The hall erupted into applause as Arden stepped through the doors.
Hundreds of faces turned toward him. Nobles in fine clothing. Foreign dignitaries in unfamiliar styles. Court officials and military officers. Young women positioned strategically throughout the crowd.
All watching him.
Studying him.
Judging him.
Arden maintained his composure, walking forward with measured steps.
Just another performance. Just another role.
His ice-blue eyes swept across the crowd, taking in everything.
The Valekrest family banners hanging from the walls. The elaborate decorations. The musicians playing softly in the corner. The guards positioned at strategic points.
And at the far end of the hall, on a raised dais—
King Roland, sitting on his throne, grinning like he was watching the most entertaining show in the world.
Beside the throne, a smaller chair reserved for the guest of honor.
That's where I'll be sitting. On display. For hours.
Wonderful.
Arden reached the dais and knelt as protocol demanded.
"Your Majesty."
"Rise, Lord Arden!" Roland's voice boomed cheerfully. "No need for excessive formality tonight! This is a celebration!"
Arden stood, and Roland clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger a normal person.
"Look at you! Cleaned up magnificently! I told Vareth you'd look the part!" Roland addressed the crowd. "Doesn't he look impressive? The Wolf of the North in all his glory!"
Polite applause rippled through the hall.
Arden wanted to disappear.
Roland gestured for Arden to sit in the chair beside the throne.
From this elevated position, Arden could see the entire hall.
And everyone could see him.
This is intentional. Roland wants everyone to get a good look at me.
Political theater at its finest.
"Now," Roland announced, standing. "Let us formally recognize Lord Arden's achievements!"
The hall fell silent.
"Arden Valekrest. At sixteen years of age, you have defended our northern territories against threats that would have broken lesser men. You have forged alliances thought impossible. You have contributed innovations that save lives across the realm."
Roland's golden eyes gleamed with genuine pride.
"You have proven yourself not just as a warrior, but as a leader. A strategist. A symbol of what dedication and skill can accomplish."
He produced a ceremonial medallion—silver and blue, with a wolf's head.
"By royal decree, I name you the Wolf of the North. Heir to House Valekrest and defender of our realm's northern frontier. May you continue to serve with the distinction you have already shown."
He placed the medallion around Arden's neck.
The weight was significant—both physical and symbolic.
"Furthermore," Roland continued, his voice carrying across the hall, "as recognition of your service and to support your continued growth, I hereby grant Lord Arden Valekrest access to the royal treasury."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Roland raised a hand for silence.
"Lord Arden may choose one item from our vaults—an elixir, an artifact, a weapon, or a technique. Whatever will best serve his development and the protection of our realm."
Arden's eyes widened.
Access to the royal treasury? Personal access?
That's... that's extraordinary.
The royal vaults contain items accumulated over centuries. Peak-tier resources. Legendary artifacts. Techniques passed down through generations of kings.
He's offering me access to that?
The hall erupted into shocked whispers.
Even Vareth, standing among the nobles, looked momentarily surprised—though he quickly schooled his expression to neutrality.
This wasn't just recognition.
This was investment.
The King was betting on Arden's future. Publicly declaring that House Valekrest's heir was worth the realm's rarest resources.
Roland grinned at Arden's reaction.
"Don't look so shocked, boy. You've earned it. Choose wisely—the treasury masters will escort you tomorrow."
He turned back to the crowd.
"Now! Let the banquet begin! Eat! Drink! Celebrate! This is a time of joy!"
The hall erupted into motion as servants began bringing out food and wine.
----
In a corner of the hall, Ambassador Petrov shook his head in disbelief.
"Personal access to the royal treasury. That's unprecedented."
"It's a statement," Envoy Chen observed. "The King is telling the entire realm—and every foreign power present—that this boy is invaluable."
"More than that," Ambassador Lydia added. "He's investing in Arden's future. Making sure he has the resources to continue growing stronger."
They watched as the northern nobles nodded approvingly.
"They already trust him," Petrov realized. "This just confirms what they knew. The north has chosen their future leader."
---
The formal presentations had concluded.
Musicians increased their tempo as couples moved to the dance floor.
Arden remained seated, hoping to be invisible.
Then a figure appeared before the dais.
Seravelle.
She wore a gown that stole the breath from the room—deep purple silk that hugged her curves before flowing elegantly to the floor. The neckline was modest but somehow still suggested rather than revealed. Silver hair cascaded over bare shoulders. Simple jewelry caught the light.
And those carmine eyes looked directly at Arden with unmistakable mischief.
The hall seemed to notice simultaneously.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
Men straightened, staring.
Women looked simultaneously envious and resigned.
Even Roland raised both eyebrows appreciatively.
"Good gods," someone whispered nearby. "Who is that?"
"I've never seen anyone so..."
"Beautiful doesn't even cover it."
Seravelle smiled—that devastating smile she used when she knew exactly what effect she was having.
"Lord Arden?" Her voice was silk and honey. "Would you honor me with a dance?"
Arden's entire body froze.
No. Not her. Anyone but her.
She's going to make this impossibly difficult.
And she knows it.
Roland nudged him. Hard.
"Well? The lady asked you a question. Don't be rude."
I hate you. I hate this. I hate everything about this situation.
But he stood, descended from the dais, and offered his hand with carefully maintained composure.
"It would be my pleasure."
Seravelle's smile widened as she took his hand, her fingers warm against his.
The moment they stepped onto the floor, Arden felt the weight of hundreds of eyes watching them.
They're all staring. At her. At us.
This is deliberate. She dressed like that on purpose.
The music began—something slow and intimate.
Seravelle moved into the proper dance position, one hand in his, the other resting lightly on his shoulder.
"You look tense," she observed, her voice low and teasing.
"I'm being watched by several hundred people."
"They're not watching you." Her carmine eyes sparkled with amusement. "They're watching me. You just happen to be the lucky man dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room."
"Modest as ever."
"Why be modest when I'm stating facts?" She moved closer as the dance required it. "You look very handsome tonight, by the way. Very proper. Very dignified. Almost like a real noble."
"I am a real noble."
"You're a workaholic pretending to be a noble. There's a difference." Her fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder. "Though I have to admit, the formal attire suits you. Shows off that physique you've been building fighting monsters."
Is she... is she definitely flirting?
"You're trying to make me uncomfortable."
"Is it working?"
"Yes."
"Good." She laughed—that musical sound that made something tighten in his chest. "Someone needs to remind you that you're still human. Not just a weapon aimed at monsters."
The dance continued, and despite himself, Arden found his tension easing slightly.
Seravelle moved with inhuman grace—five centuries of experience making every step perfect, effortless.
"You're actually a good dancer," he observed.
"I've had practice. Lots of practice." Her expression grew momentarily distant. "I've danced at more balls and celebrations than you can imagine. With nobles and merchants and warriors and fools."
"Which category do I fall into?"
"Warrior, obviously. Though sometimes you cross into fool territory." Her teasing smile returned. "Like now, for instance. Dancing with a dangerous woman in front of the entire court."
"You're not dangerous."
"Oh, Arden." She moved even closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body. "I'm the most dangerous person in this room. And you know it."
"You're playing a dangerous game," he said quietly.
"Maybe I like dangerous games." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Maybe I'm tired of being careful. Of keeping distance. Of pretending."
Pretending what?
Before he could ask, the music shifted—the tempo slowing further, the dance requiring them to move even closer together.
Seravelle's hand moved from his shoulder to behind his neck, fingers brushing the edge of his hair.
"Don't tease me," Arden said, his voice low. "Not here. Not now."
"Why not?" Her carmine eyes locked onto his. "Afraid of what might happen?"
Instead of answering, Arden acted on pure instinct.
His hand moved from the formal position to her waist, fingers spreading across the silk covering her lower back.
Then he dipped her.
Not dramatically. Not ostentatiously.
Just enough to shift their dynamic. To lean over her as she arced backward, perfectly balanced in his arms.
Their faces were inches apart.
He leaned down, his lips nearly brushing her ear.
"Don't tempt me," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "Because if you keep pushing, I might stop being polite. And you really don't want to see what happens then."
Seravelle's entire body shivered.
Not fear. Not cold.
Something else entirely.
"Wha—wha—" Her usual composure shattered completely, words failing as his breath ghosted across the sensitive skin of her ear.
For the first time since he'd met her, the ancient witch looked genuinely flustered.
Her cheeks flushed. Her breathing quickened. Her fingers tightened on his neck.
"You—" she tried to speak, but her voice caught.
Arden pulled her upright slowly, maintaining that intimate distance.
"Still want to play dangerous games?" he asked, his voice still low but with an edge of something predatory underneath.
Where is this coming from?
I don't... I've never...
But it feels right. Natural. Like some part of me knows exactly what to do.
Seravelle stared at him, her usual teasing confidence replaced by something vulnerable and genuine.
"You're not supposed to..." She swallowed. "You're supposed to be the stoic one. The ice-cold warrior who doesn't..."
"Doesn't what?"
"Doesn't make me feel like this."
The honesty in her voice hit Arden like a physical blow.
Around them, the crowd had definitely noticed the shift.
Whispers intensified.
"Look at how they're dancing—"
"The way he's holding her—"
"Who IS that woman—"
Even the noble daughters who'd been vying for Arden's attention looked completely deflated.
How could they compete with whatever that was?
On the dais, Roland was grinning so widely his face might split.
Vareth, standing nearby, had the slightest hint of what might have been satisfaction in his expression.
"Your son just made every noble family in this hall realize they have no chance," Roland observed, his voice filled with delight.
"He chose his path," Vareth said neutrally. "As he should."
"Is that approval I hear?"
"Observation."
"You're impossible, Vareth." Roland laughed. "But I have to say—that woman is either the bravest person in the room or completely insane. Trying to fluster your son in front of the entire court."
"She succeeded."
"Oh, I don't think so. I think he just turned the tables on her quite effectively." Roland's grin widened. "The Wolf of the North indeed. Seems he's discovered he has teeth in more ways than one."
----
The music was ending.
Arden and Seravelle hadn't moved apart.
She was still staring at him with those wide carmine eyes, her usual composure nowhere to be found.
"You're terrible," she whispered finally.
"I learned from the best."
"I was just teasing. You... you actually..."
"Actually what?"
She pulled back slightly, her hands still on his shoulders.
"You win this round," she admitted, a rueful smile touching her lips. "I didn't expect... that."
"Good. Maybe you'll think twice before trying to embarrass me publicly."
"Or maybe I'll just escalate." Her teasing confidence was slowly returning. "I have experience. You just revealed you can be pushed. That's valuable information."
Oh no. What did I just start?
The music ended.
Arden bowed, Seravelle curtsied.
But as she straightened, she leaned in close one more time.
"For what it's worth," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear now, "I liked it. Quite a lot."
Then she walked away, leaving Arden standing alone on the dance floor, acutely aware that every eye in the hall was watching him.
He returned to the dais, trying to maintain composure.
Roland was absolutely delighted.
"Well! THAT was entertaining!"
"Your Majesty—"
"Who is she really? Your father mentioned companions, but he failed to mention anyone quite so... captivating. And clearly captivated by you."
"Seravelle. She's studying magic. She joined my retinue in the north."
"Studying magic. Right." Roland's grin was knowing. "And nearly melting in your arms was part of her studies?"
"She was teasing me. I responded."
"You certainly did! Half the noble daughters in this hall just abandoned their plans. Can't compete with that kind of chemistry." Roland clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm not criticizing, boy. I'm impressed. You might be your father's son in combat, but you've got some fire in you that's all your own."
---
The banquet continued, but the dynamics had shifted completely.
Noble families were more cautious. Some looked resigned. Others were recalculating entirely.
Finally, Roland stood to conclude the evening.
As the crowd dispersed, he caught Arden's arm.
"Tomorrow will be more complicated after tonight's display. But you have allies." His expression grew serious. "Stay sharp. Trust your instincts."
"I will, Your Majesty."
Arden escaped to his quarters, finding Elara waiting in the corridor.
"Survived?"
"Barely."
"You danced with Seravelle." Her tone was carefully neutral. "Everyone noticed."
"She asked. It would have been rude to refuse."
"Right." Elara's expression was unreadable. "She looked... beautiful. You looked... interested."
"Elara—"
"Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be complicated."
She walked away before he could respond.
Arden entered his room, collapsing onto the bed.
One day down. Two more to go.
But his last thought before sleep was of carmine eyes, a flustered expression, and the dangerous realization that he'd crossed some invisible line tonight.
And he wasn't sure he wanted to go back.