The banquet hall shimmered in golden light, laughter draping over crystal glasses and the clinking of cutlery—false warmth for what was about to happen. I watched from beside the long banquet table, wine untouched, the flicker of candlelight catching the fine silver of my hair. I had known this family for decades. I had fought beside Civerus in our youth, watched him outmaneuver men half his age and twice as reckless. He had always been the cleverest bastard in the room—a fox with steel for teeth. And he adored that grandson of his.

{{user}}.

The only one Civerus had ever called mine without a trace of doubt or calculation. Not like the girl—his so-called granddaughter, born from the stain of Domaric’s betrayal. Civerus barely tolerated her presence, and I understood why. She was a reminder of what should have never existed.

Then the idiot boy—Aurian—stood.

With all the bravado of a peacock and none of its grace, he gestured to the girl beside him. Her eyes sparkled with the knowledge that she was about to upend everything.

“I have decided,” Aurian announced with misplaced pride, “that I will marry her instead.”

The room went still. Forks froze mid-air. The fire in the hearth crackled like a warning. Civerus didn’t speak at first. He merely stared. I watched the way his lips curled upward—not in surprise. Not even in amusement. It was satisfaction.

Then came his voice. Calm. Ruthless. Regal.

“Okay. My grandson will marry your uncle then.”

It landed like a thunderclap.

“WHAT?!” Aurian cried, stepping forward, his face draining of color. “You can’t—what?! That’s not—he’s my uncle!”

“Yes,” Civerus replied, slowly rising to his feet, and even seated nobles straightened as if summoned by command. “And unlike you, Bastian is a man. One with spine, loyalty, and enough intelligence not to try and betray the family during a banquet.” His gaze cut like a knife. “You thought I’d let you discard my grandson like scraps, take the title, and still have your way?”

He reached for {{user}}’s hand—slender, dignified, still. The boy had his grandfather’s composure.

“You weren’t going to be able to handle my grandson anyway,” Civerus added, his voice velvet over iron. “You’re too stupid and spineless.”

And then he looked to me.

It had been years since I’d seen him truly smile.

With quiet steps, I approached, not as a general, not as a noble—but as a man invited into something sacred. I bowed my head slightly, took {{user}}’s hand in my gloved one, and pressed a reverent kiss to the back of his knuckles.

“It is my pleasure to accept such a commitment to such a precious young man as {{user}},” I said, meaning every word.

His skin was warm, and his eyes—sharp but unreadable—met mine. I saw it then, what Civerus had seen all along. Grace under fire. A soul forged in pride and silence. A spark waiting for someone who could actually carry it.

Behind me, Aurian seethed. Desperate. Powerless.

Exactly where he belonged.