Daxon still wasn’t giving up. His voice remained calm, but the tone had begun to take on the weight of insistence draped in concern, but unmistakably pressing.

“With Mordune’s invasion spreading further,” he said, “more and more nobles will begin to submit. In times as chaotic as these, it’s unwise to stand alone and surrounded by enemies.”

He stared at Aiden Rathsture, his gaze sharp, as if trying to hammer in the urgency of the situation.

“The number of supporters in the Queen’s faction is dangerously low. You and I both know that faction exists solely because of the Queen’s presence. Without her… your power will weaken and eventually fade from the political landscape. No one will protect you when the time comes.”

Aiden remained seated, unmoving, silent. But inside, his patience was fraying like an old thread.

Daxon either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He continued, now with a thin smile—a grim prediction disguised as friendly advice.

“And on top of that… the Dragonhart family from the Neutral Faction has begun to move.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow slightly.

“You know as well as I do. Not even the Queen could touch them as she pleased. They’re too proud. Too wealthy. Their riches surpass even the treasury of this kingdom, and they don’t care who sits on the throne.”

Daxon leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to sound more intimate, though his words only grew heavier.

“Rumor has it their heir is currently undergoing the Rite of Maturity. And that rite requires him to steal a dragon’s egg… straight from its nest.”

His smile sharpened.

“And it seems… the egg he took belonged to Agnithrax.”

Aiden showed no real reaction. Deep down, he murmured silently: I suspected as much.

He had long suspected that the sudden rampage of a dragon from the western mountains was linked to Dragonhart. But without evidence, it was merely suspicion. And with or without proof, the Dragonhart family didn’t fear laws. They had lived above them for generations.

“That mad child,” Daxon muttered with a slow sigh, “provoked a dragon king just to flaunt his power. The world is shifting, Marquess. In ways none of us can predict. We can’t just sit and hope the storm passes.”

He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

Then, as if unsheathing a sword from beneath his flowing cloak, he returned to his true purpose.

“That’s why I believe this marriage proposal is not just a matter of political gain.” His voice softened, but his eyes remained sharp. “It’s a way to survive. You protect your daughter. I strengthen my standing. And together, we cover each other’s backs.”

Daxon turned toward his son, who sat tall and silent but radiated confidence.

“Darien would be the perfect protector for Lyanna Rathsture. He’s strong. He’s ambitious. And he knows how to treat a noblewoman as she deserves.”

Aiden let out a quiet sigh, then set his teacup gently down on the table.

Silence.

Then he looked up and locked eyes with Daxon, eyes of a man who had weathered too many storms to be frightened by thunder.

“Are you finished, Count?” he asked flatly.

Daxon flinched slightly at the tone, but hid it behind a faint smile, as if he believed he’d just won a round.

But Aiden leaned back, folding his hands in his lap.

“Because if you’re finished, allow me to say this once, so I won’t have to repeat it later.”

He regarded Daxon the way a father might look at a reckless child.

“My daughter is not a token to be traded for an alliance. And I… am not a man who needs your protection.”

The rejection landed like a blade. The smile on Daxon’s face cracked. His features stiffened, and his voice abandoned all pretense of civility.

“You’re seriously refusing?” he hissed. “You think by clinging to this stubborn pride, you’ll preserve what’s left of your family’s influence? Times have changed, Marquess. That loyalty to the Mad Queen is outdated. Even her shadow can’t protect you now!”

Aiden’s gaze didn’t waver. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, as if the air itself could sense the fury boiling beneath his calm exterior.

Daxon stepped forward, his voice rising. “You think you can survive on your own? With a defiant daughter and a crumbling legacy no one respects anymore? This marriage is your last—”

“I don’t care,” Aiden interrupted quietly. But the chill in his tone hit harder than any shout. He stood slowly, tall and unshaken, exuding an overwhelming presence.

His eyes locked on Daxon with quiet intensity.

“And you should be grateful I’m still using words,” he said quietly. “If you’re not out of my house in the next ten seconds… I swear I’ll crush every bone in your body.”

The calmness made it worse. Daxon went pale. His eyes widened. He took a step back, then another.

He forced a dry laugh, trying to mask his dread.

“Yes… yes, I just remembered…” he muttered shakily. “You always were as mad as that Queen… no wonder you were on her side.”

He turned quickly and yanked Darien by the arm.

“We’re leaving.”

Darien cast a quick glance at Aiden, then followed his father out of the room. The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind them.

Silence fell again.

Aiden closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled slowly.

“…I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered to himself, half amused, half weary. “I really shouldn’t get worked up like this anymore. Bad for the heart.”

He sat down again, lifted his half-empty teacup, and stared out the tall window where sunlight filtered softly through the curtains.

Their footsteps echoed against the stone path as they marched away, still burning with frustration. Daxon moved fast, his cloak flaring with each furious stride.

“That stubborn fool will regret this,” he muttered over and over. “Rathsture thinks he can still stand on his own? Let’s see how long he lasts when Mordune swallows the borderlands.”

Darien said nothing. His face was dark, his eyes restless, scanning the path ahead as if searching for something to take his anger out on.

But then they both halted.

To their right, just beyond a hedge-lined curve, lay a quiet garden pond, sparkling under the morning sun.

Two figures stood by the water.

A young man sat cross-legged on a flat stone, posture straight, a sheathed sword resting by his side. His expression was unreadable, calm and steady, his focus entirely on the girl standing in front of him.

The girl was around fourteen, with long hair tied neatly and dressed plainly. Her arms were raised. Between her small hands, a spiral formed—water from the pond, twining with air into a miniature vortex.

Daxon and Darien froze.

“What… is that?” Darien murmured.

“A vortex… combined elements,” Daxon said quietly, his eyes narrowing. “Water and air, controlled simultaneously. And she’s just a child.”

Melly beamed up at her brother.

“Look, Riven! I held the vortex longer this time!”

Riven gave a quiet nod.

Darien recognized the man. He was the one who had dared to speak back to him earlier. A mere servant, or so he had assumed.

But the girl… a Lawbearer with two affinities? At her age?

Daxon searched his memory, trying to place her among the noble houses but no face came to mind. She wasn’t one of theirs.

They exchanged a glance.

Without a word, both men turned and walked away, trying not to draw attention. But something had shifted inside them.

Not just frustration…

…but the quiet spark of a dangerous idea.

And as they disappeared down the stone path, both father and son began plotting.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep