The hall fell silent as King Valanorath rose from his seat.

His voice carried without effort. "We gather under the light of ancestors to witness a union of houses, a promise made in full sight of the realm."

Vencian listened with half his attention while the other half catalogued faces in the crowd.

The king finished his speech. Servants moved forward, carrying a low table draped in white silk. They placed it between the dais and the first row of guests. Two cushions waited on either side.

Crown Prince Valanand descended first, his movements careful and precise. Adarynn Dawnforge followed, her expression serene. They knelt across from each other.

An officiant stepped forward. He wore robes of pale gold and carried nothing but a small wooden box. He set it on the table between them and opened it. Inside lay two scraps of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

The officiant's voice rang clear. "Before witnesses, before the throne, you will each write one intention. Something you cannot speak aloud. Something you bind to this union. These words remain sealed until your wedding day. Only then will you know what the other has written. Only then will you be asked if you have kept your word."

Vencian had seen this ceremony before. The original Vencian had attended a distant relative's engagement when he was twelve.

Valanand took the quill first. His hand moved slowly across the parchment. He folded it once, twice, then placed it under a smooth white stone on the table. Adarynn wrote next. Her movements were quicker, more confident. She folded her parchment and set it beneath a second stone.

The officiant lifted both stones. He unfolded the papers without reading them aloud. His lips moved silently as he scanned the words. A long pause followed.

Then he nodded.

"The words are accepted. The bond is formed. May you carry them until the day they are revealed."

He placed the parchments back under the stones and closed the box. Servants carried it away as the couple rose. Applause rippled through the hall.

Vencian's gaze drifted.

Seris sat two seat to his left, separated only by Aline and her mother. Her profile was sharp in the candlelight, her posture perfect. She watched the ceremony with the same expression she'd worn when he'd greeted her earlier. Polite. Detached. Cold.

What had they written?

The thought surfaced without warning. If they'd been engaged, if the ceremony had gone forward, what words would they have folded into those scraps of parchment? What promise would she have made that she couldn't say aloud? What would he have written?

He tried to remember. Searched the fragments of the original Vencian's memories for some detail, some scrap of conversation or planning. There had to be something. They'd been engaged for months before the arrest.

I need to find what the original Vencian had written in it.

The realization settled over him slowly. He'd been so focused on the conspiracy, on the Pentarch and the chalice and his family's deaths, that he'd forgotten to look for the smaller details. The personal ones. The things that mattered to the life he was supposed to be living.

He stared at Seris, trying to pull something from the blankness in his head. Anything.

She turned.

Their eyes met.

Vencian froze. He'd been staring too long. Far longer than politeness allowed. He should look away. Should break the contact before it became something people noticed.

But the borrowed calmness from his illusion training steadied him. He removed his gaze with the faintest shift, slow and deliberate, as if he'd been looking past her all along. As if her stare meant nothing.

Let her think what she wanted.

He turned his attention back to the ceremony. The officiant was blessing the couple now, his hands raised over their heads. The words blurred together, meaningless.

Seris's stare burned into the side of his face.

He ignored it.

The king rose again once the blessing finished. "Let the evening begin. Games await in the western courtyard. Dancing will follow as the sun sets. Enjoy the hospitality of the crown."

Applause filled the hall again. The crowd began to shift, breaking into smaller groups as servants opened the doors to the courtyard. Voices rose in conversation, laughter, the rustle of silk and polished boots on marble.

Vencian stayed where he was. Aline turned to say something to her mother. Cassar tugged at his father's sleeve, pointing toward the doors. Hosrick smiled and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Vicorra."

Elías appeared at his elbow, grinning. Rapheldor followed a step behind, his expression more reserved but no less interested.

"You're not going to sit there all night, are you?" Elías asked. "The Ritus Lineae games are starting. Rapheldor is participating. Rulen and I are placing bets on how long before his honour will be used against him."

Rapheldor gave a small shrug. "It won't be me."

Elías grinned at Vencian.

"Come on, Ven. You've been locked in that academy long enough. Time to remind people you still exist."

Vencian opened his mouth to respond.

A servant in royal livery stepped between them.

"Lord Vicorra," the man said, his voice low and formal. "Lady Valemont. The king requests your presence. A private meeting with select members of the high nobility. Please follow me."

Vencian blinked. Seris turned sharply, her gaze flicking to the servant and then to Vencian. Her expression gave nothing away.

Elías frowned. "A meeting? Now?"

The servant didn't answer. He simply bowed and gestured toward a side passage. Vencian glanced at Seris. She was already moving, her steps brisk and silent.

Elías caught his arm before he stepped after the servant. "Ven. When the king finishes with you, come find us. Western stands, the same spot as always. The Ritus Lineae will be worth it."

Rapheldor gave a silent nod of agreement.

"I will be there," Vencian said as he followed the servant after that.

The passage was narrow and dimly lit. Their footsteps echoed against the stone. Seris walked ahead, her shoulders tense. Vencian kept a few paces behind, his mind racing.

Why would the king call for a meeting now?

Unless this was about something else.

The Pentarch. The conspiracy. The councillor who was supposed to meet with them tonight.

Vencian's pulse quickened. He forced it down, kept his breathing steady. Whatever this was, he needed to stay calm. Stay sharp.

The servant led them deeper into the palace. The sounds of the celebration faded behind them. The corridor opened into a wider hall lined with portraits of past kings. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light soft and golden.

Soon, the servant stopped before a heavy oak door. He knocked twice, then pushed it open. "Lord Vicorra and Lady Valemont, Your Majesty."

Vencian stepped inside.

The room was smaller than he'd expected. A long table dominated the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs. King Valanorath sat at the head, his hands folded on the table. Several nobles were already seated. Duke Hadethon Dawnforge. General Herrera. Chancellor Varethion. A few others Vencian recognized but couldn't name.

All of them turned to look.

Seris moved to an empty chair near the middle of the table. She sat without hesitation, her movements smooth and practiced. Vencian took the seat across from her.

The king started.

"Thank you for coming," Valanorath said. His voice was quieter here, less formal. "We have much to discuss."

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