The opera house plans, now titled The Aria of the Tides, were ready for the King's review. Hadrian and Seraphina stood side-by-side in the grand council chamber, not as petitioner and consort, but as co-presenters. The large presentation boards showed a structure that was both fortress and seashell, its proposed exterior cladding designed to shimmer like wet scales in the rain, its roof-line echoing the cresting curl of a wave.
King Maris leaned forward in his throne-like chair, his expression unreadable. Flanking him were the treasury ministers and the master of royal works, a traditionalist named Lord Greymont who viewed Hadrian's modernism with thinly veiled disdain.
"The concept is… imaginative," King Maris rumbled once the presentation concluded. "But the cost. This 'reactive cladding'… untested. The internal acoustics modeled on a nautilus… whimsical. Where is the grandeur? The permanence?"
Lord Greymont nodded vigorously. "An opera house should be a testament to stone and marble, Your Majesty. To legacy. Not to… fish scales and weather patterns."
Seraphina stepped forward before Hadrian could form a retort. "Father, with respect, what is legacy? The Southern Atolls were a legacy of life, built over millennia of stone. They are gone. Permanence is an illusion we can no longer afford. This design is a testament to adaptation. To beauty that exists in dialogue with the elements, not in defiance of them. It is a gathering place for a people who need to remember their own voice in the face of the storm. That is a deeper grandeur."
Her words, spoken with the quiet authority of one who had seen the end of permanence, silenced the room. Hadrian looked at her, pride a warm flare in his chest. She was defending his art with a philosopher's depth he hadn't anticipated.
King Maris stroked his beard, his eyes moving from his daughter's resolute face to the unconventional designs. "And the people? Will they see a masterpiece or a… a barnacle-encrusted oddity?"
It was the opening Hadrian needed. "May I answer, Your Majesty?" At the King's nod, he continued. "We have lost our connection to the sea. We either fear it as a destroyer or plunder it as a resource. This building seeks to re-establish a relationship of respect. It says: we hear your power, we acknowledge your rhythm, and we will raise our human song within yours. It is not an oddity. It is a reconciliation."
The word hung in the air. Reconciliation. It was what the King, on some level, wanted for his daughter and son-in-law. It was what the kingdom needed with its changing environment. The political and the personal aligned with potent symbolism.
King Maris was quiet for a long moment. "I will consider it," he said finally, which was not a no. "The budget will be scrutinized. Greymont, you will work with the Prince on value engineering. But the vision… the vision has merit."
It was a conditional victory, but a victory nonetheless. As they left the chamber, Seraphina let out a slow breath. "He didn't hate it."
"He was moved," Hadrian corrected, feeling a strange lightness. "By you."
In the corridor, they encountered Rian, who had apparently been waiting. His smile was genuine, if weary. "I heard it went well. The 'Aria of the Tides'… a fitting name."
"We have you to thank, in part," Hadrian said, the acknowledgment easy now. "The time at sea was the catalyst."
Rian's gaze softened. "I am glad something beautiful is coming from it." He hesitated. "There is something you should both know. Lord Berrick is not content with gossip. He's petitioning the archives. He's seeking the full, unredacted logs from the Aethelwyn."
A chill went through Seraphina. "The logs? Why?"
"Officially?To 'audit mission efficacy and resource allocation.' Unofficially?" Rian's lips thinned. "He's looking for anomalies. Gaps in the record. Any hint of private communications between the lead scientist and the liaison officer that could be misconstrued. He's building a case of professional misconduct to undermine the commission's authority, and by extension, you."
The victory of the morning curdled. The unseen current of spite had found a new channel. The logs were mostly technical, but they contained watch schedules, private buoy usage records, the logs of their cabin's comms unit. They were a skeleton of their time at sea. In the wrong hands, even a skeleton could be made to tell a sinister story.
"Can he get them?" Hadrian asked, his mind already racing through legal precedents.
"As a peer of the realm on the oversight committee,he has a right to request them. I can delay, obfuscate, but not block indefinitely." Rian's eyes were apologetic. "I am sorry. My stepping back has made me… less able to shield you in some ways."
"This isn't your fault," Seraphina said firmly. "This is Berrick's malice. We'll handle it."
But as Rian walked away,the weight of the new threat settled on them. The romantic void had been navigated, the gossip countered, but now their very professionalism, the hard-won ground of their partnership, was under attack. Their private journey was about to become a public autopsy.