The training hall is alive with murmurs, a restless voice rising and falling as nobles and knights try to make sense of what they had just witnessed. Some still struggled to grasp the truth of it, clinging to disbelief, while others, those sharp enough to understand, could only stare in stunned silence at Ivan Miller, the thirteen-year-old boy who now sat beside his stepmother with the calm air of someone who had done nothing extraordinary at all.
Maximus, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and awe, finally pushed himself to his feet. His heavy boots echoed across the training ground as he strode toward Sienna-Rose, his grin broad and unrestrained, the disbelief in his eyes betrayed by the excitement bubbling from his chest.
When he reached her, he seized her hand and shook it with the eagerness of a man half his age. "Marry Ivan to one of my children," he declared, his voice ringing out, half command and half plea.
