"Well, well... Look who decided to grace us with his presence." lvin’s voice was a drawl, loud enough for the guards at the door to hear, but pitched carefully to mask any real malice. "And here I thought you’d be lost in soone’s chambers."
Levan did not blink. He ignored the jab, tracking lvin as he slinked into the high-backed chair beside Neven. The Second Prince’s smirk twisted, acknowledging the discomfort he was causing. He leaned back, draping one arm over the carved wood and tapping his other hand on the table like he was claiming territory.
Beside him, Neven’s jaw tightened. He did not shift away, but his posture went rigid, his hands clasping neatly on the table. The air between the two older brothers grew heavy, thick with decades of unspoken grievances.
lvin tilted his head, golden eyes glinting as he looked straight at the King. "I hope this isn’t all ceremony, Father. I’ve been dying for so real entertainnt."
The King barely spared him a glance. "This eting is for council matters. Not amusent."
lvin laughed sharply, a brittle sound coming out of his throat. "Ah, yes. Business with the King and the Crown Prince’s iron focus. How could I forget?"
Levan’s gaze flicked from lvin to the King, reading the room like a tactician surveying a battlefield. Before lvin could draw another breath, Levan’s voice cut through the air.
"This is a council chamber," he repeated the King’s words as if lvin did not hear it the first ti. "If we are here to deliberate, then we start now."
lvin’s smirk did not falter, but the light in his eyes dimd. He let the silence stretch if only to test the boundary. "I wasn’t aware we needed instructions from our youngest brother on how to conduct ourselves."
Levan’s eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed. "Then allow to clarify: this is not a performance. Words spoken here have consequences. I trust you do not wish to discover them firsthand."
A flicker of genuine surprise broke lvin’s mask. He had expected a lecture, perhaps a flash of temper, not a threat. Levan rarely raised his voice, but this quiet, cold command was far more dangerous.
Even the rarely engaging Neven who was sitting opposite frowned, watching the exchange like a hawk observing a rat in a trap. At the head of the table, a faint crease appeared between the King’s brows.
Levan leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the table. "If your goal is entertainnt, brother, reserve it for the banquet hall. Here, we act with purpose."
lvin’s smirk returned, softer now, tinged with a reluctant, grudging respect. "Very well." He let his gaze drift slowly from Levan to the King, shrugging off the tension as if it were nothing more than a heavy cloak.
"So, what is this all about?" lvin asked. "You summoned back in a rush, leaving half my affairs hanging in the Northern regions, and now—" He gestured vaguely at the oak table and the assembled lords. "—I’m ant to simply sit here? Watch my brothers scowl and lecture on decorum? It’s underwhelming."
"Enough preliminaries." The King’s voice bood, bouncing off the stone walls and silencing lvin instantly. "We convene today because The Blithe has escalated beyond our previous estimations."
The King’s gaze swept the room like a blade before settling heavily on Levan.
"I have received troubling reports regarding your expedition to The Expanse," the King said. "Reports that the Crown Prince has involved the Crown Princess in operations concerning The Blithe."
The silence that fell was absolute.
Levan’s fingers pressed harder against the wood of the table. He had known they would find out; he just had not expected the ambush here, in front of the council. In his peripheral vision, he saw lvin freeze, eyes widening in genuine shock.
"What?" lvin whispered, appalling delight warring with disbelief.
Ilaria.
Her face flickered in Levan’s mind. The way her eyes had sparked with stubborn determination when she insisted on coming with him. The way she had refused to be left behind. His chest tightened. She had wanted to follow him into the fire, but that did not an he wanted her to burn.
"Your Majesty," Levan affird, his voice steady. "The Princess accompanied of her own accord. She is unhard."
lvin snorted, turning to look at him. "Of course she is. But our stoic Prince seems to enjoy courting danger. And apparently, he drags the Crown Princess along for sport."
The King’s eyes lingered on Levan, filled with quiet disappointnt. "This is not a matter for jest, Levan. Anything associated with The Blithe is lethal. Your actions could have endangered her life, and by extension, our alliance."
Levan’s jaw set. "I am aware of the risks. I ensured her safety."
"Ensured?" The King’s frown deepened. "By what authority do you decide what is safe for the Crown Princess? She is not rely your companion, Levan. She is of Caelwyn. She is diplomatic leverage."
"I acted with judgnt and with her consent. I would not bring her into harm’s way needlessly."
The room held its breath. Levan’s fingers flexed lightly against the table, not from nerves, but from the tension of knowing what was at stake. She was not just the Crown Princess to him, not just a foreign royal brought into his realm. She was a life now entwined with his own.
Every choice he made, every step into danger has carried the burden of her safety, her honour, and her future with his. If she faltered; if she suffered, it would not only be a wound to her, it would be a failure of his judgnt, a failure he could never forgive himself for.
"Acting is not always enough," the King warned. "There are consequences for involving foreign blood in matters of Noctharis security. Consequences I will not ignore—"
"Your Majesty," Levan interrupted, his tone sharpening. "I did not act out of recklessness or sentint. The Blithe spreads too quickly. Waiting for protocol or for reinforcents from Caelwyn would have cost lives. Including hers."
He paused, letting the words land, his eyes scanning the faces around the table. Even lvin flinched slightly at the steel in Levan’s gaze.
"Her involvent," he continued, "was not ornantal. Her knowledge of Caelwynian healing practices ensured we stabilized the region before further loss."
The King did not blink. "You placed her in direct danger. If she had failed?"
"Then the responsibility would have been mine alone," Levan shot back, then he shook his head. "But she did not fail. And we saved more than we could have by acting apart."
lvin let out a low whistle, fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on the table. He clearly wanted to argue, but the logic of Levan’s words sliced through the tension that even he could not find himself to disagree.
Levan sighed, his voice dropping an octave. "I understand the weight of tradition. I do not dismiss our alliances, but Noctharis faces a threat that does not respect protocol. We act now, or we risk far more than a scandal. I will accept responsibility for every consequence, Father. But I will not hesitate when lives are at stake."
The King’s gaze lingered on Levan as though weighing not just his words but his judgnt. He has always carried himself with the weight of this crown lightly on his shoulders, yet never without awareness. Even as the youngest, he has a mind for responsibility that rivals any of his elder brothers. And... he has heard whispers of how he treats the Crown Princess.
A faint crease tugged at the corners of the King’s mouth. It seems the girl has brought out sothing in him. Not weakness or asly distraction, but balance. He does not act rashly for affection, and yet he carries her as though she were as vital as the kingdom itself.
The old caution in the King’s heart softened imperceptibly. He did not fully trust the world nor the audacity of youth, but perhaps he could trust his son to know what he was doing when lives and alliances hung in the balance.
"You are the Crown Prince," he said slowly. "And she... is your wife. I will not deny my distrust, but I must trust your judgnt in this matter. You have made your decision, and I will hold you accountable, but I will not undermine the choice of a husband for his wife."
Levan’s shoulders eased fractionally, though his posture remained unyielding. He did not speak imdiately, letting the weight of the King’s words settle across the room.
"Very well," the King continued, gesturing to the council mbers. "Then we return to the matters at hand. The Queen of Caelwyn has sent a representative. He has been waiting."
Levan’s eyes flicked across the room upon the words. Among the lords and advisors sat a man he recognized instantly: a sharp-eyed aide of the Queen, impeccably dressed while wearing Caelwyn’s crest, bearing the quiet authority of soone accustod to being the ssenger of royalty.
He knows him.
The man’s gaze t Levan’s for the briefest mont before settling back towards the King. He was not here for pleasantries. He was here for business, that much was obvious. And judging by the tension rolling through the council, what he carried with him was urgent.
Levan straightened, letting the awareness of his wife’s holand and the ties that bound them set his mind ablaze with focus. This was no longer simply a matter of protocol or even caution. It was strategy, politics, and the survival of their nations.
"Speak," the King commanded, his eyes on the aide. "We have waited long enough. Tell us what the Queen deems necessary."
The eting proceeded without haste. The aide cleared his throat, producing reports and ssages from Caelwyn directly from the Queen herself. Discussions followed then, about asures to contain The Blithe and the monsters, troop movents, supply lines, and contingencies in case of escalation.
Every point was scrutinized, debated, and catalogued. Levan’s sharp mind tracked each detail, weighing strategy against politics and necessity against risk. lvin muttered a few pointed questions, more to test Levan’s patience than to dispute, and Neven remained a silent, calculating observer while the King interjected only when crucial.
By the ti the council adjourned, the room was heavy with resolutions and directives, decisions that would ripple through Noctharis and Caelwyn alike. Levan’s face remained composed, though his thoughts were already miles away.
He had promised he would be back early and find his wife, and he would be damned if he broke that promise. His hand was already itching to go back to the soft warmth of Ilaria’s presence. He could not stop thinking about the gentle way she had laughed that morning and the brief, stolen peace they had shared before duty called.
As the mbers of the council rose, stretching stiff limbs and muttering about the burdens of leadership, the aide of the Queen lingered, eyeing a specific person to fulfil his duty for the day. He approached Levan quietly, eyes careful but urgent if only not to be noticed by other who was still there.
Levan was about to turn on his heel when the aide’s voice stopped him, low and clipped, carrying a weight that made even Levan pause.
"Your Highness," the man said, voice low and asured, eyes flicking briefly to the King before settling on him, "there are matters I wish to discuss with you alone. They... cannot be spoken of here."
Levan’s brow rose, every sense on alert. He had expected updates or routine matters. Or perhaps question regarding Ilaria’s well-being. But judging from the edge in the aide’s tone and the hesitation behind his words... it spoke of stakes higher than any council deliberation.
He watched as his brothers and the King began to leave for a mont. And even as the doors closed behind them, he did not miss the faintest flick of Neven’s gaze in his direction. A look so subtle it could have been mistaken for nothing, yet he noticed it anyway.
Levan turned back to the aide with a slight nod. If he could get this done quickly, he could return to his wife imdiately. "Lead the way."
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