The promotion of Regina to Grand Chancellor felt like a tectonic shift in the room, but King Maltherion was not finished. He turned his gaze toward his eldest son, who still stood with his hand white-knuckled upon his sword hilt. The King's expression softened from awe to a deep, paternal pride.
"Draven," the King called, his voice echoing with gravity. "Step forward."
Draven obeyed, his armor clinking in the silent hall. He felt a strange mixture of shame and duty. He had done nothing compared to Regina's display of power, yet he had been ready for the end.
"Regina has saved the Empire with her mind and her shadows today," the King said, looking at the assembly. "But the glory of bravery does not belong to her alone. A leader is not just one who wins; it is one who is willing to lose everything for his people. Draven, you did not hesitate to offer your life as a shield when the darkness of Castria loomed. That decision alone deserves more than recognition."
The King reached for his hand and slid a heavy, glowing band from his finger—the Cinderwisp Ring. A collective breath was held in the room. This was no mere piece of jewelry; it was an ancient artifact of the Emberclaw line, imbued with a flame that protected its bearer from mortal harm.
More importantly, it was the "Seal of the Sovereign"—a sign that the wearer was the chosen, absolute Emperor of the future.
"This ring is yours," Maltherion declared, his voice firm. "It shall protect you as you protected us. Let it signify to all that your position as Crown Prince is absolute and untouchable. You are the future of Emberclaw."
Draven felt the warmth of the ring as it settled on his finger, a hum of ancient fire pulsing against his skin. His position was now secured by the highest honor the King could bestow.
Slowly, Draven turned his head. He looked at Regina, his pulse quickening. He expected to see a flash of jealousy in those violet eyes, or perhaps a cold sneer at his "lesser" achievement. He expected her to be offended that his title had been solidified alongside her promotion.
But Regina wasn't jealous.
In fact, she was watching him with an expression that nearly stopped his heart. A small, soft smile appeared on her face—one that didn't reach for mockery or coldness. It was a look of genuine satisfaction, almost... approval. It was the look of a woman who had once loved a man for his courage and was glad to see that, despite his flaws, that spark of bravery hadn't died.
For the first time in months, Draven didn't feel the sting of her superiority. Instead, that small smile warmed his heart, filling the hollow space where his pride used to be. He didn't feel like a rival; he felt, for a fleeting second, like the man she used to believe in.
Neither of them spoke. There were no grand declarations or apologies. In the middle of the crowded courtroom, under the eyes of the King and the nobility, there was only a silent, heavy acknowledgement—a bridge of respect built over a sea of regrets.