The days immediately following the front-page disaster plunged the Imperial Palace into a frenzy of engagement ceremony preparations and tense political maneuvering. Vaelorian moved through it all like a ghost, his exterior flawlessly composed, his heart a hollow echo of the chaos Riven had left him with. He hadn't returned to Riven's quarters since then and not because he doesn't want to. Vaelorian knew his presence would only escalate the situation and end up hurting the younger boy more.
Vaelorian was trapped, and his future and happiness—and more importantly, Riven's—now depended on a fragile strategy: political suicide, without actual death or war, of course.
His primary focus became the, internal sabotage of his own engagement to Princess Lyra of the Sorverigen Empire. He couldn't simply refuse the marriage; that would be seen as a grave insult and a breach of treaty, almost certainly triggering a conflict with the powerful Sorverigen Empire that his father was so keen to leverage. He had to make the union politically untenable, a liability rather than an asset.
Vaelorian summoned Sir Eryndor, his only trusted confidant in this treacherous game. They met late each night in Vaelorian's private study, using codes and whispered phrases to avoid his father's possible spies.
"The wedding is set for the Winter Solstice, three months away," Vaelorian stated, leaning over a map of the two Empires, his finger tracing the border. "We don't have time for a slow cancellation. The damage to the alliance must be done by my hand, but it must appear accidental."
"Your Highness, Lyra is known for her political acumen and her pride," Eryndor murmured, tracing the map. "To insult her is to insult her father, the Emperor of the Sovereign Empire. The balance is terrifyingly fine."
"Then we will not insult her directly," Vaelorian said, his eyes hard with cold intelligence. "We will make me undesirable. An unsuitable match. Lyra wants power and prestige, a husband who elevates her. I need to become a husband who diminishes her."
And so, Vaelorian began his calculated descent. His public appearances, usually marked by charm and flawless statesmanship, turned subtly clumsy. First, he began showing a shocking and unexpected disinterest in military matters—the very area the Sovereign alliance was meant to bolster. In meetings with the Sovereign ambassadors, he would interrupt their discussions with ramblings, oddly specific questions about their gardening techniques.
One afternoon, in front of several key officials and the Sovereign delegation, Vaelorian was supposed to review a new treaty draft. He picked it up, sniffed it critically, and declared with a distracted, airy voice, "This vellum is far too coarse. Does anyone else think this smells faintly of poorly cured leather?" Sir Eryndor, present at the meeting, nearly choked on air. The Sovereign ambassadors exchanged very confused and offended looks.
Second, Vaelorian undermined his own financial standing, a crucial pillar of his power. He began making wildly extravagant, almost childish purchases—a fleet of miniature gold carriages, a gigantic diamond-encrusted turtle, and commissioned a portrait of himself wearing a flower crown while riding a very small pony. He even publicly, and poorly, tried to haggle down the price of the pony feed, making him look both absurdly wealthy and ridiculously petty.
"My financial acumen is apparently lacking," Vaelorian told Eryndor late one night, a grim smile touching his lips. "I am painting myself as an utterly frivolous and unreliable partner. Lyra needs stability for her Empire. I am giving her a dilettante fool who prefers ornamentation to the administration."
"I hate to say this but your plan is working, Your Highness," Sir Eryndor confirmed, shaking his head slightly in astonishment. "The King of Sovereign primary adviser sent a message this morning to their embassy. They are already questioning your 'erratic behavior.' But how long can you maintain this? Your father is already noticing the whispers."
Vaelorian looked out the window, his mind far away, consumed by the image of Riven's tear-streaked face.
"I will maintain it until the Princess is forced to demand a cancellation herself," he vowed, his voice low and fierce. "I need her Empire to withdraw their proposal and, for the sake of peace, blame my immaturity, not my refusal. If she calls me an irresponsible child, it hurts my pride, but it saves my country from war, and more importantly, it saves my relationship with Riven."
He knew the path he'd taken means destroying his own reputation and likely his future claim to the throne of the fails. But the alternative—marrying Lyra and condemning his love for Riven—was unthinkable. His only regret was that he couldn't tell Riven the true reason behind his seemingly complete betrayal.