King Roland slammed a gauntleted fist into his palm with a resounding crack. The sharp echo stilled the air like thunder before a downpour.
"So my daughter is worthless to you?" he roared, his voice raw with insult and rage. "So beneath Elarion that you would pass her from one prince to another like a common toy?"
Before anyone could speak, he surged forward—fast despite his armor—and grabbed King Vincent by the front of his robes, dragging him forward with shocking ease.
"Answer me, Vincent!" he spat, calling him not by title, but name, the highest insult among rulers. "Is that what she is to you? Spoiled meat to trade for silence and shame?"
Zareth warriors surged behind him, hands on swords, shouting in their guttural tongue. Elarion guards stepped forward too—chaos swelled like a tempest ready to break loose.
The Queen gasped. Courtiers screamed. The air was on fire with tension. It was moments from war.
And then—
"Enough!"
The voice rang out—not loud, but powerful. Regal. Commanding.
It was Lilian.
"Daddy…"
Lilian's voice cracked—soft, unsure, yet filled with something older than pain. A memory. A daughter's love, worn thin by sacrifice.
She stepped forward, ignoring the stares, the tension, the growing unease. Gently, she took her father's arm—not like a princess commanding a king, but like a little girl trying to bring her father home.
The room was silent. Even the guards didn't move.
She led him away from King Vincent's reach, away from Elarion's judgement, guiding him slowly toward the guest throne.
King Roland sat down, almost like he didn't notice his own body. Shock settled in his bones.
But Lilian didn't step away.
She sat on his lap.
A king turned to a father. A warrior turned to a man who had given away the one thing he could never replace.
His hand trembled as he cupped her cheek.
"My child…" His voice broke. "What have I done to you?"
Lilian leaned her forehead against his, eyes swimming. "You did what a king must," she whispered. "You gave your daughter to stop a war. I never hated you for that. I… respected you for it."
His arms tightened around her like he could hold back every consequence of his decisions. But even a king's strength had limits.
He pulled back slightly. His eyes searched hers, brimming with dread.
"Tell me, Lilian… is it true? Are you… with child?"
She swallowed hard. Her chin lifted.
"Yes."
A breath swept through the room. Some stiffened. Some gasped. Some waited like they already knew what would follow.
"I didn't know at first," she said. "I thought the exhaustion was grief. The sickness… just shock. But the healer felt it. And so did I."
King Roland's tone changed. Hardened with bitterness.
"Is it Henry's?"
The question landed like a slap.
Lilian's jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists on her gown. But her voice—her voice stayed calm. Almost too calm.
"No. It's not."
She didn't look away. She didn't cry. But her voice began to tremble.
"I gave him everything. I tried to be a wife, a princess, a bridge between two kingdoms. And he…" her breath hitched, "he laughed behind my back. Lied to my face. Ignored me like I was nothing."
Now the sob came, sharp and sudden—but she caught it in her throat. Refused to let it fall.
"I begged the gods to make him love me," she whispered. "But when I broke, it wasn't him who picked up the pieces. It was Asher."
A ripple moved through the court.
She turned to look at Prince Asher, who stood silent, still, unreadable—his eyes unreadable but locked on her like she was something sacred.
"I didn't plan this. I didn't even want it. But it happened. He's the father. And… I love him."
King Roland stared at her, heart warring with rage. Then he looked to Asher. Then back to her.
"What if he's no different?" His voice was hoarse. "What if he ruins you too? If they disgrace you again, what then?"
Lilian's expression shifted. Fire met sorrow in her eyes.
"I'm not the girl you gave away anymore," she said, turning slowly toward the Norvang court. "I am Lilian of Zareth. Daughter of fire. If they dare disgrace me again, let them pray the gods reach them before I do."
She turned her gaze to the Queen, then to Henry. Cold. Controlled. Unforgiving.
The Queen paled but stayed quiet—every muscle tight with restrained fury.
King Roland's jaw clenched. His arm wrapped protectively around his daughter again.
Then he looked at King Vincent, and the court went still.
"You used my child. Then offered her like a thing to be passed around."
His voice rose, rumbling like a storm building behind the mountains.
"I should bring Zareth's fire down on your palace. Burn every inch of this treachery to ash."
Gasps filled the room. Even King Vincent flinched.
"But…" Roland glanced down at Lilian. "For her. For my grandchild. I will allow peace."
He leaned forward, voice low and vicious.
"But mark me, Vincent—if she sheds another tear beneath your roof, Zareth will not send messengers next time. We will send war