Auren was furious — the King's words about his late wife echoed in his mind like poison.
Had he known his children would remain untouched, he would have drawn his blade and slain that bastard where he sat.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
He had more pressing matters to consider.
If he failed to find himself a suitable bride tonight, the King would certainly find one for him—someone he trusted, someone loyal to the Crown. In truth, the King wanted Auren to marry a woman who would serve as his eyes and ears inside House Noir."
The time flew away, and the ball was about to begin.
Auren composed himself, adjusted his collar, and made his way toward the grand ballroom.
When he entered, every eye turned to him.
Even after years of hardship, House Noir still commanded respect — and fear. It was one of the strongest houses on the continent, its name synonymous with steel and glory.
Lords and Ladies approached in elegant clusters, offering greetings and half-hearted compliments.
"Lord Auren, it's been too long."
"House Noir remains as dignified as ever."
Auren smiled politely, replying with calculated warmth, though his mind was elsewhere. He was searching for someone.
Arthur Vardros — brother of his late friend and one of the few men left in the court whom Auren could still trust.
Their eyes met across the crowd.
Arthur immediately understood.
He excused himself from a circle of nobles and stepped out onto the balcony, the night air cold and still.
Auren followed a moment later.
"Arthur," he said quietly, "I missed you, old friend. Among this sea of false smiles, it's good to see a familiar face.''
Arthur chuckled.
"You haven't changed, Auren. It is good to see that. So — what is it you want to talk about?"
Auren looked past him, toward the dark gardens below.
"You know House Merath's widow — she lost her husband last year, and remains unmarried. I would appreciate it if you could send her a message for me."
Arthur frowned slightly.
"And what message should I deliver?"
Auren's voice was calm, measured — the kind of calm that hides desperation.
"Tell her this: House Noir seeks alliance through bond, not war."
Arthur studied his friend's face for a moment, then nodded. He wasn't surprised. He had expected this move.
"So... you've spoken with the King."
Auren turned to him sharply.
"How do you know about this marriage matter? And why didn't you tell me?"
Arthur raised his hands in mild defense.
"Easy, old friend. I'm not your enemy. I only heard it recently — the nobles were whispering, as they always do. I swear I learned of it just before you arrived."
Auren's eyes softened for a moment, then dimmed again.
He said nothing more.
Without another word, he turned and walked back inside, the sounds of laughter and music washing over him like the hollow echo of a war drum.
The ball had only begun,
but for Auren de Noir — the games had already begun.
The Proposal of Shadows
The night had deepened.
Music from the ballroom flowed like a fading echo through the marble corridors of the palace.
Auren stood alone for a moment, gathering himself. He had already set the first move of the game; now it was time for the next.
When he returned to the main hall, Lady Seraphine Meranth was there. He assumed Arthur hadn't spoken to her yet, so he took the initiative.
She stood near the fountain, silver hair catching the candlelight, her eyes distant and unbothered by the festivities. The widow of Lord Alaric Meranth — a woman whose beauty had survived grief, and whose will had survived everything else.
Auren approached her.
"Lady Seraphine," he said, bowing his head slightly. "It's been a long time."
"Indeed," she replied. "You rarely leave the North, Lord Noir. I take it tonight isn't a social visit."
"You're right," he said simply. "It never is. My lady, I want to be as direct as possible, so please forgive my rudeness. I seek an alliance between our houses — through marriage."
Seraphine's expression didn't change; she merely studied him.
"And why would the great Lord Auren de Noir want to bind himself to a dying house?"
"Because dying embers can still start a fire," Auren replied. "And because I'd rather choose my fate than let the Crown dictate it."
Silence followed — the measured silence of negotiation.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
"If I am to agree to this marriage, there will be one condition."
Auren inclined his head.
"Name it."
Her voice was steady — quiet, but absolute.
"I want an heir, Lord Noir. A child who will carry the Meranth bloodline forward. My house may fade from the court, but my blood will not vanish from the world."
Auren studied her face — proud, pragmatic, and coldly sincere.
He understood; it wasn't love she sought, but continuity.
And in that, they were alike.
"Then it shall be so," he said at last. "An heir will be born, and your legacy will live on."
Seraphine inclined her head slightly, her silver earrings catching the light like tiny blades.
"Then we have an agreement. May the King choke on his own schemes."
Auren allowed himself a faint smile.
"On that, my lady, we finally agree."
As she turned to leave, Auren glanced once more toward the crowd of nobles laughing beyond the glass doors. They were dancing in a world of gold and deceit.
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