Chapter 61: Shameful ties

And there it was… silence again, sharp and expectant, like the breath before thunder.

For a fleeting moment, no one dared to move. The air was tight with disbelief, heavy with the scent of smoke and wine and impending ruin. And then… finally… someone broke.

Caelen.

It was always Caelen. The dutiful one. The hero. The man of reason who had spent his entire life holding himself together while the world around him burned. But reason has its limits, and tonight—oh, tonight—it shattered.

“Have you gone mad?”

The words tore through the ballroom like glass splintering on marble. His voice was all edges… disbelief sharpened by something dangerously close to desperation.

All eyes turned to Soren. The Emperor did not so much as blink.

“I’ve never been more sane.”

The response was maddeningly calm. No tremor, no hesitation. Just quiet certainty, as though marriage proposals in the middle of royal abdications were the most natural of occurrences.

The crowd rippled with nervous whispers.

He can’t be serious.

The emperor lost his mind.

He’s declaring war with his mouth.

But the Emperor of Nevareth stood unbothered, ice in human form, while the Queen of Fire finally found her voice.

Eris’s brows arched high, her tone flat, incredulous.

“Is this all a joke to you, your majesty?”

There was no amusement in her voice.

Only the cutting disbelief of a woman who had seen far too much to be easily entertained.

“Because even for a joke, this has gone too far. Even for an emperor.”

She expected a smirk. A reveal. Perhaps a laugh and a bow, followed by some diplomatic quip to ease the tension.

But Soren didn’t laugh.

He took a step forward instead.

Too close. Far too close.

The firelight licked at the edges of his silver attire, reflecting red against his pale skin. When he bowed slightly, their faces aligned… two rulers, two flames, one steady and cold, the other wavering and furious.

“Look into my eyes,” he said softly. “Tell me if you find any trace of dishonesty in them.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a challenge.

Eris met his gaze, because of course she did. She’d never been one to shy away from danger, especially when it came wearing a smile. But what she found there wasn’t danger. Not the kind she expected, at least.

No deception.

No mockery.

No political maneuvering or veiled threats.

Just truth.

Terrifying, unflinching truth.

And that, of all things, was what frightened her most.

Her voice faltered for the first time that night, quiet but edged with disbelief.

“Why?”

It wasn’t a question of romance, but of reason, because surely there had to be some logic buried beneath the madness.

Soren’s reply came with the simplicity of an oath.

“Because I want you as my wife.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

And yet, the simplicity of it struck harder than any declaration of war.

The queen… once goddess of flame, destroyer of nations, wielder of divine wrath, stared at him as if he’d spoken a language older than gods themselves.

Then her expression changed… confusion hardening into fury.

“Do you think I would rid myself of all my shameful ties to one man…”

Her voice dropped low, dangerously steady, each syllable dripping with venom and exhaustion.

“…just to enter another trap of my own making?”

The words hung in the air, molten and merciless.

And though they weren’t directed at him, Caelen flinched.

Shameful ties.

The phrase struck him like a blade turned inward. Perhaps because, deep down, he knew she was right. Their marriage had been a prison built from duty and resentment… but still, hearing it named aloud, stripped bare for all the court to hear…

It hurt.

He, who had once stabbed her through the heart, now stood wounded by mere words.

For a fleeting, fragile heartbeat, even the sky cackled in lightning like it also could not bear witness to what had just been said.

And just like that… the world tilted on its axis.

The air that had only moments ago thrummed with shock now turned combustible, heavy with the scent of rage and fire. One wrong breath and the room would burn.

Soren was the first to move the air again. His voice, calm and clear, cut through the stillness like a blade of glass.

“It would be different this time.”

No flourish. No preamble. Just conviction, sharp and steady as an oath.

Eris blinked… once, twice… as though trying to catch up with the absurdity of it all. But Soren, ever relentless, pressed on before she could speak.

“Your union with me,” he said softly, deliberately, as if every word had been weighed in ice.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about me getting a lover… and being forced to stay under the same sky with her.”

It was almost poetic.

Almost.

Except the words were a dagger aimed directly at Caelen.

The room seemed to tilt toward him in that moment… every head turning, every whisper stilled, waiting.

And oh, how beautifully predictable Caelen was when wounded.

The mask cracked first… the faintest flicker of emotion, that twitch in his jaw, the tightening of his fists. Then the tide rose, unstoppable, and the man snapped like kindling catching flame.

He moved without thought, without hesitation, the way a soldier charges into battle before the drumbeat finishes.

In three strides, he was between them, his hand fisting the Emperor’s immaculate collar, dragging him close enough for their breaths to meet in fury.

“What nonsense is this Soren? What exactly are you pulling?!”

It wasn’t a question. It was a snarl, raw, jagged, and utterly unbecoming of a king.

The court gasped as silk met steel in their gazes.

Soren’s response was not fear. Not even irritation.

Only boredom.

He looked at Caelen as though the man were an inconvenience, a splatter of ash on his otherwise pristine evening.

“I was merely making a promise to Eris,” he said lightly, brushing at the fist clutching his robes as though it were dust.

And then, he smiled.

A slow, deliberate curve of lips.

The kind that said, I’ve already won.

“I really don’t understand why you’re so bothered.”

That did it.

The fragile thread of Caelen’s control snapped.

“ERIS IS NOT YOURS TO TAKE!”

The words tore out of him, raw and unfiltered, louder than he meant them to be. Possession and pain tangled together into something ugly, something real. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d admitted… how the words betrayed the one truth he’d spent years denying.

And then his fist moved.

A single, violent punctuation.

The sound, flesh meeting flesh, bone meeting resistance echoed across the ballroom like a crack of thunder.

Soren’s head snapped to the side, the metallic tang of blood bright against his lip, the faintest smear of red blooming like a rose against snow.

He didn’t fall.

He only straightened, slow and deliberate, eyes burning with something far colder than fury.

And the world around them erupted.

Nevareth’s Winter Knights surged forward first, silver armor gleaming, blades half-drawn, faces carved from stone.

Solmire’s Fire Guards answered instantly… scarlet cloaks swirling as they stepped into place before their Queen, before their King. Steel clashed against scabbard rims, the air charged with magic and madness both.

One spark. One motion.

That was all it would take to turn this ballroom into a battlefield.

The nobles shivered in their expensive attires and the diplomats rushed in like frantic birds, hands raised, voices cracking.

“Stop this at once!”

“Think of the treaty!”

“This is madness!”

But madness was already here.

It stood between fire and ice… one bleeding, one trembling, both refusing to yield.

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