The royal castle rose against morning sky like crown jewel of the capital—white stone gleaming in sunlight, banners bearing the Valebright sunburst flying from towers that had watched over Arathor for generations. Adrian had seen it from distance countless times during the tournament, but approaching now as invited guest rather than distant observer made the scale feel overwhelming.
"Stop fidgeting," Lucien murmured as their carriage approached the main gates. "You've faced demons. A dinner with the royal family shouldn't be more terrifying."
"Demons don't ask about my intentions toward their daughters," Adrian replied quietly.
"Fair point."
The Blackthorn family had dressed appropriately for royal audience—formal but not ostentatious, showing respect without pretending to status they didn't hold. Dorian wore his ceremonial armor bearing the Blackthorn crest. Elara's dress was elegant northern fashion. Lucien looked every inch the Knight-Captain. And Adrian wore the tournament champion's formal attire provided that morning, still adjusting to how the fabric felt against skin used to training leathers.
Guards at the gate recognized them immediately—word had clearly been sent ahead. They were ushered through with courtesy that spoke to royal favor rather than mere protocol.
Inside, the castle was both grander and more comfortable than Adrian expected. Yes, there were massive halls with vaulted ceilings and artwork worth more than most estates. But there were also lived-in spaces—scuff marks on floors from children running, comfortable chairs arranged for conversation rather than display, windows open to let in fresh air rather than sealed for majesty.
A place that was home, not just palace.
A steward led them through corridors to a reception room where the Valebright family waited. Not the throne room—that would have been too formal. Instead, a parlor with large windows overlooking gardens, comfortable furniture arranged in welcoming circle.
King Aldric stood as they entered, Queen Seraphina beside him, Alice and her brothers arranged nearby. All wore clothing that suggested this was dinner with guests rather than state function—formal enough to show respect, casual enough to invite comfort.
"Baron Blackthorn," Aldric greeted, extending his hand. "Welcome to our home."
Dorian stepped forward, prepared for formal protocol. "Your Majesty, House Blackthorn is honored—"
"None of that," Aldric interrupted with wave of his hand. "Not here. Not between our families." He gestured to the comfortable chairs. "Sit. We're not holding court—we're having dinner with people who've served the kingdom well for generations."
Dorian blinked, clearly thrown by the informality. "Your Majesty—"
"Aldric. At least in private, between us." The king's expression was warm rather than imperious. "The Blackthorns have been Arathor's shield in the north for centuries. My father spoke often of your father—they were close, you know. Fought together in the border conflicts, saved each other's lives more than once."
"I didn't know," Dorian admitted, settling into offered chair as the rest of both families found seats. "Father mentioned the king occasionally, but..."
"They were friends. True friends, not just noble allies." Aldric's tone carried old regret. "When your father died, mine grieved deeply. And I've always regretted not maintaining that closeness with your family. Distance, obligations, the demands of kingdom—easy excuses for letting important relationships lapse."
He glanced between Adrian and Alice, who were very carefully not looking at each other despite sitting relatively close.
"Though it seems," Aldric continued with barely suppressed amusement, "that perhaps our children are determined to repair that lapse. In their own... unique way."
Alice's face went red. Adrian found the floor fascinating.
"What 'thing' could you possibly be referring to, dear?" Seraphina asked her husband with exaggerated innocence that fooled absolutely no one.
"Oh, just the way our daughter jumped up shouting during the tournament finals. Or how she held hands with young Adrian through half the capital. Or the way they look at each other when they think no one's watching." Aldric's expression was pure fatherly amusement. "Small things. Hardly worth mentioning."
"Father," Alice said through gritted teeth.
"Yes, darling?"
"I'm going to die of embarrassment."
"Nonsense. You're made of sterner stuff than that. You manifested violet flame fighting demons." He turned to Dorian. "But the point stands—perhaps it's time the distance between House Blackthorn and House Valebright closes. Our fathers were friends. No reason we can't be as well. Particularly if our children seem determined to forge their own connections."
"I would welcome that," Dorian said, genuine warmth in his voice. "And yes, our children do seem to have developed... understanding."
"That's one word for it," Theon muttered, earning a look from his mother.
"A diplomatic word," Cedric added helpfully.
"I hate everyone in this room," Alice announced.
"You love us," Seraphina corrected. "And we're simply acknowledging what's obvious to everyone except apparently you and Adrian."
"We're not—it's not—we're just—" Adrian started.
"Friends who held hands?" Theon suggested.
"Friends who watched each other's tournament matches with visible investment?" Cedric added.
"Friends who the princess specifically asked to walk her home?" Lucien contributed, clearly enjoying Adrian's discomfort.
"I also hate everyone in this room," Adrian declared.
"See?" Alice said. "We're perfectly compatible. United in our hatred of our meddling families."
"That's the spirit," Aldric said with satisfaction. "Nothing builds bonds like shared suffering. Speaking of which—shall we proceed to dinner? I've arranged for something more substantial than formal court fare."
The dining room was grand but not overwhelming—large table set for both families with care taken to arrange seating that encouraged conversation. Adrian found himself seated between Alice and his mother, with Theon across from him. Lucien ended up between Cedric and Elara, already deep in discussion about something tactical. The two nobles sat at table's head, with Seraphina nearby.
The food was excellent—northern venison that made Dorian nod with appreciation, fresh bread, vegetables prepared with skill that made even formal dinner feel welcoming. Wine flowed freely, servants keeping glasses filled with quality that spoke to royal cellars.
"This venison is remarkable," Dorian observed. "Northern preparation?"
"We have excellent hunter who specializes in traditional methods," Aldric replied, clearly pleased. "Wanted to honor House Blackthorn with familiar flavors from home."
"Appreciated. It's been years since I've had venison prepared this well outside Northwatch."
"Then we'll have to ensure you visit more often," Seraphina said warmly. "No reason distance should keep our families apart when clearly there are... compelling reasons to become better acquainted."
She smiled at Adrian and Alice, who were having very careful conversation about anything except their developing relationship.
"Your violet flame was remarkable," Adrian said, perhaps the tenth safe topic they'd attempted. "Against my crimson, the way the two colors interacted—"
"You're talking about tournament matches," Theon observed. "At dinner. With wine. You're both terrible at this."
"At what?" Alice asked innocently.
"At pretending you're not acutely aware of each other while desperately trying to act casual about it."
"We're being perfectly normal," Adrian protested.
"You just complimented her flame manifestation as conversation topic," Theon pointed out. "That's not normal. That's what people do when they're trying very hard to avoid saying what they actually want to say."
"And what do you think they want to say?" Cedric asked with academic interest.
"Cedric, don't encourage him," Alice warned.
"I'm simply curious about the social dynamics—"
"Both of you stop," Alice commanded.
Further up the table, the mothers had found immediate rapport.
"They're adorable," Seraphina said quietly to Elara, watching their children's awkward conversation. "Look at them trying so hard to be casual."
"Adrian's never been good at hiding feelings," Elara replied with fond amusement. "He gets it from Dorian. My husband thinks he's subtle, but I've always known exactly what he's thinking."
"Same with Aldric. He believes he's excellent at court politics, maintaining diplomatic face. But I can read every emotion the moment we're in private."
"How long did it take?" Elara asked. "For you to know he was the one?"
Seraphina considered. "Third conversation. He tried to impress me with knowledge of northern treaties. Made several factual errors. Correcting him was the most fun I'd had at court in years."
"Dorian impressed me by being completely honest about his limitations," Elara shared. "Most nobles try to pretend they know everything. He admitted he had no idea about court fashion and asked if I'd help him not embarrass himself. That vulnerability was... attractive."
"They're both good men," Seraphina observed. "Our husbands. Despite their current enthusiasm for the wine."
Indeed, both nobles had progressed through several glasses with increased animation, their conversation growing more relaxed with each pour.
"Your father taught me swordwork," Aldric was saying to Dorian, words slightly loose with wine. "Did you know that? When we were young, before I had to focus on politics and statecraft. He was better warrior than I ever managed."
"He spoke highly of your technique," Dorian replied, also clearly feeling the wine's effects. "Said you had natural talent you never fully developed because kingdom needed diplomat more than fighter."
"Regret that sometimes. All the political nonsense when I could have been training." Aldric gestured expansively. "Your family gets to stay warriors. We became administrators."
"You're still king. That's more important."
"Is it though? You defend the north. We sit in castle managing grain shipments." Aldric leaned forward conspiratorially. "Speaking of defending—you've been training Adrian well. That boy's remarkable. Crimson flame aside, his technique is exceptional."
"Thank you. He works hard. Always has."
"Good. Because he'll need to keep working hard if he wants my daughter's hand." Aldric's tone was jovial but carried serious undertone. "Can't just give away princess to family whose head I haven't even tested in proper duel."
Dorian blinked. "Your Majesty—"
"Aldric, remember? And I'm serious." The king stood, slightly unsteady but determined. "Come on. Let's have proper match. Been decades since I've faced Blackthorn warrior in honest combat."
"Father," Alice said, mortification evident. "You're drunk."
"I'm appropriately enthusiastic," Aldric corrected. "There's difference. Come on, Dorian. Let's see if northern training still holds up against royal instruction."
Dorian looked at his wife, who was trying very hard not to laugh. Looked at Seraphina, who'd given up and was openly giggling. Looked at the king's challenging expression and made his decision.
"Fine. But when you lose, no complaining about age or wine."
"When I lose? Confident words from someone who's had just as much to drink."
Both families followed as the two slightly drunk nobles made their way to castle's training courtyard—not the formal arena but a practical space for guards' daily practice. Servants scrambled to provide training swords while both fathers stripped off formal wear to more practical underlayers.
"This is ridiculous," Alice said, but she was smiling.
"This is amazing," Theon corrected. "I haven't seen Father spar recreationally in years."
"Your father is drunk," Cedric observed.
"So is Baron Blackthorn. This should be entertaining."
The two nobles faced each other in the training yard, wooden practice swords raised in guards that were still technically sound despite the wine. For a moment, they just stood there—assessing, remembering training from decades past.
Then they moved.
The spar was... enthusiastic. Both men had genuine skill underneath the alcohol—Aldric showed royal training that emphasized defense and precise counters, while Dorian demonstrated Blackthorn aggression refined through actual border combat. But the wine made them sloppy, overconfident, and absolutely determined to prove themselves.
"Ha!" Aldric landed light touch on Dorian's shoulder. "Point to royalty!"
"That wouldn't have worked if I wasn't being generous," Dorian protested, immediately launching counter-attack that forced the king backward.
"Generous? You just tried to hit a king!"
"You challenged me to duel! That implies actually trying!"
They circled each other, both breathing hard, both grinning like boys rather than fathers of teenage warriors.
"I need to know," Aldric declared between exchanges, "that whoever wants my daughter's hand comes from family of proper warriors."
"Then judge based on Adrian, not me. He's better fighter than I ever was."
"Already fought your son. Tournament showed his capability. Now I'm testing the father." Aldric pressed forward with combination that Dorian barely blocked. "Making sure excellence runs in family!"
"You're not testing anything except my patience with drunk kings who issue challenges after too much wine."
"Your patience needs testing then!"
Both families watched the spectacle with mixed amusement and concern. The mothers stood together, sharing quiet commentary.
"Should we stop them?" Elara asked.
"Probably," Seraphina agreed. "Will we?"
"Absolutely not. This is the most fun Dorian's had in years."
"Same with Aldric. Let them play."
Adrian stood with Alice and her brothers, all watching fathers make fools of themselves with odd affection.
"Your father's surprisingly good," Adrian observed.
"He trained before politics took over," Alice replied. "Doesn't maintain it like he should, but the foundation's solid."
"Same with mine. Border combat keeps him sharp despite age."
"They're evenly matched," Theon said with professional assessment. "Wine's making them sloppy, but underneath, genuine skill from both."
The spar continued for another few minutes before both men called mutual halt, breathing hard, laughing despite exhaustion.
"Draw," Aldric declared. "We're both too old and too drunk for this."
"Agreed. Though I maintain I was winning."
"You absolutely were not."
"Was too."
"Gentlemen," Seraphina called, "perhaps you should return before you embarrass yourselves further?"
"Too late for that," Cedric muttered.
As both families returned inside, the atmosphere had shifted from formal courtesy to genuine warmth. Watching fathers drunkenly spar had somehow broken remaining ice—made both families feel less like careful political alliance and more like friends who happened to include royalty.
Back in the dining area, dessert had been laid out alongside coffee strong enough to counteract wine's effects. Conversation flowed more easily now, barriers dissolved through shared absurdity.
"That was undignified," Aldric admitted to Dorian with zero actual regret.
"Completely inappropriate," Dorian agreed, also unrepentant.
"We should do it again sometime."
"Absolutely."
Lucien had found genuine rapport with Alice's brothers, all three deep in discussion about tactical innovations and training methods.
"The way you positioned your forces against that demon incursion," Theon was saying, "creating multiple fallback points while maintaining offensive pressure—that's advanced thinking."
"Basic Ironfang doctrine," Lucien replied. "Attack while prepared to defend, defend while seeking counter-attack opportunity."
"We could use more of that mindset in royal guard training," Cedric observed. "Too much emphasis on static defense."
"Happy to share training manuals if you think they'd help."
"We'd appreciate that."
As evening progressed toward night, Adrian found himself on a balcony with Alice, escaping the warmth inside for fresh air and relative privacy.
"Our families seem compatible," Alice observed.
"Disturbingly so," Adrian agreed. "Your mother and mine act like they've been friends for years."
"And our fathers just drunkenly sparred to determine your worthiness."
"That happened. That actually happened."
"We're never going to forget this, are we?"
"Absolutely not. This will be story told for generations. 'The time the drunk king challenged my father to prove House Blackthorn worthy.'"
Alice laughed, genuine and unguarded. "Could have been worse. At least they're compatible in their ridiculousness."
"There is that."
They stood in comfortable silence, processing evening's absurdity and warmth both.
"Adrian?" A voice from behind—Theon, stepping onto the balcony. "Sorry to interrupt, but I had... question. Request, actually."
"Of course," Adrian said, turning.
Theon looked slightly uncertain, unusual for the confident heir. "I watched your matches. All of them. That crimson flame—I've never seen anything like it. The power, yes, but also the way it moves. The enhancement it provides."
He paused, then continued. "I was hoping you might spar with me. Not now, obviously. But sometime. I'm curious what crimson actually feels like to fight against. If you'd be willing."
Adrian processed the request. The crown prince, asking to test himself against crimson flame. Not challenge—curiosity. Professional interest.
"I'd be honored," Adrian replied. "Though I warn you, it's... different. The enhancement makes reading attacks strange."
"That's what I want to understand. How it feels from opponent's perspective. Whether there's adaptation possible." Theon smiled. "Plus, if you're going to be part of this family—" he gestured vaguely toward where their fathers were probably still embarrassing themselves "—I should at least know what I'm dealing with."
"Part of the family?" Alice asked carefully.
"Please. Our parents just conducted drunk worthiness test via impromptu sparring. Everyone in two kingdoms knows where this is heading except apparently you two." Theon's expression was fond despite the teasing. "So yes. Eventually part of family. Might as well get used to it."
He departed, leaving Adrian and Alice processing the casual certainty with which her brother had stated what both were still figuring out.
"Part of the family," Alice repeated quietly.
"Eventually," Adrian added.
"Our families are certainly acting like it's inevitable."
"They are. Quite enthusiastically."
"Does that bother you?"
Adrian considered honestly. "No. Terrifying, yes. But not bothersome. You?"
"Same." Alice's smile was soft. "Though I reserve the right to be mortified by our fathers' antics."
"Reserved and granted."
They returned inside to find both families looking entirely too pleased with how evening had progressed. Parents who'd been strangers hours ago now looked like old friends reunited. Siblings comfortable enough to tease across family lines. Genuine warmth replacing political courtesy.
Two families from different worlds—northern border versus royal capital, warriors versus politicians, simple nobility versus crown—finding they fit together remarkably well.
All because a fifteen-year-old boy with crimson flame had saved a princess's life and somehow ended up holding her hand through half the capital.
As the evening concluded and Blackthorns prepared to depart, Aldric clasped Dorian's shoulder with genuine affection.
"Come back soon. Properly this time, not just for formal dinner. Bring your family, stay a while. Let's repair what our fathers' distance let lapse."
"We will. And Aldric—thank you. For welcoming us as friends rather than just allies."
"Always friends. Our fathers knew that. Time we remembered it too."
The carriage ride home was quiet, all four Blackthorns processing evening that had somehow transformed formal royal invitation into genuine family connection.
"That went well," Lucien finally said.
Understatement of the century, but none of them disagreed.