Theron lowered his head just enough to look obedient.

"Mother’s choice was practical," he said evenly. "House Caelvaris will satisfy the court, and Lady Roselyn knows how to carry herself."

He lifted his gaze, calm as still water.

"As for whether I like her... that has never been the thing that decides my place here, has it?"

The words were careful. Respectful, even. But there was a blade hidden inside them.

"You have never kept me as crown prince because of sentiment, Father. You kept me because I am useful."

He paused, but not long enough to be rude. Just long enough to sting.

Theron’s expression did not change. "So if this marriage serves the crown, I will not oppose it."

It sounded like obedience.

It was not.

It was a reminder that he understood the game perfectly well, and that he knew exactly how little room there was for love within it.

The King watched Theron, his expression stern, though his eyes had softened slightly. He did not reveal what he was thinking. If anything, he only studied his son without blinking, as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

Perhaps this was the first time the obedient son he had brought back from distant lands had shown him a sliver of his heart.

Perhaps he had not expected that much rage to be buried inside him.

"If there is no command for me, Father, I will excuse myself," Theron said. He gave a slight bow and turned to leave.

The King’s lips curved faintly. His gaze sharpened. "So..." he said, his voice low, "you have learned to show me your back."

Then he leaned against the pillar and drew in a slow breath.

Theron had already decided he would rather stand beneath Aveline’s window than remain in this suffocating hall. Fresh air had tasted like freedom when he had been with her, and now, after breathing it in, this place felt even more stifling than before.

His senses prickled.

Someone was beside him.

He turned, eyes narrowing as the sound of a fan closing echoed in the corridor. A dark figure emerged into the torchlight.

The Archduchess.

Theron was not a man who liked to be rude to his elders. He rarely was. Usually, he swallowed whatever he felt and kept it buried deep inside his chest, careful not to provoke his mother, who seemed convinced that even one misstep, one careless glance, could topple him from the throne she believed his father had denied him in favor of his illegitimate son.

He was tired. So tired.

"What you did back there—" the Archduchess began.

Theron cut her off before she could continue.

"Whatever you wish to say," Theron cut in, his voice calm but edged, "have the Archduke say it to me."

His voice was clipped, flat, and sharper than he intended.

Then he walked away. It was a deliberate strike.

Archduke Caelvaris was the Dean of the Crown Arcanum and never left its premises for any reason. For years, it had been the Archduchess who managed everything—estate, family, influence, and appearances alike. Theron had spoken as he did only because the hurt in his chest had curdled into something jagged and uncontrollable.

The Archduchess stood there, momentarily stunned, as though she could not quite believe she had been spoken to that way.

No one spoke to her that way. Certainly not the Crown Prince.

She seemed at a loss for how to respond.

Then, slowly, the humiliation she had buried deep within herself began to stir. Negative emotions had a cruel way of finding one another, of gathering strength in silence until they erupted all at once.

And there it was.

The resentment she had been pressing down for so long, against her husband, against her place, and against everything she had endured, rose sharply to the surface.

"I will apologize on his behalf, Mariselle."

The Archduchess turned.

The King stood there, composed as ever.

"Whenever the royal family has taken in a fire bender," she said, forcing her voice steady, "there has been prosperity and peace, Your Majesty. I am not silent because my granddaughter is unworthy."

The King gave a quiet chuckle.

"Of course."

The Archduchess turned to leave.

The moment she did, the smile on the King’s face vanished. His gaze shifted, cold and intent.

That girl.

The girl Theron had brought back.

He would have to speak to her soon, before his son loses himself.

-----

Theron moved through Aveline’s room and cast an Aurelion Veil over it, layering the space in a quiet illusion. To anyone else, the room would appear unchanged—ordinary, untouched, exactly as it should have been. But to him, to Aveline, to the maids, and to Kael, the veil would allow the truth to remain visible.

No one else would see her here. No one else would know.

"Kael," Theron called.

He frowned when no answer came.

That was wrong. Kael had been ordered to guard Aveline, and he would not have abandoned his post. Which meant he was still here somewhere... just hidden.

A moment later, a small portal shimmered open in the air before him. From its dark center drifted a folded piece of parchment.

[Sire, my father is looking for me, and I am in hiding. I will guard Lady Aveline with my life. Rest assured. If you have any instructions, leave them with me.]

Theron exhaled slowly.

Then, louder, he said, "Come out, Kael."

If his father were searching for him now, it would not end tonight. If not tonight, then tomorrow, or the day after. Edric would not stop until he found him.

So it would be better to confront him now. Better to end it before it dragged on.

Kael appeared beside him so quietly that Theron barely sensed the shift until he was already there, as though the wall itself had peeled away and taken human shape.

Theron glanced at him, faintly impressed despite himself.

"This is something I learned on my own," Kael said at once, almost as if answering the unspoken thought. He did wonder whether Lady Aveline could detect him if he hid this way. Even his liege couldn’t sense him.

Theron gave a short nod. "Like a chameleon."

Kael dipped his head. Then his expression changed. "My father has found me," he said quietly.

Theron leaned back against the wall, bending one knee with forced calm.

A portal opened beside Kael.

But this one was different.

It was not a normal opening in space. It looked like a shadow that had learned how to reflect, a dark, glassy surface suspended in the air like a mirror made of night itself. The image within it shimmered faintly, as though it were a distant screen formed from living darkness.

On the other side stood Edric Vantaris.

"Where is that girl, Kael?" Edric asked, his tone sharp with urgency. "You cannot hide her from the King."

Theron went still.

His face drained.

Father wants her.

No... The King wants her.

The thought hit like ice.