The music in the ballroom was swelling—a grand, triumphant fanfare of strings—but Vaelorian barely noticed. Princess Lyra's quiet revelation had cracked his world open, flooding him with a desperate, reckless resolve. He knew he couldn't let Riven leave the Palace tonight without an explanation—without something to repair their relationship.
He slipped away from his guests and duties with a practiced, casual air, leaving Lyra to manage the receiving line with her trademark icy competence. He followed his instincts to the noble's guest quarters, quickly locating the door marked with House Ashbourne's crest. He raised a trembling hand and knocked sharply.
It was Barron who opened it, looking instantly wary. He positioned his body to block the doorway, his eyes narrowed into a clear warning. "Your Highness. Good to see you. Umm...happy birthday again. Lord Riven is indisposed at the moment."
Vaelorian ignored the flimsy barrier, his gaze sweeping over Barron's shoulder to find Riven standing by the unlit hearth, still wearing his magnificent emerald coat, looking cold and utterly furious.
"Excuse me, Lord Barron," Vaelorian said, pushing past the Knight with unexpected force. "I know he's indisposed, but this is a matter of absolute urgency."
Riven glared, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. "I have nothing to say to you, Vaelorian. Get out."
Vaelorian shut the door quickly, leaning back against it, his eyes fixed on Riven with an expression of intense pleading. "I know you don't want to talk, Riven. And I know you hate me, but please, I need you to listen to me for just one minute."
"Listen to you?" Riven scoffed, taking a deliberate step forward, his contempt a palpable force. "What could a Prince possibly have to do with a lowly Lord like me, except humiliate him publicly?"
Vaelorian's facade crumbled. His voice was a thick, raw plea. "My love, please..."
Riven cut him off instantly, raising a hand—a cold, absolute motion. His eyes were devoid of any softness, reflecting the burning candles with a hard, gem-like brilliance.
"You don't get to call me that anymore," Riven stated, without blinking. The words were quiet, but they struck Vaelorian like a physical blow. "That word belongs to the man you were, not whatever it is you've become."
Riven then moved with lethal grace, walking right past Vaelorian as if the Prince were merely a piece of furniture. He reached the door, opened it, and spoke over his shoulder.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some socializing to do. Enjoy the rest of your party. Well, I'm sure you're already enjoying seeing it as it's your birthday."
And just like that, Riven disappeared, leaving the distraught Prince standing alone in the silent room. Vaelorian remained frozen for a long moment, the devastating finality of Riven's rejection echoing in his ears. The tears, which he'd been fighting all day, finally spilled over, silent, hot tracks down his cheeks. His chest heaved with choked, gasping sobs of despair. He couldn't breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, Vaelorian took a moment to wipe his face and steady his breathing. He forced the mask back into place and rejoined the cacophony of the celebration. It wasn't long before his mother, the Empress, found him. She cornered him near a massive floral arrangement, her elegant brow furrowed with concern.
"Vaelorian, where have you been? Princess Lyra has been entertaining guests alone," she scolded softly, before taking a closer look at her son. Her sharp gaze took in the telltale redness around his eyes, the rigidity of his jaw, and the deep misery that even his dazzling attire couldn't hide. Her heart sank.
She quickly pulled him further aside, far from earshot of the surrounding nobles. "What is wrong? You look like you've been crying for hours, darling. You're pale."
Vaelorian couldn't hold it in any longer. The carefully constructed prison of his sacrifice finally burst. He broke down, the sobs escaping him in harsh, ragged sounds. He let everything out: the betrayal of Riven, the crushing burden of the political marriage, the relentless charade of his self-sabotage, and the utter failure of his desperate, last-ditch plea.
The Empress listened, her expression shifting from confusion to stunned realization. Her son had tried to tell her that day, she'd been too preoccupied with the shock of the news to listen. No wonder he'd looked at her with those sad eyes since.
"You're in love with someone else, huh!" she murmured, the fact suddenly obvious in the context of Vaelorian's despair. "How did I miss that?" she asked, the question aimed at herself, loud with maternal guilt. "I always pictured you with a woman, someone... maybe someone with the same interests as me."
She looked at her son, a wry, empathetic smile touching her lips. "I don't suppose he'll want to have his hair braided while sipping wine and gossiping with me, would he?"
Vaelorian let out a watery, choked laugh through his tears. "No, Mother," he managed. "Riven doesn't like others touching his hair. But he's very big on drinking wine. So that's a good thing, I guess."
The Empress smoothed his clothes with a steady hand. "My sweet boy. The perfect Prince." She said gently, her gaze soft.
"Are you disappointed in me, Mother?" Vaelorian finally whispered, the question heavy with a lifetime of filial duty.
"If you even have to ask me that kind of question, then it means I've failed as your mother," she said, her voice rich with unwavering love. "You are perfect, Vaelorian. Too perfect sometimes, I worry. But, you're a good person, and you are worthy of love. And you being in love would never be a reason for me to be disappointed, you hear me?"
Vaelorian's eyes, red and wet, held a flicker of fear. "But Father..."
His mother's expression hardened. "Your Father is a politician; he is not a monster. Leave the Emperor to me." She squeezed his arm, giving him a firm, maternal touch. "Now, put yourself together. Lord Riven will be around till tomorrow, which means you have time to talk later. But there is still a party out there, and you are still the Crown Prince."
Vaelorian took a deep, shuddering breath, straightened his spine, and did as he was told. The facade was back on, but now, a powerful, unexpected ally stood at his back.