The silence Riven left behind was a crushing weight. After a long moment, the door to the sitting room opened and Sir Eryndor, who had been listening to every devastating word, slipped back inside. He took one look at the weeping, broken Prince standing amidst the wreckage, and his features softened with true sympathy.
"Your Highness," Sir Eryndor said gently, placing a hand on Vaelorian's shoulder. "We should return to the palace before the Emperor notices your absence."
Vaelorian shook his head, violently shrugging off the touch. His face was streaked with tears. "I'm not going," he said, his voice thick with misery. "He's upset with me. I can't leave him like this."
"He's upset, Your Highness. And for a good reason. You know how he is—you should have told him when you had the chance," Sir Eryndor offered, his tone carefully calibrated so as not to sound accusatory.
"I know!" Vaelorian yelled, allowing the full torrent of his grief. "I know, alright? I wanted to tell him. I just couldn't! I was going to tell him after the campaigning! I was going to find a way to break the betrothal! I just needed a few weeks!" He repeated, his heart shattering into a thousand, agonizing pieces.
"My Prince! We must go back to the palace," Sir Eryndor insisted, pulling gently but firmly on the Prince's arm.
Vaelorian wiped his tears with a trembling hand, his eyes wide with a familiar, deeply ingrained fear that eclipsed his sorrow. "No, I'm not going. Not without him. I won't just leave him, he's hurting." He refused vehemently, pulling away.
"We can't force him to come with us, you know that," Sir Eryndor said, looking down at the Prince with a sad expression.
Vaelorian cussed inwardly for giving that card to Riven. Thanks to the wish card, Vaelorian couldn't force him to do anything—that, and the fact that he didn't want to hurt the younger boy any more than he'd already done.
Vaelorian knew Riven was beyond upset, and he had every single right to be. But if he would just listen for one second. This engagement had also been sprung up on Vaelorian—the date, the public announcement—when he woke up this morning, a political maneuver by his father that cut off any chance of a private explanation.
But how do I convince him to listen now? Vaelorian thought, his gaze fixed on the door Riven had stormed through.
He thinks I'm a traitor. And he might be right.
Vaelorian stood in the ravaged room for a moment longer, staring at the closed door, the echoes of Riven's furious words ringing in his ears. "I'll cut your fucking royal jewels and set them on fire!" The raw threat, the depth of Riven's pain, finally broke through his wall of desperate refusal. He couldn't stay here, not when his presence was clearly only twisting the knife further.
"Your Highness, he needs space. You can't be seen here. If anyone finds out you visited him right after this announcement…all of your efforts to keep him out of harms way, will have been for nothing," Sir Eryndor urged, his hand gripping Vaelorian's elbow. "We can talk to him later. When he is calmer. When you have a plan."
Vaelorian let out a ragged, defeated breath. He knew Eryndor was right. If his father suspected he was engaged in that kind of relationship with Riven, he might take back the promotion bestowed on his house. He has to prioritize Riven's reputation and future over his own broken heart.
"Fine, I'll go." Vaelorian choked out, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His eyes, swollen and red, hardened with resolve. "But we're not going to my chambers. We are going straight to my father's study. I need to know why he did this now." Vaelorian closed his eyes, his face etched with defeat. "Do it," he choked out.
With the familiar whoosh of displaced air, Vaelorian and Sir Eryndor materialized in a private receiving hall in the Imperial Palace, mere seconds before an attendant was due to report on the Prince's whereabouts.
Vaelorian didn't wait. He stormed directly toward the Emperor's private study with the purposeful, icy anger of a betrayed Prince. He ignored the whispers and the curious stares of the courtiers and household staff.
Vaelorian threw the double doors open without waiting for permission, startling the Emperor, who was already seated behind his massive mahogany desk, a proud, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"Ah, Vaelorian! Precisely the man of the hour! I trust you saw the papers?" the Emperor chuckled delightedly, a dry sound, that only fueled Vaelorian's fury.
Vaelorian slammed his hands onto the desk, leaning forward until his face was inches from his father's, his posture every bit the the future emperor.
"Why, Father? Why the sudden announcement? You promised me time! You said you would give me three weeks to sort my affairs! To prepare the court!" Vaelorian demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
The Emperor merely steepled his fingers, completely unfazed by his son's outburst. "Why wait three whole weeks, son? I think about it, and there was absolutely no reason to wait, son. The alliance between the empires must be secured immediately. Princess Lyra is a powerful political asset. I know how you get when it comes to these things, son. Did you really want your indecision costing us such an opportunity? The papers were printed this morning at dawn. There is no going back."
"You can't do this! I won't let you, father!" Vaelorian whispered through gritted teeth, the words thick with contempt.
"Let me? Now listen here, I was the Emperor, before I became your father." the man corrected, a thin, smile stretching his lips. "And, an emperor does whatever is necessary for the good of his people. You'll understand this someday but for now, you will marry the woman I choose and produce an heir. This is your duty to your people."
Vaelorian felt a chilling wave of helplessness wash over him. His father had preemptively made the entire arrangement, ensuring there was no time to maneuver, no space for excuses...no time to soften the blow to Riven.
Vaelorian opened his mouth, he wanted to protest further but the study doors opened again, and the Empress, his mother, swept in, radiating elegant joy.
"My darling boy!" the Empress exclaimed, her silk gown rustling like dry leaves. She rushed to Vaelorian, taking his face in her hands. "Oh, I am simply delighted! I only just saw the papers! Princess Lyra is a dream—the most politically sensible choice you could have made! I have already sent a message to Lyra's dressmakers for the engagement ceremony. You two will make such a magnificent pair!"
Vaelorian stared at his mother, his last defense crumbling. He searched her eyes, his own pleading for understanding, for a single moment of maternal support, but found only pure excitement. The Empress, who he had hoped would be his ally against his father's decision, was celebrating his imprisonment. Riven was right, people are all the same.
"Mother…" he tried, the word catching in his throat, heavy with despair.
"Don't sulk, Vaelorian," the Empress chastised gently, mistaking his anguish for petulance. "This is how your father and I were also married, and it's the best thing that has ever happened to us. It gave us you, my handsome boy. This marriage, this is for the good of the Empire! But I know you'll make it yours. You know we love you and only want what's best for you, right?" She patted his cheek, a gesture Vaelorian now felt as an absolute condemnation.
Vaelorian's shoulders slumped. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a hollow, crushing sense of defeat. He was trapped. The Emperor held his life in his hand, and now even his mother was complicit in the betrayal. He had failed Riven completely.
He turned from his mother, his head bowed. "As you command, Father," he said, his voice flat and lifeless. "I will make the preparations for my engagement ceremony to Princess Lyra."
He walked out of the study, the sound of his mother's delighted praise echoing behind him, feeling utterly, terrifyingly defeated.