Title: A Son's Gambit

Meanwhile as Aurelia struggled, Hadrien also had his own struggles since the dawn as morning light poured through the high, stained-glass windows of the grand hall, painting the marble floors in a kaleidoscope of muted colors. Hadrien stood rigidly near the towering doors, his hands clasped behind his back as he fought to maintain his composure. He had been waiting for hours. Since dawn, he had remained in this very spot, his patience thinning with each passing moment while servants and courtiers came and went without a second glance at him. His sisters, daughters of the queen, had always been granted audiences within minutes of their arrival.

A concubine's son. That was all he was. His bloodline tainted by his mother's lower status, and for that, he would always be second to his sisters in the eyes of the court. But he was not weak. He would not be ignored.

Finally, as the golden sun hung high in the sky, the heavy doors creaked open. A steward emerged, barely sparing him a glance before announcing, "His Majesty will see you now."

Hadrien forced a neutral expression, bowing his head slightly before striding inside, his boots echoing off the polished floors. King Ravenshade sat upon his dark ironwood throne, his piercing gaze fixed on Hadrien as he approached. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken authority, and though Hadrien had spent years mastering his own expression, standing before his father always made his heart beat a little faster.

He knelt. "Your Majesty."

"Rise." The king's voice was deep, unwavering.

Hadrien obeyed, keeping his posture measured and respectful. There was no warmth in the king's gaze, only expectation. He was not a father greeting his son, but a ruler evaluating a subject.

"Speak. Do not waste my time."

Hadrien swallowed his annoyance, forcing his lips into a measured smile. "I come before you with concern for the kingdom's future, Your Majesty. The matter of my sister's marriage—"

"The princess's marriage is not your concern," the king interrupted, his tone sharp.

Hadrien kept his face unreadable, inclining his head slightly. "Of course, father. But I only wish to ensure that the best choice is made. I believe Prince Caelum of Thessara is the strongest candidate. He is not the crown prince, but he is deeply favored in his kingdom. His father, the King of Thessara, adores him—far more than he does his own heir. If Evelyne were to marry him, we would gain strong political ties and greater reinforcements should our old rivals, the Kingdom of Drakmor, move against us again."

The king's face remained an unreadable mask.

Encouraged by the lack of immediate dismissal, Hadrien continued, "Laurien, on the other hand, is a second son. He will have to fight for his place in Icevire, and by aligning with him, we risk being drawn into the internal politics of their cold, treacherous land. If Evelyne is married to him, she may be used as a pawn, not a queen."

Still, the king said nothing.

Hadrien's lips curled into the faintest smirk. He had made his argument well, but he had one more suggestion to sweeten the deal.

"Perhaps," he said carefully, watching his father's expression, "if a union with Icevire is still desirable, we might instead give them Princess Lysara."

Silence.

Then, a shift. The king's eyes, dark and calculating, bore into him with a cold intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Hadrien barely kept himself from stepping back. He had miscalculated.

The weight of that glare was heavier than steel.

For the first time since entering, Hadrien felt the heat of true fear licking at his skin. He knew his father was not a man to tolerate overstepping. And in his greed, in his attempt to manipulate the game too finely, he had forgotten one thing—Lysara was no ordinary pawn.

Hadrien lowered his gaze, bowing slightly. "I spoke out of turn. My apologies, Your Majesty."

The king did not speak immediately. The silence stretched, pressing against him like a vice. When his father finally spoke, his voice was eerily calm.

"You are dismissed."

Hadrien did not hesitate. He bowed deeply and turned, exiting the throne room with measured steps despite the tension coiling in his gut.

Only when the heavy doors shut behind him did he exhale, fists clenched at his sides.

He had played his hand too boldly, but at least one thing was certain—his words had left the king in thought. And that, for now, was enough.