Their footsteps echoed softly along the white marble corridor that led to the main council chamber. On one side, tall windows reflected the gray light of Belgrande’s overcast sky, while on the other, the walls were lined with the emblems of ancient glory. Those symbols felt hollow now, like shadows of a past greatness that had long since faded.

Anna Hartwell walked unhurriedly, the hem of her old violet cloak swaying lightly with each step. Beside her, Edgar Valobys, the Supreme Commander of the Kingdom’s forces, walked with a heavy, burdened stride. Neither of them spoke, yet the silence between them was enough to make the servants and guards they passed lower their heads deeply.

They entered a large rectangular chamber: the Royal Council Hall. Inside, a long table of dark wood stretched almost to the far end of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs, each carved with the crest of the noble family that claimed it. But at the very end of the table stood one chair larger than the others, adorned with a lion’s head and two crossed swords.

The Queen’s seat.

As Anna and Valobys stepped inside, the nobles already seated turned to look. Dozens of eyes watched them, carrying fear, irritation, curiosity, and the thin shimmer of dangerous ambition. Whispers slithered between them like faint streams of water, quiet but sharp.

“Why are they so late?”

“Are they making us wait on purpose?”

“What does this mean? Is she truly dead…?”

“…”

Anna remained composed. Her gaze swept the room like a silent blade. She knew the thoughts inside their heads. These were not patriots. They were merchants of power. And when the scent of ruin begins to spread, they do not ask what can be saved, but what can be taken.

Edgar Valobys moved ahead, taking his place in the chair to the right of the throne: the seat of the Supreme Commander.

Anna followed, sitting in the only other chair in the kingdom permitted to sit at that level of authority: the Right Hand of the Queen. The royal advisor, bearer of the kingdom’s official seal, and the only person authorized to speak on the Queen’s behalf in this council.

No sooner had they taken their seats than a woman with elegant glasses leaned slightly forward. Elizabeth Valmont, the Head Steward of the Palace, spoke with a sweet voice edged in knives.

“What took you so long?”

Valobys turned to her with a bored expression. “I have work. Real work.”

Elizabeth’s smile widened. “As the Supreme Commander, of course you must be very busy. Especially with… withdrawing troops from the border and welcoming our enemies in with a red carpet.”

The words were loud enough for nearby nobles to hear.

Valobys clicked his tongue and met her gaze. “And as the Head Steward, I’m sure you’re quite relaxed. Arranging dinner schedules and selecting new curtains, while letting the rats crawl freely beneath the floorboards.”

Elizabeth said nothing, but her smile did not disappear.

Until—

THUD.

The royal seal struck the table.

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned to Anna Hartwell, who now stood at the head of the table, one hand still resting on the metal seal engraved with the kingdom’s emblem, her gaze cold and steady.

“I, Anna Hartwell, as the Right Hand of Her Majesty Queen Ashtoria Iskandrite, hereby declare this Royal Council in session.”

A tense hush settled over the hall.

The nobles exchanged glances. Some sat up straighter. Others drew a slow breath. They all understood what it meant when Anna Hartwell spoke with the weight of the seal.

For now, she was the crown.

Commander Valobys folded his hands on the table, his expression firm. Elizabeth fell silent, though her eyes continued to record every movement in the room.

Here, gathered together, were the Dukes with armies larger than the kingdom’s own battalions, the Marquises with gold mines and trade monopolies, and the Viscounts who controlled ports and supply lines.

They all had one thing in common:

Their loyalty depended on who would win.

And today, they would decide whether to stand with Iskandria…

…or help tear it apart from within.

.

.

.

A few days had passed since the night when Riven’s heart nearly burst from emotions he could not fully express. The nights that followed were quiet. He slept beside Ashtoria, but never crossed past that line. He held himself back, because he knew there was something far more important he needed to address first.

His sister’s future.

That morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. Ashtoria had already left the room, saying she needed to meet with Lord Rathsture in the strategy chamber.

The perfect moment.

Riven stood in the doorway and looked to the other side of the room where Melly sat on a chair, reading with her legs swinging lightly. She looked calm as always, but Riven knew she was more perceptive than most realized.

He took a slow breath and walked over.

“Melly,” he said gently.

She looked up and smiled. “Yes, Riven?”

Riven didn’t answer right away. He pulled a chair across from her and sat down. His expression was calm, but serious. Melly noticed at once and set her book aside.

“…What is it?” she asked quietly.

Riven hesitated for a moment, then lowered his gaze, choosing his words carefully.

“I’ve been putting this off… but I can’t anymore. This is about you, and your future. So I need you to listen carefully.”

Melly blinked. The caution in her posture sharpened.

Riven held her gaze, then spoke clearly.

“Melly… the Rathsture family wants to adopt you.”

The room fell silent.

No sound. No movement.

Melly stared at him, slowly processing the words.

“…Adopt… me?” she whispered.

Riven nodded. “I know it’s sudden. And I’m not here to tell you what to choose. I just want you to understand everything, and decide for yourself.”

Melly’s lips tightened.

“Why me?”

Riven leaned forward and gently took her hand.

“You know who they are. The Rathsture family is powerful. They have protection, education, and most importantly… opportunity.”

He met her eyes, steady and warm.

“Opportunity for you to grow into someone great.”

Melly looked down at their joined hands, her expression wavering.

“But… why me? I’m just an orphan… I’m nobody…”

Riven smiled softly and lifted her chin.

“Don’t ever say you’re nobody, Melly. You’re my sister. And they see what I see. You have an extraordinary Affinity and Chosen-level Talent. So don’t say you’re nothing.”

Melly’s eyes began to shimmer with tears.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep