Chapter 60: The Missing Piece

The sun was already beginning to set, and its fading light reached through the windows of the King’s study.

Riven stood before his father’s desk with his hands folded behind his back, waiting quietly. Across from him, King Ryzenion let out a tired sigh as he finished reading the last report on the eastern grain tariffs.

The conversation had been strictly administrative for the better part of an hour. They had hashed over regional garrison rotations, boundary disputes in the southern foothills, and tax exemptions requested by three separate merchant guilds who clearly thought they could slip past the treasury’s notice. It was dull, exhausting work, the kind of tedious statecraft that made Riven occasionally wonder why anyone actually fought to sit upon the throne.

Once the last parchment had been signed and put away, the King finally looked up from his desk.

King Ryzenion leaned back, resting his hands on the desk as he turned his attention to Riven.

"Riella," the King murmured, the name dropping into the quiet space like a stone in a well. "I can’t stop thinking about your sister."

Riven didn’t answer immediately. He knew what his father meant. He had been thinking about her, about how things had turned out, and perhaps about whether there was anything they could have done differently.

His jaw tightened slightly before he answered. "She is... managing," Riven answered. "She was down for a spell, naturally. But she is recovering her composure. She knows the reality of her position, even if she’s still disappointed by how things turned out. Though I can’t say for certain how she feels about it now."

The King let out a low rumble of displeasure, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I still regret how it played out. A union with House Roscaire would have solidified our alliances for the next generation."

"Grand Duke Roscaire has always marched to the beat of his own drum, Father," Riven replied, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "You know as well as I do that Riella admired him for a long time. But she has accepted his decision. She isn’t foolish enough to chase after a man who has publicly chosen someone else."

"And what do you make of that choice?" the King asked, his gaze narrowing slightly as he tapped a ring against the edge of the desk. "This Ostharian... guest."

Riven remained quiet for a moment. He knew what his father was getting at, though he wasn’t quite sure how to put it into words

"Prince Xavion is no ordinary political hostage," Riven said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. "He was the sharpest blade in Ostharia’s command before everything turned sour for him. Bringing him to Werestia and binding him to House Roscaire isn’t just a domestic eccentricity. It creates ripples. His connections, his remaining loyalties, they could have massive diplomatic consequences for both Werestia and Ostharia if things aren’t handled delicately."

The King nodded slowly, his expression grim. "Exactly my concern. Does Lioren even understand the full extent of what he’s set in motion? Some of the old-guard Ostharian nobility will foam at the mouth to see their former prince tethered to a powerful Werestian ducal house. Others might try to use him as a pawn to regain influence across the border."

"There are a dozen different ways this could unravel," Riven agreed. "Though... knowing him, he is hardly blind to the political chessboard. He rarely makes a move without calculating the fallout, even when he wraps his actions in absolute nonsense."

The King grunted, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the wood. "Which brings me back to the core puzzle. Why him?"

Riven blinked. "Pardon?"

"Lioren," the King said, throwing his hands up in a rare display of exasperation. "For years, that Grand Duke has consistently dodged every single match tossed his way. He has shown zero interest in romance, court courting, or building a dynasty. He scoffed at every high-born lady in the realm. He didn’t just reject it, he made it abundantly clear he’d rather live in a swamp with wolves. Even when we quietly floated the idea of a match between him and your sister. Yet, out of nowhere, he uses his royal favor to chain himself to a broken foreign general. He’s explained his reasons, yes, but that doesn’t exactly make his choice any less surprising."

Riven listened without interrupting. He could hardly argue with that. Lioren’s attitude toward marriage had been a source of frustration for some, including then, for years. Every attempt to bring up a suitable match had ended in the same result, and the Grand Duke had never been particularly subtle about his lack of interest.

Still, something occurred to him.

"Perhaps we’ve been going about it the wrong way, Father."

The King turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we’ve spent years sending noble ladies his way, hoping one of them might catch his interest. But what if that’s precisely the problem?" Riven suggested, keeping a straight face. "Perhaps we should have been sending men instead."

For a moment, the King simply stared at him.

Then a short laugh escaped him.

"And how, exactly, were we supposed to know that?" he asked, shaking his head with amusement. "The man has never shown the slightest interest in anyone. Not once. He has never pursued anyone, never asked his parents or me to arrange a meeting, and certainly never given us any indication that he was looking for a partner. Should we have started sending every eligible young lord in the kingdom to his estate and hoped one of them caught his eye?"

"Well, in hindsight, it might have saved us several years of trouble."

"Several years?" The King stared at him as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. "You make it sound as though we neglected an important part of our duties."

Riven allowed himself a small smile. "I’m only saying that perhaps we should have considered all possibilities."

The King chuckled again, but the amusement soon gave way to a thoughtful expression. "Even so, there are plenty of men in Werestia. Young lords from respectable houses, military commanders, even a few princes from neighboring territories. If Lioren was indeed interested in men, why Xavion of all people?"

That was a fair question.

Riven leaned back slightly, considering it before a rather mischievous thought crossed his mind.

"Perhaps he simply has a preference for Ostharian men."

The King looked at him.

"Are you suggesting our Werestian men aren’t good enough?"

"I wouldn’t dare say that, Father." Riven’s expression remained perfectly composed, though the faint smile at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "But perhaps Prince Xavion possesses some quality our own gentlemen lack."

"Such as?"

"An impressive military record? A tragic past? A rather unfortunate eye condition?"

"Riven."

"Or perhaps it’s simply the blue hair."

The King let out another laugh, this time leaning back in his chair. "You’re making a mockery of the matter."

"I assure you, Father, I’m taking it quite seriously."

For a little while, the two shared a laugh. It was a welcome break from the rather complicated matters they had been discussing, even if neither of them had come any closer to understanding Lioren’s sudden decision.

"Perhaps," the King muttered thoughtfully, staring out the tall stained-glass window toward the royal gardens, "he simply found someone he genuinely wanted to be beside. Lioren has never been predictable."

Riven didn’t argue, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. Want to be beside? Since when did Lioren Roscaire care about domestic affection? That wasn’t how people like them operated. Marriages were contracts, chess pieces, shields against rival houses. The idea that Lioren had thrown away a priceless political alliance just because he fancied a brooding Ostharian exile felt entirely absurd, or worse, it felt like a cover for something far deeper and far more dangerous.

Still, Riven knew better than to voice his suspicions just yet. Throwing around theories without proof in front of the King was hardly a wise move.

"Perhaps," Riven agreed.

The conversation drifted back to state affairs for some time, touching briefly on border patrols and trade quotas before finally coming to an end. Seeing that there was nothing more to discuss, Riven dipped his head in a formal bow.

"If there is nothing else requiring my attention, Father, I will take my leave," Riven requested.

"Go," the King waved a tired hand. "And see that Riella stays occupied with her embroidery or court duties. I don’t want her brooding in her chambers."

"Understood."

Riven left the study and stepped into the quiet corridor. A pair of palace guards were standing nearby, and he acknowledged them with a polite nod as he passed. Both immediately moved aside to let him through.

Only once he turned the corner, far from prying eyes and royal ears, did his composure finally crack.

Riven stopped walking, his hand slowly tightening into a fist at his side. His jaw clenched, and the frustration he’d kept hidden throughout the meeting finally showed on his face.

The union between Lioren and Xavion had never been part of his plans. He had a different course of action in mind, but things had taken an unexpected turn, and his father had agreed to the match because he could no longer take back his word.

Riven’s jaw tightened. That Lioren... Just when he thought he had a reasonable understanding of the Grand Duke’s intentions, the man went and did something like this.

He stared down the empty hallway, his irritation growing.

Lioren Roscaire had ruined everything, and Riven was far from pleased about it.