The doors to the Grand Council Chamber were twelve feet of solid mahogany, reinforced with bronze bands. From an engineering standpoint, they were designed to intimidate—to make the human entering feel small before they even saw the King.
I adjusted the collar of my black tunic. It was severe, unadorned, and stark against my pale skin.
"Stay close," I murmured to Lena. She was trembling behind me, clutching a small wooden box containing my seal. "Do not speak unless addressed. And look at the floor."
I signaled the guards. The doors groaned open.
The sensory input hit me instantly. The smell of beeswax and old perfume. The murmur of fifty nobles, generals, and ministers that died instantly as I crossed the threshold.
I walked down the center aisle. I didn't rush. I matched my pace to the beat of my own heart, keeping it slow, deliberate.
At the far end, on a dais raised three steps above the floor, sat King Theodoric. My father. He looked like a man eroded by time—imposing, but tired. Beside him stood Advisor Corvin, who went rigid when he saw me.
I stopped ten paces from the throne. I didn't bow low. I gave a sharp, stiff nod—the greeting of a soldier, or an equal.
"Valian," the King rumbled. His voice carried well; the acoustics of the dome were excellent. "You are late. And you look... ghastly."
"I had a difficult night, Your Majesty," I said. My voice was raspy. I let a small, dark smile touch my lips, revealing the charcoal-stained horror of my teeth.
A ripple of unease went through the court. I looked like a corpse that had clawed its way out of a grave. Corvin took a half-step behind the throne, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
"I am not here to discuss my health," I continued, my voice cutting through the whispers. "I am here to discuss efficiency."
The King frowned. "Efficiency? You speak in riddles."
"The succession," I stated flatly. "It is a chaotic system. Too many variables. Too much friction."
I gestured vaguely to the nobles lining the walls—partisans for my brothers and sisters.
"Factions are wasting resources plotting against me. They poison each other's wine and plant spies in each other's chambers. It is a drain on the Kingdom's energy and a distraction from the real threats. I am tired of being a variable in this equation."
I took a step forward.
"I, Prince Valian, formally renounce my claim to the throne. I request that my name be struck from the Line of Succession, effective immediately."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Renouncing the throne wasn't just rare; it was political suicide. It meant I was stripping myself of protection.
"You would quit?" The King leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You would abandon your duty because of... difficulty?"
"I would abandon a race I have no intention of winning," I corrected. "I am not a politician, Father. I am a builder. I have no desire to rule; I want to serve the Kingdom. I think my brothers and sister are far better candidates for the throne. I desire to work."
"And where would a failed Prince work?" the King scoffed, though I saw the tension leaving his shoulders. He was relieved. One less son to worry about.
"The border," I said. "Give me the Duchy of Boreas."
Laughter. It started with a general, then spread to the courtiers. Even the King cracked a dry smile.
"The North?" The King chuckled. "Valian, that isn't a Duchy. It is a graveyard with a title. It is rock, ice, and barbarians. We haven't had a tax shipment from Boreas in ten years."
"Then you lose nothing by giving it to me," I countered smoothly. "I will take the title of Grand Duke of the North. I will secure the border. I will rebuild the wall. And I will never trouble this court with my presence again."
Advisor Corvin leaned into the King's ear. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Send him to the North. The winter will kill him, or the Frost-orcs will eat him. It saves the family from embarrassment..
"Your Majesty," Corvin said smoothly, stepping forward. "It... might be wise. If the Prince wishes to prove his mettle against the savages, it would be a noble endeavor. A chance to redeem his reputation."
The King drummed his fingers on the armrest. He looked at me—really looked at me—seeing the black teeth, the pale skin, the utter lack of fear. He saw a broken thing asking to be thrown in the trash.
"Very well," the King decided. "We grant you the Duchy of Boreas. You leave at first light tomorrow."
"I accept," I said quickly. "However, since I am taking on a derelict province, I require assets. I cannot build with air."
"Do not push your luck, boy," the King warned.
"I ask only for what the capital does not want," I said. "Scraps."
I started my list. The shopping list of the unwanted.
"First, the maid, Lena. She is familiar with my... condition. She comes with me."
"Take her," the King waved a hand. "She is of no consequence."
"Second. Funds. The Northern Keep is a ruin. I need ten thousand gold crowns for repairs."
"Five thousand," the King countered. "And not a copper more."
"Done. Third... I need a smithy crew. But I won't take the Master Smiths away from the armory. I heard there is a girl in the penal workshops. A failed mage. They say she magnetizes the tools and ruins the iron."
Corvin let out a sharp laugh. "The Magnetic Wretch? You want her? She's a liability. She can't forge a nail without it sticking to the hammer."
"I need someone to carry the coal," I lied smoothly. "If she's useless, you won't miss her."
"She is yours," Corvin sneered. "Consider her a parting gift. Just don't let her near your compass, or you'll never find the North."
"And finally," I said, ignoring his jab. "I need a counselor. Someone to handle the Imperial correspondence so I don't have to."
The King scanned the room. His eyes landed on a man standing near the back—a stiff, nervous-looking bureaucrat clutching a stack of scrolls. Giles. I recognized him from the memories. A stickler for rules, hated by the corrupt nobles because he refused to cook the books.
"Giles!" The King barked. "You are reassigned. Go with the Prince. Ensure he doesn't bankrupt the treasury in a week."
Giles looked like he had just been sentenced to hang, but he bowed stiffly. "Yes, Your Majesty."
I had my team. The Maid, The Battery, The Bureaucrat.
"One final matter," Advisor Corvin interjected, his eyes gleaming with malice. "The Prince is a Duke now. He requires a Duchess. It is... tradition."
I stiffened. Here it came. The trap I hadn't set.
"The Kingdom of Oria has been pestering us to honor the old alliance," Corvin smiled. "Princess Elara is currently in the capital. She is... unattached."
A murmur of cruel amusement rippled through the room. "The Heavy Princess," someone whispered. "The Whale of Oria."
Corvin thought he was burdening me with an anchor. An ugly, undesirable wife to make my exile miserable.
I kept my face neutral. "I will honor the alliance. Send her to my caravan."
"She is a large woman, Valian," the King warned, a cruel glint in his eye. "Hope your horses are strong."
"I like a challenge," I said.
I bowed again.
"I will take my leave. The North awaits."
I turned on my heel and walked out. I didn't look back. I could feel their relief washing over my back. They thought they had just flushed a problem down the drain.
As the heavy doors boomed shut behind us, Lena let out a squeak of breath she must have been holding for ten minutes.
"My Lord," she whispered, wide-eyed. "You just... you just asked for the worst place in the world. And the magnetic girl? And the... the heavy princess? Why?"
I wiped the black smudge from my lip, my mind already drafting the blueprints for a blast furnace.
"Because, Lena," I said, walking toward the treasury to collect my five thousand crowns. "They think value comes from appearance. I know that value comes from utility. And we just robbed them blind."