The Duke stayed in the Palace for one more day, fulfilling his formal obligations, but the true business had been handled in that private room. Before leaving the following morning, Duke Ashbourne requested a meal with just his son.
The small feast was held in Riven's own modest quarters—a deliberate choice to keep the setting private. There were no Palace guards, just a father and son sharing a quiet meal.
Duke Ashbourne was relaxed, stripped of his political armor. He spoke little of contracts or status. Instead, he started to drink the rich wine Riven had offered, and as the evening deepened, the conversation shifted to memories.
The Duke's eyes were soft and distant as he spoke. "You have her eyes, Riven," he murmured, swirling the wine in his glass. "Your mother. She had that same aura that drew everyone in. She would have loved the Crown Prince. She always said I took life too seriously."
He spoke of his late wife with a warm, aching love. He talked about her sharp wit, her impatience with formality, and her absolute devotion to Riven. The Duke confessed that after she died, he felt lost and terrified, pouring all his energy into protecting Riven's future because he couldn't protect her.
"One day we were a complete family and the next, I was a widower with a five year old son. I was so afraid you'd be judged for not having a mother." the Duke confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "Afraid you wouldn't be safe without the protection of title and tradition. I never once stopped to see if you were happy, Riven. I just saw the danger."
Riven reached across the table and placed his hand over his father's. "I know, Father. I understand now. And I am safe. I'm happier than I have ever been. You gave me the strength to stand up for myself. Mother would be happy too."
The Duke smiled, a genuine, teary smile. "I like your Prince. He looks at you like you are the sun, Riven. Tell me about your last mission. The rumors about the duel, it wasn't just a rumor was it?"
They talked until the candles burned low, father and son, finally seeing each other. When the Duke left in the morning, he hugged Riven tightly.
"Write to me, son. Write often."
Riven watched his father's entourage depart, feeling a lightness in his chest he hadn't known was missing.
That night, Riven slept soundly in Vaelorian's arms, the profound peace of the last few days settling over him. He drifted into a deep, vivid dream. He wasn't in the Palace, but standing on a windswept hill. Across from him stood another version of himself but younger—the 'real' Riven from before his arrival on this earth, burdened by doubt, fear, and a sense of defeat. The spectral figure of the other Riven looked at him with sad eyes, then slowly, he smiled.
"Thank you," the dreaming Riven whispered, his voice clear in the dreamscape. "You did it. You did everything I couldn't do. You stopped pretending. You made him see the truth. You got the Prince, and you got Father back. You've achieved all my dreams. You're free now. Goodbye."
When Riven woke up in Vaelorian's arms the next morning, he felt a peaceful, complete healing sweep through him. The burdens of the past were shed. He looked at the gentle curve of Vaelorian's neck, the strong arm thrown over his waist, and the dream faded into the bright reality.
He's now the man he was always meant to be: brave, brilliant, and deeply loved.