The banners of victory still fluttered above the Royal Palace. After months of blood and frost on the northern front, the kingdom's forces had returned—battered, but triumphant. And at the heart of that triumph stood Edward Bolton, Count Bolton's eldest son, the commander of the royal army, and the King's son-in-law.
Preparations for the victory banquet had begun long before the soldiers even marched through the capital gates. Inside the palace, musicians tuned their lutes and horns. Servants darted through the halls. Tables were set with silver platters, crystal goblets, and golden embroidery. Every noble in the court was present, eager to celebrate the war's end—and the man who delivered it.
The King entered first, followed by the Queen, the Crown Prince, and the Second Princess, Alyssa—his daughter and Edward's wife. Polished and composed, she walked with the poise of a woman raised inside palace walls.
Soon after, the doors to the banquet hall opened again.
The Chief General stepped in. Behind him came Edward.
There was a shift in the air—anticipation mixed with admiration. Edward's reputation had grown beyond borders. And yet, as he walked in, his eyes seemed distracted, distant. He wore his formal navy tunic, not a speck of dust on it, but there was no celebration in his face. Only restraint.
He bowed before the King.
"Raise your head, Edward," the King said warmly. "You've led us to victory. The kingdom is proud. I am proud. You've made us all proud—my son."
Applause followed. The Queen nodded. The Prince clapped. Alyssa stood beside her mother, calm, unreadable.
The King motioned to her. "Come, Alyssa."
She stepped forward and stood beside Edward.
The crowd admired the pair. Noble. Beautiful. Powerful. Whispers ran like threads through the hall.
"A future Duke."
"They belong in paintings."
"She tamed the wild Bolton blood."
The King raised a goblet. "Let us toast to our brave soldiers. Without them, this day wouldn't be ours. I hereby grant twenty gold coins to every soldier who fought in the northern campaign!"
Cheers erupted. Soldiers beamed. The music returned, and the banquet came alive—dancing, laughter, full goblets.
But Edward didn't smile.
He remained seated, turning his wine slowly in his hand. He hadn't touched his food. And when he did speak, it was not to celebrate.
He rose and walked to the dais again, stopping in front of the King. His voice was calm, but it cut through the noise like a blade.
"Your Majesty," he said, "three years ago, before we marched to war, you made me a promise. You said that when I returned, you'd grant me a wish of my choosing."
The King looked up, amused. "Yes, I remember. Have you finally decided?"
"I have," Edward said. "I want to be exiled from this kingdom… and I want my name erased from the Bolton family genealogy."
The music stopped.
A heavy silence followed. It spread from table to table like a cold wind through the hall.
The Queen stared at Edward in disbelief. The Prince sat frozen. Even Alyssa's lips parted slightly, her brow furrowing as if trying to understand a language she'd never heard before.
The King blinked. "Edward," he said slowly, "if you're making a joke—this isn't funny."
"I'm not joking," Edward said.
The room remained silent, save for the faint clink of a dropped spoon.
Count James Bolton pushed through the crowd, his wife Sara right behind him.
"My King, forgive him," James said quickly. "He's not himself. He's exhausted, maybe drank too much. Let us—"
"I haven't had a drop," Edward interrupted, louder now. "And I know exactly what I'm saying."
The King's face hardened. "Edward… do you understand where you are? Who you're speaking to?"
"I do," Edward replied. "And I stand by it."
The King stood up slowly, the mood in the hall turning ice-cold.
"Tonight's celebration is over," he said flatly. "Edward. Your family. Wait in the drawing hall."
The drawing hall was quiet.
The torches cast long shadows along the stone walls. The Queen did not follow. Only the King, Edward, Alyssa, Count James, and Lady Sara remained.
The King's voice had changed. It carried steel now.
"Explain," he said. "Why?"
Edward didn't hesitate. "I just want my wish granted. That's all."
The King turned sharply to James. "Did you know about this?"
James looked at his son for a long moment, then dropped his eyes. "Not in detail," he said quietly. "But… I knew something wasn't right."
Alyssa finally spoke.
"Edward, what are you doing?" Her voice cracked just slightly. "You haven't said a word to me since you returned. You won't even look at me."
Edward didn't turn toward her. "Because if I did, I might lose the nerve."
"You want to abandon me?" she said, her tone rising. "Publicly humiliate me? After everything?"
Edward met her gaze now. There was no hatred in it—only a cold sort of sadness. "Alyssa… you know how this marriage was. You know what you said. What you did. And you know I stayed quiet."
"I was a child—"
"You still are."
The King stepped forward. "What is this really about? The past? That foolish outburst ten years ago?"
"No," Edward said. "It's about everything since. And you were there for one of the worst moments. Don't act like you've forgotten."
The King looked away briefly. His lips thinned. "That was… a long time ago."
"And it never left me," Edward replied. "It's easier for people like you to forget."
A tense silence hung between them.
"I want out," Edward said. "Completely. Of the palace. Of the Bolton. Of this court."
"And Alyssa?" the King asked.
"I'll divorce her."
Alyssa recoiled as if slapped.
"No," she whispered. "No, you can't. That's not—"
"It's the law," Edward said, facing the King again. "Imperial law. Section 109(a)(ii). If, within a year of marriage, neither party fulfils their marital duties—or fails to uphold their role—they may request a divorce. And I can prove it."
The King didn't respond. He sat down slowly, eyes fixed on Edward.
"You were the son I never had," he muttered. "I would've named you Duke. Maybe more. And now… you want nothing."
Edward said nothing.
The King looked at Alyssa—silent, hollow-eyed, humiliated.
"Give me time," the King said finally. "I'll consult the advisors and High Council. You'll hear from me soon."
Edward bowed and turned. Count Bolton followed, his wife on his arm. Alyssa didn't move.
Only once the door closed did the King whisper, more to himself than anyone else:
"What happened to you, Edward? What did I miss? Did I ever see you at all?"