Chapter Four — The Council Chamber

The council chamber was a place of stone and shadow. Long banners of crimson and gold hung from vaulted arches, their weighty silence broken only by the scrape of chairs and the murmur of nobles settling into their seats. The air smelled faintly of ink, wax, and the iron tang of authority.

Elias stood just inside the great doors, as befitted his station. He was close enough to observe, far enough to be ignored. Yet he felt every eye flicker toward him—some curious, some calculating. A noble’s second son had no place among the kingdom’s decision-makers, unless he served as the hand of someone greater.

And Adrian was greater.

The Crown Prince entered with the quiet command of a man who did not need to raise his voice to be heard. His presence stilled the chamber as effectively as a struck bell. Elias’s chest tightened with a strange pride he had no right to feel.

“My lords,” Adrian said, inclining his head. “Let us begin.”

Scrolls were unrolled, arguments exchanged. Taxes, border disputes, the endless negotiations of governance filled the air like smoke. Elias listened, though his thoughts strayed. He studied Adrian’s posture—straight but not rigid, every gesture measured. The prince wielded silence like a blade, letting others reveal their greed before he spoke.

It was not until the matter of marriage was raised that the chamber grew heated.

“The duchess of Merath has renewed her proposal,” declared Lord Regent Alwin, his voice sharp, his gaze cutting toward Adrian. “Her daughter is of good blood, with lands that would strengthen the crown. It is time, Your Highness, that you consider your duty to the realm.”

Elias’s heart gave a painful jolt. He kept his face impassive, hands clasped behind his back.

Adrian, however, remained unshaken. He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes half-lidded with thought. “And if I do not consider it?”

Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Lord Alwin’s lips thinned. “Then you invite weakness. The people expect stability. The crown must secure heirs.”

For the first time that evening, Adrian’s gaze flicked to Elias. It was no more than a glance, brief and unreadable, but Elias felt the weight of it as though the prince had spoken his name aloud.

“I will consider the duchess’s offer,” Adrian said at last, his tone clipped, final. “But the matter is not to be forced.”

The meeting moved on, but Elias scarcely heard. His mind churned with unbidden thoughts. The idea of Adrian bound to another—of him smiling at some bride across the council table—was absurdly, irrationally painful. He clenched his fists until his nails pressed crescents into his palms.

At last, the session adjourned. Nobles departed in small knots of murmured strategy, their robes trailing like shadows. Adrian remained seated, his hand resting lightly against the table’s edge.

“Elias,” he said quietly, without looking up.

Elias stepped forward at once. “Your Highness.”

Adrian’s eyes lifted to him, sharp but tired beneath the weight of expectation. “Walk with me.”

They left the chamber through a side door, the marble corridors echoing with the fading sounds of the council’s voices. Adrian did not speak until they had reached a narrow balcony overlooking the palace gardens. The evening air was cool, scented faintly of roses.

“They press me like wolves,” Adrian said at last, resting his hands on the balustrade. “Every day another letter, another proposal. All in the name of duty.”

Elias hesitated, unsure if he was meant to reply. “It is a heavy burden, Your Highness.”

Adrian’s gaze turned toward him, steady and unguarded. “Tell me, Elias. If it were you—would you wed for duty, or for desire?”

The question struck like an arrow. Elias swallowed, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. “I… I believe duty may bind a man’s hand. But desire—” He faltered, then steadied. “Desire binds his heart.”

For a long moment, silence hung between them, charged with something dangerous. The lantern light caught in Adrian’s eyes, bright as flame.

“Bold again,” the prince murmured, though there was no rebuke in his tone. Only something unreadable—something Elias both feared and longed to name.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the spell. A servant bowed low. “Your Highness, your carriage is prepared.”

Adrian straightened, his princely mask sliding effortlessly back into place. “Very well.” He lingered a heartbeat longer before turning away. “Come, Elias. The night grows short.”

Elias followed, heart pounding, knowing that with every word, every glance, the line between duty and desire frayed thinner.

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