The Palace was buzzing with a not-so quiet, persistent whispers following Riven's new living situation. The upcoming official engagement announcement between Crown Prince Vaelorian and Lord Riven was the single topic of conversation, and while the Emperor's decree had silenced outright opposition, it couldn't stop the whispers.
A Prince choosing to marry a man? It had never been done before. The tradition, the lineage, the expectations—all were challenged by Vaelorian's choice. Some whispers were fearful, citing ancient prophecies; others were just snide remarks about Riven's gender, status and lack of titled ancestry.
But Riven, under the relentless tutelage of Lady Olga, didn't crack. He had fought far harder battles than court gossips. He walked the halls with his head held high, yet greeted other nobles with a measured, polite confidence. He learned to wear the elaborate new robes not as costumes, but as the armor of his new rank. He represented everything the future consort should be: impeccably loyal, fiercely intelligent, and utterly devoted to the Crown.
He was still Riven—sharp, witty, and ready for a fight—but he was now Riven, the Crown Prince's Betrothed.
He used the "two-heartbeat pause" before answering questions, making the snide courtiers wait just long enough to feel their own impatience.
While Riven was mastering the formalities, Vaelorian knew his love needed more than just etiquette lessons; he needed his true support system.
And then, the cavalry arrived.
Mira Lune and Anya rode into the Palace, summoned by a personal decree from the Crown Prince. Their arrival injected a much-needed shot of unfiltered reality and chaotic joy back into Riven's life.
Riven met them in the inner courtyard, shedding his formal posture the moment he saw them. Anya immediately ran forward.
"Riven! My God, look at your robes! You look like you're about to float away! But congratulations, you brilliant idiot! I'm so happy for you." She hugged him, mindful of the silk but not of the noise.
Mira Lune, radiant as always, offered a more restrained, but deeply sincere greeting. "Future Consort Riven. It seems you've traded mud and swords for royal politics and endless supply of backstabbers. I suppose congratulations are in order, though I still maintain the battlefield would always be safer."
Riven laughed, the sound genuine and free. "I think you're right, Mira Lune. That's exactly why I need everyone here. The Palace is going to try and break me but I won't let it. I need my people."
With Barron and Willow already on the ground, the team was complete. Barron, with his steady loyal right hand man; Willow, with her sharp wits; Anya, with her grounded warmth; and Mira Lune, with her effortless charisma and ability to handle any diplomat. Riven looked at his friends, a strong sense of certainty washing over him. The Palace might whisper, and the court might plot, but with these four by his side, there was truly no mountain they couldn't cross.
"Welcome to the next battleground, guys." Riven told them, his eyes gleaming with mischievous anticipation. "We have a royal wedding to plan, and an Empire to conquer."
And just like that, time flew by quickly. The Autumn Equinox Ball, the night of the official engagement announcement, was only a week away. The final preparations—the fitting of the ceremonial robes, the review of the guest list, the frantic last-minute dance lessons—were nearing completion. But the Imperial Court was not going to let this unprecedented event pass without a formal challenge.
The entire power structure of the Empire—Senators, Archdukes, and Chief Generals—gathered in the Grand Council Hall. Emperor Darius had convened the meeting, knowing the resistance had to be faced head-on before the public announcement. Vaelorian stood beside the throne, resolute. Riven, now perfectly accustomed to the political theater, stood slightly behind him, backed by the solid, unmoving presence of Sir Eryndor.
The air was heavy with unspoken disapproval. After the Emperor made a brief statement confirming the upcoming betrothal announcement, the room erupted.
Senator Varus, an old, powerful voice of tradition, rose, his face pale with indignation.
"Your Majesty, with the deepest respect, this cannot stand! The Crown Prince must secure the line! History demands a consort who can bear an heir. This union is a mockery of tradition and an insult to the Empire's future!"
Another voice, that of Archduke Selene, a formidable military leader, chimed in.
"The Imperial Consort must represent the strongest houses. Lord Riven's lineage, while respectable, does not secure the necessary political alliances. We need an empress, not...a knighted Lord!"
The collective will of the Court was clear: they did not like the fact that the Prince was marrying a man, and they used the lack of an heir and Riven's rank as their weapons. Vaelorian was preparing to launch into a sharp defense, but he was interrupted.
Before Vaelorian could speak, Duke Ashbourne, who had been observing the proceedings with a quiet intensity, rose from his place among the Western lords. His usual stiffness was gone, replaced by a protective pride Riven had never witnessed before.
"I request permission to address this Council, Your Majesty," the Duke stated, his voice ringing with power.
The Emperor, sensing a shift in the air, granted it with a nod. The Duke turned to face Senator Varus and Archduke Selene, his stance wide and commanding.
"You speak of tradition, but you neglect the reality of the situation on ground. You speak of more powerful alliances, but you neglect the strength of the man presented to you."
He gestured to Riven, his hand shaking slightly with emotion. "My son has brought stability to the North that your 'traditional' Generals could not secure for years. He has saved the Empire millions with his strategies. Have you all forgotten how he put himself on the line to unearth Morwyn's deeds? And as for preserving the royal lineage, my son and the Crown Prince have their plans."
The Duke looked at the Prince, then back at the bewildered Council. "The Prince chooses to wed a man who provides stability, loyalty, and unparalleled strategic vision. He chose a man who keeps him grounded and whole. If the Crown Prince is stable, the Empire is stable. That is the only tradition that matters!"
He fixed Archduke Selene with a hard look. "I understand that you're scared. You fear that Lord Riven is not bound by our old ways. He is only bound to the Prince. But know this. His loyalty is absolute, his mind is sharp, and he is a warrior who would fight for the good of the empire. If you seek weakness in this match, you are blind."
The Duke finished, his chest heaving with pride and defiance. "These two have fought so hard to get here, they deserve our support. I am proud to give my son to the Empire as the Crown Prince's Consort."
A stunned silence fell over the hall. The Duke's blunt, emotional, and utterly sincere defense had been the perfect counter to the Court's snobbery. Riven looked at his father, his heart swelling with pride and gratitude. The true battle—the familial one—had been won long ago.
Vaelorian stepped forward, his eyes locked with Riven's.
"You heard my father, and the Duke has said everything I needed to say. Lord Riven is my partner, my only choice. I will marry him and no one else. This matter is settled."
The Court, defeated by the combined force of the Crown and the unexpected defense of the Duke, could only mutter their assent. The engagement was happening. They had passed the final test.