King Valemir felt the world tilt beneath him, not outwardly—his face remained carved in stone—but within, his thoughts spiraled in a rapid, tightening coil. The moment Liam's request left his lips, the entire purpose of this gathering snapped into brutal clarity. Everything that had led to this day—the tension, the sudden formality, the audience he had been forced to grant—was not about glory, not about gratitude, not about debt.
It was about freedom.
His freedom.
Valemir's fingers curled slightly against the armrest of his throne as he pieced everything together with painful precision. The condition he himself had set—the restriction placed upon Liam for Sheila's "safety," limiting the boy to only using fire magic—had been relayed to him by Queen Lucy. That alone should have been a clue, yet he had brushed it aside, too consumed by worry for his daughter to consider the broader implications.
