The silence in the grand hall of Iniko Palace felt suffocating.
The King's voice thundered.
"Prince Aren Adesina, you have shamed this throne."
Aren stood tall despite the weight of every noble's gaze.
Behind him, guards restrained Serah.
Malik watched with quiet satisfaction.
And Princess Ireti—
She was smiling.
But not gently.
Not kindly.
Coldly.
The Private Chamber
Hours later, Princess Ireti summoned Aren.
No guards.
No witnesses.
Just the two of them in her candlelit quarters.
She stood by the window, gold silk pooling around her feet.
"You must think I'm a fool," she said softly.
"I don't," Aren replied honestly.
She turned to face him.
"I never wanted this marriage."
He blinked.
"My father arranged it when I was twelve," she continued. "For trade routes. For stability. For power."
Her voice did not shake.
"But I accepted it. Because that is what we do."
She walked closer.
"And then," her eyes darkened, "my own escort betrays me."
Aren frowned. "She didn't—"
"She loved what was mine."
The words sliced.
"She didn't know," he said firmly.
Ireti laughed softly.
"Oh, she knew."
Silence.
Then her expression hardened.
"You embarrassed me in front of two kingdoms."
"That wasn't my intention."
"Intentions don't matter. Power does."
She stepped so close he could feel her breath.
"You want her?" she whispered. "Fine."
His jaw tightened.
"I will marry you," she continued calmly. "Publicly. Perfectly. Beautifully."
His eyes widened.
"And I will make sure she watches."
Aren felt something dark stir in his chest.
"Ireti—"
"If she comes near you," she said softly, almost sweetly, "I will remind her of her place."
There was no hysteria in her voice.
Only promise.