With the military heartland of House Durnhall secured, the Imperial tour was nearing its end. The final and perhaps most unusual stop is the Great House Moriah, situated in the luxurious, artistically inclined Western Province of the Southern Territory. The Duke of House Moriah was a powerful voice in the Senate and significant cultural influence.
Duke Cassian Moriah was legendary for two things: his immense wealth, which he poured into the arts, and his infatuation with beautiful young men. His court was famous for its opulence, its poets, and its notoriously complicated social dynamics.
Vaelorian was amused by the prospect; Riven was deeply uncomfortable.
"I am not going to be some ornament for him to admire," Riven stated firmly as they approached the sparkling marble estate.
Vaelorian, who had already changed into robes of deep emerald and gold—a deliberate choice to appeal to the Duke's aesthetic—smiled, but his tone was reassuring.
"Cassian is flamboyant, but he's not a fool. He understands power. You're not just another ornament for him to admire, Riven. To him, you're the most valuable piece of art in the Empire, and you are entirely mine. He knows that. But, we're still going to use his vanity against him."
"I just spent the entirety of this tour being analyzed for my military knowledge and royal politics. But now, I'm going to be judged based on the straightness of my cheekbones," Riven sighed, adjusting his betrothal torque.
"You'll pass that test easily, my love," Vaelorian murmured, leaning in. "Your beauty is second only to your brilliance. He'll be a fool not to see that."
Duke Cassian Moriah was exactly as the rumors described: stunningly handsome, draped in jewels, and radiating an air of effortless superiority. He greeted Vaelorian with a flash of perfectly white teeth and a flourish that bordered on the dramatic.
He barely acknowledged Vaelorian before his gaze, slow and appraising, settled on Riven.
"My dear Lord Riven," the Duke purred, taking Riven's hand and bringing it close to his lips, though he did not kiss it. "The whispers did not do you justice. You are simply exquisite. A masterpiece. Vaelorian, you have truly excelled yourself."
And so it went, the entire evening was a performance. Duke Cassian ignored Riven's opinions on economics and military but hung on his every word concerning the shape of his tunic, his long hair or the color of his eyes. Riven was treated like the centerpiece of the Duke's latest collection—admired, displayed, and implicitly coveted.
At dinner, the Duke spoke mostly of beauty, art, and the fleeting nature of commitment. He constantly offered Riven flowery compliments, clearly attempting to separate Riven's aesthetic worth from his political allegiance.
"Riven, my dear, you have such potential," the Duke mused, swirling wine in his crystal glass. "It must be difficult, committing such beauty to the dry, dusty world of Imperial politics. Do you not fear the constraints? The eventual boredom?"
Riven knew he couldn't win this battle with military facts. He had to use the Duke's own language—art and passion.
"Not at all, Your Grace," Riven replied smoothly, meeting the Duke's calculating gaze. "You see constraint; I see form. The greatest art requires the most rigid boundaries. A true masterpiece is defined by its precision."
He paused, and glanced at Vaelorian who spoke into his head. "Weldon my love. Lady Olga would be proud." then Riven added, his voice low and compelling.
"My love for Vaelorian is not some fleeting melody. It is the very thing that will transform this Empire to the beautiful future we're all looking forward to. That is the best form of art I can ever dedicate my life to building. There's no boredom in creation, Duke Cassian, only pure devotion."
The Duke stilled, his theatrical mask slipping for a moment. He recognized the language of genuine passion. Riven had taken the compliment and turned it into a statement of strategic intent.
Vaelorian, watching the exchange, felt a rush of pride. Riven had managed to speak to the Duke's soul—the part that genuinely understood dedication to a craft.
Duke Cassian finally broke into a slow, appreciative smile. "Bravo, Lord Riven. A perfectly constructed defense. I see you are not just beauty; you've got brains too. Vaelorian, you have secured an Imperial treasure."
The Duke raised his glass, no longer with a flirtatious gaze, but with genuine respect. "To the Crown Prince and his future Consort. May your devotion be as beautiful and enduring as the greatest Imperial architecture."
The final great house had been conquered, not by a sword, but by a brilliant strategic redefinition of Riven's role. The Imperial tour was complete, and every key House was now committed to the union.
The Imperial tour was over. Riven and Vaelorian had successfully navigated the familial loyalty of House Ashbourne, the intense scrutiny of House Lotus, the cold walls of House Veridian, the wholesome friendship of House Durnhall, and the aesthetic challenge of House Moriah. They had secured the support of the Empire's most powerful houses, solidifying Riven's position as the future Imperial Consort.
That evening, after the last farewells to Duke Moriah, Riven and Vaelorian retired to the guest chambers for a proper rest before their long journey back home. The room, though luxurious, felt quiet and utterly private after weeks of performative diplomacy.
Vaelorian closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a heavy, satisfied sigh. "It's done. Every House is accounted for. You were magnificent, my love. You handled the politics, the ambition, and the sheer strangeness of Cassian Moriah without faltering once."
Riven walked toward him, pulling the heavy ceremonial tunic over his head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. "I was terrified half the time. But I knew the price of failure was too high. I was also tempted to just compel them to agree with us and get it over with, but I couldn't stop thinking of that moment in the strategy room when I told your parents that we were dating out loud for the first time. After that, everything else just felt doable."
Vaelorian met Riven halfway and pulled him into a tight hug. "You are the strongest person I have ever known, Riven. You didn't just only hold your own; you've reshaped every narrative about us. We won this tour, not through my title, but through your intellect and your honesty."
In the intimacy of the guest chambers, Vaelorian took the betrothal torque from Riven's neck, the gold cool beneath his fingers, and kissed the place where it had rested.
Tonight, they made love not with the feverish passion of stolen moments, but with the settled assurance of a shared future. It was an act of triumph, a reaffirmation that everything they had fought for—the late nights, the arguments, the tears, the long hours of planning—was worth this moment. The Crown Prince and his future Consort, publicly together at last and safe within the safety of each other's arms.
They made history.
The next morning, Riven woke to the warmth of Vaelorian beside him, the early light filtering through the silk curtains. He felt wholly different from the anxious young man who had ridden out weeks ago. He was more mature now, more grounded and ready for this royalty stuff.
They rode back to the Imperial Palac with pride and contentment. As their carriages passed through the gates, the Palace felt different. The introductory period was over. The battle for their right to be together has been won, and the public battle for acceptance has been secured.
The time for planning and touring was finished. Now, the real work of building a future for where everyone belongs begins.