Chapter 26: The Story Isn’t Over Yet

Breakfast at the palace was usually a grand, clattering affair of silver lids, steaming compotes, and light political sparring over candied figs. But this morning, even the soft clink of porcelain against marble seemed to echo through the room.

King Ryzenion sat at the head of the long dining table, his crown discarded for a plain gold circlet that did little to hide the silver creeping into his temples. To his left, the Queen was delicately dissecting a spiced plum with geometric precision. Beside her, Crown Prince Riven was idly flipping through a sheaf of border intelligence reports with one hand while buttering his toast with the other.

And then there was Princess Riella.

She sat opposite her brother, staring blankly at a plate that contained precisely one toasted almond and a solitary forkful of poached egg. Her spoon hadn’t moved in ten minutes.

The Queen paused, setting her silver knife down with a soft clink. She leaned across the polished mahogany, her eyes softening with that maternal sharp-eyed concern that no royal upbringing could ever quite polish out.

"Riella, darling," the Queen murmured gently, her voice cutting through the quiet rustle of linen. "You’ve hardly touched your breakfast. Are you feeling unwell?"

Before Riella could even blink, let alone muster up a smooth, diplomatic lie about a lingering headache, Riven didn’t even bother looking up from his own plate.

"Her stomach is perfectly fine, Mother," Riven said smoothly, his voice dropping into that maddeningly calm tone he only used when he was about to start a fire. "It’s her heart that’s currently out of order."

Riella’s head snapped up so fast her pearl earrings swung against her collarbone.

"Riven!" she snapped, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep, furious rose. "Mind your own tongue!"

Riven only raised both hands in surrender, looking far too pleased with himself. Riella huffed and turned away, trying to gather what little dignity she had left. "I’m fine," she insisted, smoothing her napkin across her lap. "There’s nothing to worry about.

The Crown Prince merely took a slow sip of his tea, completely unfazed by the glare. "I’m simply stating a statistical fact, Sister. You’ve been glaring at your plate as if it personally delivered the Grand Duke’s marriage petition to the northern border."

"I am not glaring at my plate!"

"You’re right," Riven agreed cheerfully, folding his report into a precise square. "You were glaring at the empty chair where you expected a northern wedding to sit."

Riella narrowed her eyes at him. "You know what, Riven? It might be better if you just closed your mouth."

Riven lowered his cup, looking at her with innocent curiosity. "And what happens if I don’t?"

Riella stared at him for a long moment.

"Then I’ll find something to throw at you."

"Ah." Riven nodded thoughtfully. "So we’ve reached violence already."

"I’m warning you."

"I’m listening."

"You’re not."

"I’m listening very carefully."

"Enough, both of you," King Ryzenion interjected, though his voice lacked any real bite. He leaned back in his tall carved chair, letting out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of three border treaties and a headstrong daughter. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, staring at his two eldest children with the tired affection of a man who knew precisely what monster was hiding in the closet, because he’d accidentally put it there himself.

Breakfast ended shortly after, mercifully cut short by Riven’s early morning briefing with the Council.

An hour later, Ryzenion walked down the long, high-ceilinged corridor. He stopped outside the tall double doors carved with white lilies, and knocked twice.

"Enter," a small voice called out.

Inside, Riella was sitting by the grand bay window, a heavy leather-bound book open on her lap, though she didn’t seem to be reading a word of it. She stood up immediately, smoothing down the front of her embroidered skirt, and curtsied with flawless grace. "Father."

"Sit, my daughter," Ryzenion said, waving a hand to dismiss the rigid etiquette. He walked over to the small sitting area by the hearth, pulling out a plush velvet armchair and motioning for her to take the small divan across from him.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, noting the faint shadow under her eyes and the tension locked into her shoulders.

"I came to apologize, Riella," he said softly, his voice dropping the formal, thunderous echo it usually carried in the throne room.

Riella blinked, her hands tightening slightly over the fabric of her dress. "Apologize? Father, you don’t need to apologize to me. You are the King. You did what was required, what was expected of you."

"And that," Ryzenion murmured, leaning his elbows on his knees, "is precisely why I feel sick to my stomach about it."

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands.

"When the war ended, I gave the Grand Dukemy word. I swore on the Crown’s honor that whatever he asked for, anything within the power of the throne to grant, would be his as a reward for securing our borders."

He shook his head, a wry, self-deprecating smile touching his mouth. "I expected him to ask for grand things. Tax exemptions for the Northern Duchy. Royal concessions on the timber trade. A seat on the High Council, perhaps even an extra legion of heavy cavalry stationed at the pass. I was ready for all of it."

He turned his gaze back to her, his eyes full of a heavy, quiet regret. "I never imagined he would use a king’s favor to claim a defeated, disgraced prince."

Riella lowered her eyes, staring down at her own slippers. The fire popped, sending a tiny shower of sparks up the chimney.

"I knew," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the wood. "I knew what you had planned before the victory celebration, Father."

Ryzenion let out a soft breath. "I suppose it wasn’t much of a secret, was it?" He softened, his expression turning nostalgic. "Before all this madness... I had intended to offer him your hand. I truly believed I was giving you the world."

He leaned back, a small, knowing smirk catching the corner of his lips. "Do you remember three years ago, when the news came back from the Siege of Red Crag? Who was the one who practically sprinted down the grand staircase to read the messenger’s scroll before the scribes could even copy it?"

"Father..." Riella groaned softly, covering her face with one hand as a dark blush crept up her neck.

"And who spent an entire dinner party telling every noble in the room how brilliant Grand Duke Lioren was for defeating Ostharia?"

"I also praised his troops!" Riella protested, her voice rising an octave as she dropped her hand and glared at him.

"You spoke of his victories like they were heroic ballads, Riella," Ryzenion chuckled softly, though the humor faded almost as quickly as it had come. "Every time his name was mentioned in these halls, you were the first to listen. You admired his strength. You respected his honor. You looked at him the way a young woman looks at a man who could hold up the sky if it started to fall."

He reached across the small table between them, taking her hand in his broad, calloused grip. "So yes, I thought... I thought if I offered him a royal alliance, if I gave him my daughter... it wouldn’t just be a clever political move. I thought it would make you happy."

The silence settled over the room again.

"I was so sure of it," Ryzenion added quietly. "Which makes watching it crumble in front of the entire court feel like a complete failure on my part."

Riella squeezed his hand back, swallowing hard against the tight lump forming in her throat. "You didn’t fail me, Father. You couldn’t have revoked the promise. If you had refused his request after he gave everything for this kingdom, the Crown’s word would have been worthless. The lords would have seen it as a betrayal."

"I know," Ryzenion sighed, his brow furrowing into deep, exhausted lines. "And his logic was sound. He wasn’t asking out of spite or greed. Having Xavion Astervan in the North, bound under House Roscaire’s control, keeps the Ostharian loyalists from using him as a figurehead for a rebellion. It keeps the peace far better than executing him or leaving him to rot in an imperial dungeon. I couldn’t reject a plan that protects the realm simply because I privately wanted a grand wedding for my daughter."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a father’s helpless grief. "But as your father... I wanted to give you something you actually wanted. Instead, I made you sit in that hall and watch your future get redirected to someone else."

Riella sat very still for a long moment.

"I am disappointed," she admitted softly, the words coming out small and honest, stripped of all royal polish. "I won’t pretend I didn’t lie awake last night wondering what life in the North would have been like. I wondered if I would have liked the snow. I wondered if... if he would have looked at me with the same intensity he gives his battle maps."

She looked up, meeting her father’s eyes with a clear, steady gaze. "But I am not angry with you. Truly. And... what he said about Prince Xavion is true."

A small, genuine smile finally tugged at the corners of Riella’s mouth. It was a bit bittersweet, yes, but it was real.

"Besides," she added, her eyes brightening with a faint, playful spark, "I’ve spent years admiring Lioren Roscaire because he is a man who does exactly what no one expects him to do. I can hardly act surprised now just because he proved me right again."

Ryzenion let out a short, surprised bark of laughter, shaking his head. "You are far too forgiving, my girl."

"I am practical, Father," she corrected gently, pulling her hand back to rest it in her lap. "Though..." She paused, her voice faltering slightly as she looked back toward the window, watching the morning clouds drift slowly over the palace towers. "I do wish..."

"Wish what, sweetheart?"

"I just wish," Riella whispered softly, a quiet, wistful smile touching her lips, "that I had been given just a little more time. Just a few more days to imagine what my life might have looked like as the Duchess of Roscaire... before the picture was pulled away."

Ryzenion reached out, patting her knee gently. "I am sorry, Riella. I truly am."

"I know," she said, turning back to him with a reassuring nod, her smile growing just a fraction wider, though a small part of her still couldn’t quite give up hope. "Don’t worry about me, Father. I will be fine. Who knows? Perhaps... perhaps the story isn’t entirely finished yet."