The celebration should have ended peacefully.
That was what everyone expected.
But the air in the grand hall shifted before anyone announced it.
Servants straightened.
Nobles fell silent mid-conversation.
Even my father's posture changed—only slightly, but enough.
Carriages had arrived.
Different from the others.
Heavier. Darker. Marked with a crest no one mistook.
A golden sun crowned by a serpent.
House Valerion.
The royal family had come.
The doors of the hall opened.
Two rows of knights entered first, armor polished to a dull shine, movements synchronized. They did not look around. They did not need to.
Behind them walked a man in his prime.
Tall. Slender. Draped in white and gold robes trimmed with crimson. His blond hair was tied neatly behind his head, his expression calm—too calm.
Power rested on him like a second skin.
Every noble bowed instantly.
Including my father.
"The Crown thanks House Atradiés for its hospitality," the man said, his voice smooth and measured. "I am Prince Caelum Valerion, first son of His Majesty."
Prince.
So this was him.
The future king.
My eyes met his.
And lingered.
A mistake.
Prince Caelum's gaze sharpened—not hostile, not surprised.
Interested.
He walked closer.
Closer than protocol allowed.
And stopped in front of me.
"This is the child?" he asked.
My father nodded. "My son. Amaniel Atradiés."
Amaniel.
The name carried differently when spoken by royalty.
The prince crouched slightly, bringing himself level with me.
"Two years old," he murmured. "And already so quiet."
His eyes searched my face—not my clothes, not my status.
Me.
"…He doesn't look away," Caelum said softly.
The hall held its breath.
My mother stiffened beside me.
I realized something then.
In the novel—
This scene existed.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
The prince noticed the duke's useless son.
And later—
That attention became deadly.
I did what the original Amaniel never did.
I lowered my gaze.
Just enough.
Respectful.
Not submissive.
Prince Caelum smiled faintly.
"Interesting," he said again.
Then he stood.
"To the Duke and Duchess Atradiés," he announced, turning to the hall. "The Crown acknowledges the birth of your son."
A murmur spread.
Acknowledged.
Not blessed.
Not praised.
Acknowledged.
That alone was dangerous.
The prince departed soon after.
The party resumed.
But something had changed.
Eyes followed me now.
Not with dismissal.
With caution.
That night, I lay awake.
The royal prince had noticed me.
In the novel, that never ended well.
The old Amaniel died because he was weak.
But I understood something now.
Strength alone wouldn't save me either.
The Crown didn't destroy threats.
It removed uncertainty.
And I was uncertain.
I clenched my small fist beneath the blankets.
"…I can't stay useless," I thought.
If I remained nothing—
I would die as I was written.
If I became something too quickly—
I would die even faster.
So I would do the only thing left.
Grow slowly.
Quietly.
Out of sight.
Before the story caught up.