The Grand Celebration for Prince Vaelorian's twenty-first birthday was a dazzling, overwhelming spectacle. The Imperial Ballroom glittered with a thousand candles, illuminating gowns woven with silver and gold, and jewels that flashed with every movement.
Riven and Barron entered the hall together, a study in contrasting power. Riven, magnificent in his deep emerald velvet and cool indifference, commanded attention as the heir of Duke Ashbourne. Barron, handsome and solid in his formal Knight uniform that subtly incorporated his own Lordship's colors, provided an anchor of proud military service. They moved with the unhurried confidence of young men who were used to being observed.
The palace custom was rigid: all attending nobles were lined up to pass through a receiving line to offer their greetings and congratulations to the Prince and Princess. Riven and Barron took their place near the end of the line, navigating a sea of whispers and curious glances. When they finally reached the head of the line, Riven's composure was a flawless, cold mask.
He first offered a shallow bow to Princess Lyra of Sorverigen, who greeted him with a polite, impersonal smile. Then, Riven turned to the Prince.
"Your Highness," Riven stated, his voice devoid of warmth, "Lord Riven of House Ashbourne offers his sincerest birthday wishes."
Vaelorian looked magnificent, but his eyes, when they met Riven's, were instantly stripped of their practiced frivolity. A flicker of genuine pain, fear, and profound relief crossed the Prince's face. He reached out and took Riven's gloved hand. The handshake was meant to be brief—a single, formal pump. But Vaelorian's grip tightened, and he almost didn't want to let go of the younger boy's hand. He held Riven's gaze, his carefully constructed mask faltering, searching Riven's eyes for any hint of the boy he'd missed so much.
The agonizing moment stretched.
Barron, standing beside Riven, shuffled his feet, subtly signaling the need to move along. Vaelorian forced himself to release Riven, quickly snatching his hand back to mask the raw emotion that had surfaced. Desperate to cover the lapse, Vaelorian immediately launched into his well-rehearsed lines. He leaned toward Riven and whispered loudly enough for the surrounding nobles to hear,
"Thank you, Lord Riven. Good to see you. What a nice glove you have."
Riven flinched, the absurdity of the comment a familiar sting, and gave a stiff, noncommittal reply before quickly bowing and moving aside to allow Barron to offer his greetings. As Barron gave Vaelorian a crisp, distant salute, Princess Lyra stepped closer to Vaelorian, her smile fading. She had observed the entire exchange with an unnervingly sharp focus.
"That's enough, Your Highness." she murmured, her voice low and edged with cold intelligence. She waited until the next noble stepped up, then spoke without moving her lips.
"He's the one, isn't he? The one you're in love with."
Vaelorian was completely blindsided. The shock was so profound that his witty, frivolous façade shattered instantly. He leaned down, his voice barely a breath.
"What gave you that idea?"
"There were whispers. The staff, they talk when they think I'm not paying attention, you know? About a beautiful boy with long black hair that used to be joined to the hips with you, yet he wasn't around during our engagement ceremony. He's the one, isn't he?"
"I can't believe you figured out that from just whispers."
Lyra's expression remained calm, almost bored. "I am not as clueless as you make me out to be, Your Highness. I am an observer. I have watched you spend three months trying to convince the entire Empire you are an unmarriageable fool who cares more for diamond-encrusted turtles than treaties. But until just now, I didn't know why."
She glanced toward Riven, who was standing a short distance away, talking stiffly to a minor baroness, Barron a silent participant at his side.
"You look at me with indifference," Lyra continued, her eyes still on Vaelorian. "You look at your father with defiance. But you looked at that Lord just now with the terror of a man whose heart has just been yanked from his chest. That wasn't a performance; that was genuine desperation. You love him."
Vaelorian was speechless, his whole political scheme laid bare in an instant. Finally, he managed to choke out, "Are you going to tell our parents?"
Lyra gave him a cool, cynical half-smile. "Tell them what? That the prince they've betrothed me to is in love with a lord? That would ruin my negotiation leverage, Vaelorian. I won't get in the way of your love, certainly not when it's such an effective tool for achieving my own goals." She paused, then added, her tone suddenly softening with a measure of counsel. "But you should probably go talk to him. Before the end of the night. He looks miserable"
Across the ballroom, Riven felt the residual burn of Vaelorian's touch and the humiliation of the Prince's childish words. He steered Barron away from the crowd and towards the discreet guest rooms prepared for the visiting noble households.
Once the door was closed, Riven shrugged out of his jacket and paced the room, his control finally snapping.
"The nerve! The absolute nerve of that fucking asshole!" Riven vented, his voice shaking. "He held my hand! He held it like—like we were back in camp, like nothing happened! And then he talks about my glove?"
Barron, who was calmly pouring them two glasses of water, watched his friend explode. "Hey. Breathe. He's a fool for letting you go. We already knew that."
"No, he's a fucking sadist!" Riven raged. "He wanted to show me that he chose this! He chose the princess, and he chose to leave me! He wanted to see my reaction, Barron. And he fucking did!"
Barron handed Riven a glass of water, forcing him to stop pacing. "He chose the crown, Riven, not the princess. And he's doing a bad job of convincing everyone. Look, Lyra is sharp. She had to have seen it. We just need to stay away from the main hall for a bit and let the frenzy die down."
Riven took a long, stabilizing gulp of water. "I don't care what Lyra thinks. I don't care what anyone thinks. I just need to get through the night without giving Vaelorian a reason to fear for his... well, you know."
Barron grinned faintly. "Got it. Strategic retreat until the main course, great plan."
Riven nodded grimly. The battle was joined, and the Grand Celebration was far from over.