The next morning, Vaelorian and Riven presented themselves in the Emperor's strategy room, a space dominated by large maps and heavy silence. The Emperor and Empress were already deep in discussion, their faces set in expressions of intense focus.
"We must be cautious, Vaelorian," the Emperor began, tapping a finger on the polished mahogany table. "The Duke is influential in the West. We cannot risk him feeling insulted or, worse, demanding his son be reassigned away from the Capital—or from you."
The Empress nodded, her eyes sharp. "We will focus on Riven's unparalleled success in the North. His logistical overhaul is saving the Empire millions. We can frame his position as 'Chief Strategist for Northern Supply Lines,' a title that requires direct communication with the Crown Prince, thus explaining his proximity."
Vaelorian leaned in, adding his ideas. "We can emphasize his contribution to my personal security. After the duel, no one questioned his combat skill anymore. He's practically my bodyguard."
Riven listened for several minutes, watching the Imperial couple weave a delicate tapestry of lies and half-truths, all designed to placate his difficult father. He felt a familiar knot of resentment tightening in his chest. They were preparing a performance, and Riven was tired of playing a part for the Duke. The real Riven did it and see where it got him. He's not going to do this anymore.
"With all due respect, Your Majesties, this is a waste of time," Riven finally interjected, his voice cutting through the strategizing with unexpected calmness.
The Emperor stopped mid-sentence, looking astonished. The Empress simply raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
"Waste of time, Lord Riven?" Vaelorian's father asked, his tone dangerously low. "We are attempting to protect your position and possibly the stability of the Empire here."
"And I appreciate the effort," Riven said, remaining perfectly calm, though his eyes held a steel Vaelorian had only seen on the battlefield. "But Duke Ashbourne will see right through a manufactured title like 'Chief Strategist for Northern Supply Lines.' He doesn't care about the Empire's budget; he cares about my status and his ego."
Riven took a slow breath, looking directly at the Emperor, then the Empress, and finally at Vaelorian. "So, I propose we dispense with the polite fiction. I am going to tell my father the truth."
Vaelorian frowned, confusion clouding his features. "Riven, what are you saying?"
Riven's gaze settled back on Vaelorian's parents. "I will tell him that Vaelorian and I are dating."
The silence that followed was absolute. You could, indeed, hear a pin drop. Even the shifting of the heavy golden drapes seemed to cease. The Emperor's mouth hung slightly open, his strategic mind utterly derailed. The Empress's composure finally cracked, her eyes widening in genuine shock.
"Dating?" Vaelorian finally choked out, using a courtly term that sounded absurdly mundane in the highly-charged room.
"Yes, Vaelorian, dating," Riven affirmed, a flicker of defiance and dark humor crossing his face. "I will inform the Duke that his son has successfully secured the affection of the Crown Prince of the Empire. He's coming here, looking forward to seeing what I have become. I will show him exactly that: I have chosen to remain in the imperial Palace because I'm dating Vaelorian."
He was done playing nice. He was done allowing Riven's father's disapproval to dictate his existence.
"The Duke needs to meet his new son," Riven continued, the phrase carrying the weight of a declaration of war. "He needs to know that my status is not merely that of a well-placed officer, but that of someone who's capable of creating his own future. He won't request my reassignment, because that would risk offending the future Emperor. I don't know what will happen but becoming the future consort is the highest status I can hold, and titles is the only language my father truly understands."
The Empress was the first to recover, a slow smile spreading across her lips. It was a smile of a politician recognizing a brutally effective power move.
"Well, Lord Riven. That is certainly…direct."
The Emperor, however, looked overwhelmed. "But... the scandal! The political fallout!"
Vaelorian, recovering from his own shock, stepped to Riven's side, placing a steady hand on his back. He looked at his father, his own conviction strengthened by Riven's daring.
"Father, there's not going to be a political fallout. But if there is, we can deal with it. Just like we dealt with the betrothal. Riven is right, we can't hide the truth—it is the only argument strong enough to shut down Duke Ashbourne's complaints."
The Imperial couple exchanged a long, troubled look. They had been outsmarted by the simplicity of the truth, wielded like a weapon.
"Very well," the Emperor conceded with a heavy sigh, accepting the inevitable. "We will prepare for Duke Ashbourne's arrival, and we will support your...directness, Lord Riven. But be warned: this is a dangerous path. You must convince him this is an advantage, not a ploy to humiliate your house."
Riven nodded with a small smile. The stag was set. He had thrown down the gauntlet, shifting the impending visit from a defensive strategy meeting into a bold confession.