The council chamber had emptied, leaving only the echo of voices and the weight of a decision that would change the realm.
In the High Chancellor's private quarters, the fire burned low. Lord Halric stood before it, his gloved hands clasped behind his back. The faintest smile tugged at his lips — not the polite curve he wore in council, but something sharper.
The door creaked open. Deylan of Veymar stepped inside, his posture stiff, his eyes uncertain. He was tall for his age, but the boyishness in his face betrayed him.
"They agreed," Halric said without turning. "You are Regent now."
Deylan swallowed. "Father… I don't know if I'm ready. Garrick, Virelle — they looked at me as if I were a fraud."
Halric turned at last, his gaze piercing. "You are not a fraud. You are a symbol. That is more powerful than any sword or decree."
"But I have no experience—"
Halric cut him off with a raised hand. "Experience is irrelevant. The council will speak for you. I will speak for you. I will help you. All you must do is stand tall, wear the crown of duty, and let them see what they wish to see — a young man, untainted, a new dawn for Velmoria."
Deylan hesitated. "And if they defy me?"
Halric stepped closer, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. His voice dropped, low and commanding. "Then they defy me. And I do not forgive."
The boy shivered, but he nodded.
Halric's smile returned, thin and cold. "Good. Remember, Deylan — the Regent is the face. But the hand that moves the realm… is mine."
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Tiana Emberlain rushed out of her chamber the moment the rumors reached her ears. Her steps were frantic, unbefitting a noble lady. She darted past startled maids and attendants, her long skirts trailing behind her like a storm. She didn't care for grace, nor caution—especially as she descended the grand staircase with reckless speed.
"Father!" she cried out the moment she spotted Marquis Johanne Emberlain entering the manor, fresh from a meeting with the royal staff.
The Marquis turned sharply, alarmed by the urgency in her voice.
"Tiana, why are you running?" he asked, concern etched across his face.
Tiana reached him, breathless and flushed, her chest rising and falling with the weight of emotion. Her heart pounded—not from the sprint, but from the fear that the whispers might be true.
"Father, is it true?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Is it true that the king is missing? That he was swallowed by the Silver Lake... with the Saintess?"
Johanne stepped forward and gently took her by both arms, his grip firm but comforting. His voice lowered, calm and steady.
"Come inside, Tiana. Let us speak of this where it's quiet."
But Tiana shook her head, her eyes wide and unrelenting.
"No. I want to hear the truth right here. I need to hear it from you."
Her father hesitated, then looked into her eyes—those same eyes that once sparkled with dreams of a royal future. Now they burned with desperation.
He lowered his gaze, his silence heavier than any answer.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"The rumors are true."
Tiana froze.
The words struck her like a blade to the chest—sharp, final, undeniable. Her breath caught, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to blur. The murmurs of the staff, the distant tolling of bells, even the rustle of wind through the manor's open windows—all faded into silence.
"No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It can't be."
Her knees buckled, and she stumbled back a step, gripping the edge of a nearby column for support. Her eyes searched her father's face, desperate for any sign that he might take it back, that it was all a cruel misunderstanding.
But the Marquis only looked at her with quiet sorrow.
"They said the lake formed a whirlpool that day—unnatural, sudden," he said softly. "The guards saw him approach the Saintess. And then... nothing. Just ripples. No bodies. No trace."
Tiana's hands clenched into fists. Her heart pounded with disbelief, grief, and something else—rage.
"He was supposed to return," she said, her voice rising. "He promised me that when he came back, he would make me his betrothed!"
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not yet.
"They're wrong," she said through gritted teeth. "Lucan is not dead. He will make me his queen. I will still become queen!"
Johanne stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Tiana, I know how you feel. Do you think I would let everything you've prepared for go to waste? You can still become queen."
Tiana furrowed her brows, confused by what she heard.
"What do you mean, Father?" she asked, her voice cautious.
Marquis Emberlain took her hands gently, his expression measured.
"Lord Halric has placed his son as regent. He wants you to marry him. With his support, we—"
Tiana suddenly pulled her hands away, her eyes flashing.
"Father, do you hear what you're saying?" she snapped. "Do you think I wanted to marry Lucan just to reach the highest and most powerful place in the realm? Is that what you think of your daughter?"
Marquis Emberlain stared at her, stunned into silence.
"When you told me to study everything about being royal, I didn't do it for the crown alone," she said, her voice trembling. "I accepted it because of Lucan."
His expression darkened.
"You have feelings for him? For that tyrant?"
Tiana met his gaze without flinching.
"Yes, Father. I love him."
Marquis Johanne Emberlain stood silent for a moment, as if the very air had thickened around him. His gaze lingered on his daughter—not as the noble heiress he had groomed for court, but as someone suddenly unfamiliar. Someone who had chosen love over legacy.
"You love him?" he repeated, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "You love Lucan—the same man they call ruthless, the one who was sent to kill the Saintess?"
Tiana didn't flinch.
"Yes, Father. I love him. Not just for his crown, not just for his power. I love him for who he is when the world isn't watching. He is the only king I want."
The Marquis turned away briefly, running a hand over his face. The weight of politics, ambition, and paternal instinct warred within him. He had spent years preparing Tiana for the throne—teaching her diplomacy, strategy, restraint. But he had never prepared for this.
"You were meant to be queen," he said slowly. "His Majesty is not someone who spares time for affection. He is consumed by prophecy, blood, and power."
Tiana met his gaze, her voice calm but resolute.
"Then perhaps that's exactly what we're meant to be."
Her words made her father turn sharply toward her.
"I want power too, Father. And he's the only one who can give me the kind of power I seek."
----------------
Marquis Johanne Emberlain fell deep into thought in her office after hearing his daughter's confession. He couldn't believe it.
He had watched Tiana grow from a curious child into a refined young lady—graceful, intelligent, admired by all. He had shaped her into perfection, inside and out. Her posture, her speech, her appearance, her poise—every detail meticulously cultivated to match the standards of nobility.
But her heart… he had forgotten to teach.
He clenched his jaw, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes.
"Why him?" Johanne muttered under his breath. "Why the cruel king?"
His thoughts raced. Lucan was dangerous—obsessed with prophecy, power, and bloodlines. A man shaped by war and divine obsession. Not someone who could love. Not someone who could be trusted.
Marquis Emberlain stepped toward the window, gazing out at the fading light over the Emberlain estate. His jaw tightened, his mind churning with doubt and strategy. Then, with quiet resolve, he turned and spoke.
"Bring me Houndmaster Varek."
A nearby steward bowed and hurried off without question.
Moments later, the heavy door creaked open, and a tall figure entered—cloaked in black leather, his face shadowed beneath a hood. Varek, the Marquis's most loyal enforcer. A man known for silence, precision, and unwavering obedience.
"You called, my lord?" Varek said, his voice low and gravel-edged.
Johanne turned to face him, his expression cold and calculating.
"I want eyes on the Silver Lake. Discreet. I want to know if anything stirs beneath it—anything unnatural. And I want you to watch Lord Halric's movements. If he dares to push his son toward my daughter again, I want to know before he even breathes the thought."
Varek nodded once.
"Consider it done."
As the houndmaster vanished into the shadows, Johanne turned back to the hearth, staring into the flickering flames.
"If she insists on chasing ghosts," he murmured, "then I will make sure the living do not take advantage of her grief."