The herald's staff struck the marble floor once.
"His Highness, Prince Varlan of Alvantia."
A subtle shift moved through the hall.
Alvantia was no minor kingdom. It was a powerhouse—vast fleets, advanced weaponry, overflowing coffers, and influence that stretched across continents. Their technologies rivaled the most progressive nations. Their military presence alone was enough to make neighboring states cautious.
And before that throne now stood its crown jewel.
Prince Varlan stepped forward with effortless arrogance. Tall, dressed in layered navy and silver garments threaded with foreign insignia, he radiated wealth and power. The jeweled clasp at his shoulder alone could fund a small province.
Behind him, his envoys stood proudly.
Across from him, the banners of Elyndria fluttered gently in the filtered light.
Elyndria was small in territory.
But its name carried weight.
A nation known for refined culture, unmatched hospitality, intellectual academies, and technological innovation that surprised even larger empires. It did not dominate through force—it commanded respect through brilliance.
Still.
Size was size.
And Alvantia never let anyone forget that.
Prince Varlan bowed—barely.
"King Alaric. Queen Marlia."
His eyes shifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
They settled on Nael.
It wasn't admiration.
It was assessment.
A calculating, lucid gaze that lingered just a second too long.
Nael felt it like cold fingers tracing down his spine.
Goosebumps rose against his skin despite the warmth of the hall.
Varlan smiled faintly before speaking again.
"It would be beneficial for your nation to entrust Prince Nael to me."
A murmur rippled across the court.
How direct.
How shameless.
He continued smoothly, voice carrying with deliberate confidence.
"Alvantia would provide military protection. Trade expansion. Shared technological resources. Security."
A pause.
"After all… Elyndria is a small nation."
The words were spoken politely.
But the implication was clear.
You need us.
Silence fell heavily.
Ravel's hand tightened on the armrest.
Marcus's jaw locked.
Adrien's eyes sharpened to something dangerously calm.
Leo.
Leo's entire posture shifted ever so slightly behind Nael's chair. Not enough to break decorum—but enough to show that if this foreign prince stepped one inch too far…
He would regret it.
Varlan's gaze returned to Nael, openly scanning him.
"Your Highness," he added, tone lowering just enough to make it personal, "with me, you would never have to worry about vulnerability."
The way he said it felt less like reassurance…
And more like possession.
Nael kept his back straight.
His expression composed.
But inside?
Irritation burned.
He hated the way Varlan looked at him—as if he were a strategic asset. As if Elyndria were some fragile ornament in need of shelter.
Nael slowly lifted his chin.
The hall seemed to wait for his reaction.
He did not smile.
He did not soften.
His voice, when it came, was calm—but edged.
"Elyndria may be small in land, Prince Varlan… but we are not small in capability."
A subtle tension snapped in the air.
Queen Marlia's lips curved faintly.
King Alaric's eyes gleamed with quiet approval.
Nael continued, gaze unwavering.
"And protection offered so loudly often sounds less like partnership… and more like a reminder of debt."
The court went utterly still.
Varlan's smile did not fade.
But it changed.
Just slightly.
Interest.
"Oh?" he murmured.
Nael did not flinch under Varlan's stare.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, eyes openly judgmental.
"I do not believe we are compatible," he said coolly. "And you are not even handsome enough to stand near me."
A few low, poorly hidden laughs slipped through the nobles gathered along the sides of the hall.
The sound reached Varlan's ears.
His expression hardened instantly.
"Mind your words," he began sharply, taking a step forward. "You are just a—"
"Prince of Alvantia."
King Alaric's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
The hall fell silent.
The king did not raise his tone. He did not need to.
"Before your arrival," he continued calmly, "a letter was delivered to us."
He gestured lightly to a royal attendant, who stepped forward with a sealed scroll bearing the imperial crest of Alvantia.
"It is from your father personally."
A subtle shift passed over Varlan's face.
He knew that seal.
He knew that timing.
And more importantly—
He knew his father.
King Alaric's gaze remained steady. "Shall we read it aloud for the court… or would you prefer to review it privately?"
The implication hung heavy.
The entire court watched.
Varlan hesitated only a second before stepping forward and taking the scroll.
His fingers, once steady with arrogance, tightened slightly as he broke the seal.
He read.
And as his eyes moved across the parchment—
The color drained from his face.
Whatever confidence he had worn earlier dissolved like smoke.
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
The hall remained deathly quiet.
Even Nael, though annoyed, watched carefully now.
Varlan lowered the letter slowly.
His posture, once towering, seemed… restrained.
Controlled.
Cornered.
He bowed stiffly toward the throne.
"Your Majesty," he said, voice no longer sharp but strained, "I offer my apologies for my inappropriate conduct."
The words sounded forced.
Heavy.
"I overstepped."
He did not look at Nael again.
Without another word, he turned and exited the hall, his entourage scrambling to follow.
Only when the massive doors closed behind him did the court exhale.
Ravel leaned back with a faint scoff. "That was fast."
Adrien's eyes flicked toward the king. "That letter must have been severe."
Nael, however, simply clicked his tongue under his breath.
"How tiresome."