Draven came to a halt in the center of the room, the space between him and Iris feeling like an expanding chasm. He did not offer a greeting. He did not ask of her health or the child's.
"The heavens have sent a sign," Draven continued, his voice echoing with a forced conviction. He gestured toward Eliosa, who lowered her head with a modest, shimmering grace. "Saintess Eliosa possesses a brilliance that the Empire cannot ignore. Her knowledge of the scriptures and her tactical foresight are the pillars I need to secure my ascension. A union between the Emberclaw line and the Moonsong sanctity is the only path forward."
He paused, bracing for the inevitable. He expected tears. He expected the righteous fury of a daughter of Valtorien. He expected her to plead for the sake of the life growing within her.
"I am the Crown Prince first, and a husband second, Iris," he said, his tone sharpening to hide his own mounting unease. "I require a partner who can lead the faith. I have decided to take Eliosa as my wife. You must leave the estate. The divorce papers are already signed by my hand."
Beside him, Eliosa offered a look of practiced pity. "I hope you can find peace, Lady Iris," the Saintess whispered, her voice like honey laced with a hidden sting. "It is for the greater good of the people."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Iris did not move. Her hands remained draped over her stomach, her breathing as rhythmic and calm as if they were discussing the afternoon tea. She looked at Draven, and for a moment, he felt a strange, cold shiver—as if he were being judged by something far older than a woman.
Then, she stood. Her movements were fluid, devoid of the heaviness of her sixth month. She did not look at Eliosa; she did not grant the Saintess the satisfaction of a single glance.
"As you wish, Your Highness," Iris said.
Her voice was not a tremble; it was a clear, cool bell. There was no bitterness in it, no jagged edge of heartbreak. It was the voice of someone closing a book they had finished reading.
Draven recoiled slightly, his brow furrowing. "That is all? You have nothing to say? No demands? No... accusations?"
Iris tilted her head slightly, a ghost of a polite, empty smile touching her lips.
"Why should I speak? You have made your choice, and the Crown has spoken," she replied softly. "I shall have my belongings cleared by sunset. May your new union bring you exactly what you deserve."
The lack of friction was a slap to his ego. He had prepared for a storm; he had been met with a void. Eliosa's smile faltered, her intelligence sensing that something was fundamentally wrong. They had come to conquer her spirit, but they had found no spirit to catch.