Riven's life at the imperial palace settled into a silent but productive rhythm. The drama of the North and the emotional hurdle of his father's visit were behind them. He continued his duties in the Imperial Palace, effortlessly solving whatever logistical and strategic problems came his way. Vaelorian, now more secure in his position and his heart, leaned on Riven constantly, relying on his sharp mind and unwavering presence.
Months flew by in a comfortable blur of work, strategy sessions, and stolen moments of intimacy. Riven's once-tenuous position was now rock-solid. He was a fixture at Vaelorian's side—respected by the General Staff, grudgingly admired by the Senate for his budget cuts, and loved fiercely by the Crown Prince.
The arrival of Riven's twentieth birthday marked a quiet milestone. Vaelorian showered him with personal gifts—a rare map of an unexplored region, a new set of exquisitely balanced daggers—celebrating the incredible man he had become.
The evening of his birthday, Riven was summoned with Vaelorian to a private, late-night tea with the Emperor and Empress in their personal solar. The atmosphere was unusually warm, less formal than an official meeting, but more serious than a casual visit.
After the tea was poured and Riven had accepted their kind birthday wishes, the Empress set her cup down, her gaze direct and focused.
"Riven, my dear, you have become indispensable to this Court," she began, her tone gentle but serious. "You have proven your loyalty, your competence, and your absolute value to Vaelorian. You bring him stability that no mere political alliance ever could."
The Emperor nodded in agreement. "Your success in your missions, and the respectful relationship you've secured with your father, have quieted all political whispers. I think the Empire is ready for this." He paused, looking directly at Riven. "We have discussed this at length. It is time to make your place permanent. Your relationship, Riven, cannot remain an unofficial secret between friends and family. It must be formalized."
Vaelorian reached for Riven's hand, his heart pounding, his own anxiety mirroring the importance of the moment. The Emperor looked at his son, then back to Riven, and delivered the Imperial decree that was also a family blessing.
"We wish for you and Vaelorian to be formally betrothed. We must announce to the whole Empire that the Crown Prince is engaged."
The proposal, delivered by the Emperor and Empress, was breathtaking in its political weight. It was the final, official recognition of everything Riven and Vaelorian had fought for. It was the Emperor granting Riven the highest honor and the most dangerous position in the Empire, forever binding him to the Crown.
The Emperor's proposition hung in the air—a heavy, glittering promise. Riven, stunned but resolute, looked at Vaelorian, whose eyes were filled with hope. Riven didn't need to speak; the answer was clear in the strength of his hand clasping Vaelorian's.
"Yes, Your Majesties," Vaelorian confirmed, his voice thick with emotion. "We accept. With all our hearts."
The Empress smiled, a genuine, satisfied expression. "Excellent. The official announcement will be made at the Autumn Equinox Ball. That gives us several weeks to prepare."
The preparations began immediately and were focused on one thing: raising Riven's public profile to match his coming title. The first step was a direct message to the West. Duke Ashbourne was summoned back to the Imperial Palace, this time not as a subject, but as the father of the future Imperial Consort.
When he arrived, the change in his demeanor was astonishing. The Duke was brimming with a newfound, almost comical pride. He was no longer suspicious of Vaelorian; he was an enthusiastic, if overly protective, in-law. He spent his time consulting with the Emperor on wedding preparation and boasting about Riven's intelligence to anyone who would listen. Riven's strategy with his father had paid off completely.
The next immediate change was Riven's living situation.
"You are the betrothed of the Crown Prince, Lord Riven," the Empress announced during a meeting with the Head Steward. "You cannot remain in the Knight's Quarters."
Riven was officially moved out of the barracks and into a magnificent suite of chambers located one floor directly below Vaelorian's own chambers. The suite was traditionally reserved for the highest-ranking non-Imperial family member and was filled with rich silks, dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows. Standing in the center of the plush, enormous space, Riven felt a rush of vertigo.
"This is a bit... excessive, isn't it?" he murmured to Vaelorian, who was busy trying out the plush lounge chairs.
Vaelorian laughed. "This is appropriate, my love. Think of it as a significant upgrade from knight's blankets. Besides," he added, rising and pulling Riven into his arms, "it's only one flight of stairs from my chambers. Easy access for unscheduled visits."
The most challenging part of the preparation was Riven's sudden, intensive education in Imperial etiquette. While Riven was known for his sharp mind and impeccable military bearing, court customs were another matter. The Empress assigned a strict, but kind, court tutor named Olga to guide him.
"Lord Riven," Lady Olga would sigh patiently during their endless lessons on posture and bows. "When the Archduke of the South addresses you, you must pause for two heartbeats before replying. It is a show of measured thought."
"Two heartbeats, got it." Riven would dutifully repeat, though his mind was itching to be solving military puzzles.
He learned the complex system of titles and forms of address, how to correctly wear the elaborate ceremonial robes, and the intricate dances required for the grand balls. He struggled with the formal court dance more than he struggled with any battle training.
Vaelorian often joined the lessons, not to tutor, but to provide moral support—and quiet laughter.
"You'll be brilliant, my love," Vaelorian would whisper as Riven attempted another slow, sweeping bow. "You're already the most amazing man in the Empire. They'll just be too distracted by your beauty to notice anything else."
Riven would smile, his hand finding Vaelorian's beneath the table. "I will master this. I have to. I'm not going to trip while dancing with your mother."
The clock was counting down to the official announcement. Riven was about to step out of the shadows of the military barracks and into the blinding light of the Imperial Consort, a role he had fought for, and one he was determined to master.