The snarls of the shadow-wolves faded into a low, rhythmic hum as Regina raised her hand. The darkness receded, pulling back into the corners of the Great Hall like a tide, revealing the man who stood at its center.
It was her father. Marquess Runevald Valtorien looked as though he had aged a decade in a few short months. His hair was grayer, his face lined with the exhaustion of a man who had been hunting a ghost, but his eyes were bright with a fierce, paternal relief.
Iris's expression—the iron mask of the Sovereign—shattered. She didn't walk; she ran, reaching for her father's hand in the same old gesture she had used as a young girl in the Valtorien gardens.
"Father," she whispered, her voice finally losing its ethereal chill.
Runevald gripped her hands, his fingers trembling. "I saw you today," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I stood in the back of that courtroom, watching the 'Sovereign of Night' command the room. I didn't interrupt. I didn't want to break the spell you had cast over them."
He looked at the dark spires above them and back to his daughter. "I am so proud of you, Iris. To see you stand so strong, so independent... it is more than I ever dared hope for you."
"You shouldn't have come here," Iris said, her concern flaring. "The woods are treacherous, and the palace has eyes everywhere. If Draven finds out you've breached the Keep—"
"I didn't care about the risk," her father interrupted, his eyes hardening for a moment. "I couldn't bear another night not seeing your face. I was panicked when I found your carriage at the edge of the woods. I went to the Prince, Iris. I went to him for help."
He let out a short, bitter breath. "And while I was begging for a search party, that... that Saintess was busy accusing you of unfaithfulness. She told the Crown you had fled to a secret lover to escape your duties."
Iris didn't even flinch. A cold, indifferent smile touched her lips. "Eliosa's words have no weight, Father. Their accusations are just wind against the stone. The only thing that matters to me—the only thing that ever mattered—is that you trusted me."
The Marquess looked at her for a long time. He saw the obsidian veil she had discarded, the purple energy humming in her blood, and the magnificent, terrifying fortress she now ruled. But beneath the strong iron spine, beneath the power of the Eclipsereaver, he saw the flickering shadow in her eyes that only a father could recognize.
He reached out, his calloused hand softly touching her face. "No doubt that you are far more powerful than the storm, my child," he said, his voice a gentle, devastating murmur. "But at the end, we are all humans with a heart made of flesh."
The words struck Iris with more force than the energy of the gem. She realized what he was implying. He knew. He knew that despite her victory, despite her sovereignty, she had loved Draven with every fiber of her being for seven long years. He knew that being discarded hadn't just been a political move—it had been a soul-deep betrayal.
Runevald reached up and wiped a single, shimmering tear from the corner of her eye even before it had the chance to fall. He saw the pain she had buried under a mountain of obsidian.
Iris took a shuddering breath, composing herself with the practiced ease of a Queen. She offered him a soft, genuine smile—the first one to grace the Keep since its awakening.
"I have found my happiness here, Father," she said, her voice steadying. "I have something now that I never had in the palace. I have a reason to stay strong."
She turned slightly, leading him toward the spiral staircase. "Come. There is someone you need to meet. Someone who carries the Valtorien name into a new era."