to handle this carefully."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the gathered nobles.
"Let’s speak frankly. We can’t simply shuffle Prince Xavion off to some random household and call it a guarantee of peace. Wouldn’t a stronger, more secure arrangement provide actual stability for both kingdoms?"
The King raised a heavy eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "A stronger arrangement? What are you implying?"
Lioren paused, letting the silence stretch for a dramatic beat.
"I’m simply asking," Lioren said, tilting his head with a pleasant, deadly calm, "what if my household took that responsibility instead?"
Silence. Cold, thick, drop-a-pin silence.
The King stared at him.
The ministers stared at him.
Therin looked like he was suffering a quiet, violent internal organ failure. Caldrin, meanwhile, had reached the absolute limit of his emotional capacity for the night and was now chewing on a fresh almond like none of this concerned him.
And Xavion...
The blue-haired prince slowly looked up, his single violet eye wide with complete disbelief.
"The Roscaire family," Lioren continued, completely unbothered by the jaw-dropped audience, "is more than capable of handling His Highness. My duchy has some of the strongest defenses in Werestia. The Roscaire household has more than enough wealth to support His Highness without burdening the Crown. And, frankly, my standing as Grand Duke guarantees that no opportunistic noble would dare treat an imperial prince with cheap disrespect while he resides under my roof."
For a few seconds, the court couldn’t even process the shift. When Lioren Roscaire wanted to be a chaotic menace, he was terrifying; but when he actually turned on his serious, commanding voice, the voice that had maneuvered twelve thousand men through bloody mountain passes, he was damn near impossible to argue with.
"Hold on, Duke Roscaire," Marquis Vance, a senior minister with a face like a dried plum, sputtered from the front row. "You are one of our greatest military assets! Are you suggesting we place a former enemy commander right inside the ruling heart of the North? Do you even know him?"
Lioren paused. His eyes flicked sideways for a fraction of a second, landing on Xavion’s pale, guarded profile.
I know he’s going to turn into a terrifying black-mage calamity and blow up the world if I leave him to suffer in some sadist’s basement, Lioren thought dryly. So yeah, I’d say I know enough.
Lioren only gave a faint, unbothered shrug. "I know enough. The war is over, Marquis. If Werestia insists on treating every Ostharian like a permanent monster, we aren’t building a lasting peace, we’re just waiting for the next war to start. That seems like a massive waste of my time, considering I’d probably be the one ending it again."
A few younger military officers in the back murmured in reluctant agreement.
The King stroked his thick, graying beard, his gaze darting between Lioren’s completely straight face and Xavion’s stiff, bewildered posture. "You make a surprisingly sound political argument, Duke Roscaire. But taking custody of a royal hostage is no small burden. Are you seriously proposing that Prince Xavion be placed directly under your personal protection?"
"I am," Lioren said clearly.
"And how, exactly, do you propose we structure this arrangement?" the King asked, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "As a prisoner of war? As an honored guest of the North?"
Here it was. The moment.
Therin was silently begging him from across the carpet.
Lioren didn’t say guest. He didn’t say prisoner.
Instead, he took a step back, folding his arms loosely across his chest, his eyes sweeping over the court before settling back on the monarch.
"Your Majesty," Lioren said softly, his voice dropping into a tone that was entirely too calm for what he was about to do. "Do you recall the morning I returned to the capital with victory?"
The King blinked, thrown off by the sudden pivot. "Of course."
"And do you recall the promise you made before the entire High Council?" Lioren pushed gently. "A blank royal favor. You told me I could claim anything within the power of the Crown, granted without question, whenever I deemed fit."
A collective gasp rippled through the older ministers. They remembered. Everyone remembered. It was supposed to be used for a vast territorial expansion, or perhaps a permanent tax exemption for the northern trade routes.
"I remember," the King said slowly, his voice dropping into a solemn pitch. "The word of the throne stands, Lioren. If you wish to claim your reward tonight... Tell me what you desire."
The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath. Hundreds of eyes locked onto the Grand Duke of Werestia.
Lioren turned his body slightly.
He looked directly at Xavion.
The prince was staring back at him now, his single violet eye wide, clouded with a painful, chaotic mix of confusion, guarded distrust, and pure bewilderment. He looked so out of place standing there, a former war hero stripped of his rank, his health, and his freedom, waiting like a piece of property to see which cage he’d be thrown into next.
Lioren thought about the dark, bloody Chapters of The Shattered Dawn. He thought about the tragic villain who had burned the world down because no one had ever offered him a single shred of genuine protection.
Then he thought about the quiet, polite guy who had gotten hopelessly lost in a palace hallway an hour ago and flushed red over a simple hair compliment.
Not this time, Lioren thought, a warm, fierce resolve hardening in his chest. You’re not going down that dark path. Not on my watch.
Lioren turned back to the King, raised his chin, and spoke with absolute, terrifying clarity:
"Your Majesty... I claim my royal favor right now."
He pointed a gloved hand straight toward the blue-haired prince.
"I want the betrothal contract of Prince Xavion Astervan assigned directly to me."
The silence that followed was so loud it was practically deafening.
Therin’s eyes rolled back so far he looked like he was about to pass out on the spot. Caldrin quietly covered his face with both hands, letting out a long, wheezing sigh of utter defeat.
Count Elorius looked like his jaw had unhinged entirely. The Werestian nobles stood like stone statues, their mouths hanging open in varying degrees of horror and utter, unadulterated disbelief.
"You..." The King choked, gripping the armrests of his throne so hard his knuckles turned white. "You want to marry the Ostharian prince?!"
"Betrothal first, Your Majesty. Let’s not rush the wedding planning just yet," Lioren corrected brightly, his face splitting into a broad, breathtaking, entirely unhinged grin. He stepped right up beside Xavion.
Xavion looked up at him, his single eye darting frantic questions that his pale, quiet lips couldn’t even begin to voice.
Lioren looked down at him, offered another shameless smile, and whispered under his breath so only the prince could hear.
"Relax, Your Highness. I promise I’m a much better housemate than whoever else they had lined up for you."