The Architect Council was done waiting. Their decree arrived in a burst of cold blue light across every major family channel—formal, public, and unmistakably hostile. Engagement confirmation votes within seventy‑two hours. Public. Binding. And justified under the nauseating phrase: genetic stability optics.
Vesper read the decree twice. Then laughed once. Not because it was funny—because the alternative was throwing the holo across the room.
In the Vale strategy room, chaos erupted instantly.
Grandmother Vale slammed her cane against the floor. "It must proceed. The Council has spoken."
Lucian pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is premature. They're forcing a timeline to corner us."
The Orsini Patriarch appeared via holo, his image flickering with static. "We will not be coerced into a political marriage under threat."
Valentina crossed her arms, jaw tight. "I refuse."
Aurelio's voice followed, calm but unyielding. "So do I."
Kael leaned back in his chair, silent, watching the room fracture along generational lines. His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes tracked every reaction—Vesper's tension, Valentina's fury, Lucian's calculation, the elders' desperation.
Vesper stood slowly. "They are not voting on livestock."
Grandfather Vale rose with the stiffness of age and the arrogance of legacy. "You are not livestock. You are legacy."
"I am a person," Vesper said, voice steady. "Not a bargaining chip."
The words hit the room like a shockwave. The generational divide, already strained, cracked open fully.
Grandmother Vale bristled. "You speak as though your duty is optional."
Valentina scoffed. "It is. All of this is optional. The Council just doesn't want us to realize it."
Lucian shot her a warning look, but she didn't back down.
Aurelio added, "If the Council wants unity, they can negotiate like civilized leaders—not force teenagers into political marriages."
The Orsini Patriarch nodded approvingly from the holo. "For once, I agree with the Vale heir."
Lyra leaned toward Cassian and whispered—loudly enough for half the room to hear—"I give it five minutes before someone flips the table."
Cassian murmured back, "You're being generous."
Dorian, arms folded, looked more entertained than alarmed. "I'm taking bets."
The argument escalated quickly. Elders invoked tradition. Youth countered with autonomy. The Council's decree hovered in the center of the room like a guillotine waiting to drop.
Valentina paced like a storm contained only by the walls. "They're using fear to force compliance. Again."
Aurelio nodded. "And they're counting on us being too divided to resist."
Kael finally spoke, voice low. "Then stop being divided."
The room fell silent.
He continued, "They want panic. They want obedience. They want us to fight each other instead of them."
Vesper met his gaze. "So what do we do?"
Kael's eyes flicked to the decree, then to the elders, then back to her. "We decide for ourselves. Before they decide for us."
The elders bristled. The younger generation straightened. The air thickened with the weight of a choice none of them had asked for but all of them would have to face.
Lyra whispered again, "Okay, now I give it two minutes before someone flips the table."
She was optimistic.