Draven looked into Valerie's eyes and found no childhood innocence there—only a deep, quiet recognition. She wasn't confused about who stood before her. She knew. The way she held her chin, the way she measured him with her gaze; she knew this was the man who had turned his back before she had even taken her first breath.
Yet, she did not call him "Father."
The title she used—"Your Highness"—was technically correct, but to Draven, it felt like a serrated blade across his throat. For years, he had sacrificed everything for that title. He had discarded his wife and child to protect the prestige of the Crown.
Now, hearing that very title from the lips of his own daughter felt like the ultimate punishment.
It was a cold, formal barrier he had built himself, and he was now trapped on the outside of it.
He swallowed the bitter taste of regret, forcing his expression to remain steady. He wouldn't burden her with his sudden, belated remorse. Instead, he knelt slightly to meet her eye level and offered a soft, genuine smile.
"And what does a young lady of the Keep intend to master at the Academy?" he asked, his voice gentler than anyone in the courtyard had ever heard it.
Valerie did not hesitate. "I have a keen interest in ancient grimoires and the fine-tuning of elemental controls, Your Highness," she replied with a sharp, academic precision. "Though, I find the history of the Continental Wars and the art of the swift-blade equally compelling."
A mix of fierce pride and dull pain flared in Draven's chest. She was brilliant. She was a scholar and a warrior in the making—everything a prince could dream of in an heir. And he had had no part in it.
He listened to her speak of theories and techniques, memorizing the cadence of her voice, trying to bridge six years of silence in a few minutes.
Eventually, the academy bells signaled the start of the induction. Draven stood up, his joints feeling stiff. He turned to Regina, his eyes pleading for a fragment of a second.
"May I... may I stay to see her pass through the gates?" he asked. "As the Crown Prince, of course."
Regina's gaze softened by a fraction—not out of forgiveness, but perhaps out of pity. "She is a student of the realm now," Regina replied calmly. "You are welcome to watch."
The gates of Aetherbind swung open. As the line of new students began to move, Valerie adjusted the strap of her satchel and began to walk. She didn't look back. She didn't wave. She marched toward her future with the steady, unshakable gait of a Sovereign.
Draven stood frozen by the stone pillar, his eyes fixed on the small figure in the black and silver uniform. He watched until the crowd of students swallowed the dark brown of her hair, and the heavy iron gates groaned shut.
For the first time in his life, the palace felt like a prison, and the crown on his head felt like lead.