“Your Majesty,” Sylas began, his voice heavy with formality, “with all due respect, we must address the matter at hand. Why was such a monumental decree made without consulting this council? Surely, you realize the implications of such a decision, especially one as... contentious as this.”

Arren leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I made the decision as king, Sylas. It is my duty to lead this kingdom, not to delay its progress by drowning it in endless debates.” “Progress?” scoffed another noble, Baron Helrin of Velst. “You call this progress? Declaring that those without celestial marks without the blessings of the stars are now equals? That a prince without a mark is still to be celebrated? This undermines the very foundation of Andromeda!” Several voices murmured in agreement, their tones ranging from cautious to outraged. Arren’s eyes hardened.

“The foundations of Andromeda Kingdom,” he said sharply, “are not so fragile that they cannot bear change. I refuse to believe that this kingdom, with its long history and strength, is incapable of evolving.” A younger noble, Count Aelric, leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. “Your Majesty, no one denies your wisdom or your right to rule. But surely you must see how the people and indeed, this council might question the prudence of declaring such a thing without thorough discussion.” Arren’s jaw tightened. “What I see, Count, is a kingdom that has shackled itself to the stars and ignored the brilliance of those who fall outside their light. How many talents have we lost? How many lives have we diminished because they did not fit the mold of tradition?”

Sylas shook his head, his tone heavy with skepticism. “And yet, traditions exist for a reason. To protect, to guide. Without celestial marks, there is no protection, no guarantee of a connection to the heavens. It is not prejudice, Your Majesty, it is preordained.” Arren leaned forward, his voice low and commanding. “Do you think my son’s fate is to be oppressed? That he does not deserve to live? I will not allow this kingdom to dismiss its people or its prince on such grounds.” The chamber fell silent for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut. Then, Marquis Verran, a shrewd man with an unflinching gaze, cleared his throat.

“We will agree to this decree,” Verran said, his words slow and deliberate. The other nobles expressed their disagreement. “What are you talking about Marquis Verran?” questioned by Count Aelric followed by others. But Marquis Verrans just raised his hand to silence them and he continued. “But only on one condition.” Arren’s eyes narrowed. “And what condition might that be, Marquis?” Verran’s expression was unreadable, but his words hit like a hammer. “The prince, your son, will never inherit the throne.”

The room erupted into murmurs and sharp gasps. Arren’s hands gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles white with restrained fury. “You would dare propose such a thing?” he growled, his voice dangerous. Before Verran could respond, Sylas interjected, his tone cautious but supportive. “It is a reasonable compromise, Your Majesty. Without a celestial mark, the prince’s legitimacy will always be questioned. By removing him from the line of succession, you can uphold your decree without jeopardizing the stability of the kingdom.”

“Reasonable?” Arren snapped, rising to his feet. “You call it reasonable to strip my son of his birthright before he’s even had the chance to prove himself?” Another noble, Lady Corvina of Halcrest, spoke up, her voice measured. “Your Majesty, we are not questioning your son’s potential. But you must understand the people will not accept him as king. Not without the mark. This compromise could ease their fears while still allowing you to move forward with your vision.”

Arren looked around the room, his fiery gaze meeting the uncertain eyes of his councilors. He could see the resolve in their faces—this wasn’t a suggestion. It was a united front. Lysandra’s voice echoed in his mind: “We’ll face it together.” He drew in a deep breath, his hands trembling with barely contained anger. As the murmurs of the council settled, King Arren remained standing, his towering presence commanding attention. The fierce anger in his gaze softened slightly, replaced by a steely calm that unnerved even the most seasoned nobles. He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of their demand linger in the air before speaking.

“You would bind my son’s future to your condition,” Arren began, his voice low and deliberate. “You would make him the first prince in the history of Andromeda denied the throne—not because of his deeds, but because of a mark he does not bear. Very well.” The chamber erupted into shocked murmurs. Sylas, Verran, and the other nobles exchanged glances, clearly caught off guard by the king’s swift acceptance. Arren raised a hand, silencing them.

“I will agree to this condition,” he continued, his tone icy, “but heed my words carefully. While Caelum may not ascend to the throne, he remains a prince of Andromeda, with all the rights and protections that title commands. If I hear even a whisper of harm or sabotage directed at him, if any of you think his lack of a celestial mark makes him an easy target, I will not hesitate to act.” Arren’s voice grew sharper, his glare piercing through the room. “Let me remind you all that my son is still of royal blood. Should any hand rise against him, it will be considered treason, punishable by death. Do I make myself clear?”

The nobles shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the king’s words settling heavily over them. Sylas cleared his throat. “Of course, Your Majesty. No harm shall come to the prince, as is only right. This is a political matter, not a personal vendetta.” Arren’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “Good. See that it remains that way.” Lady Corvina, ever the diplomat, inclined her head. “Your Majesty’s terms are fair. No one here would dare disrespect the sanctity of the royal family.”

Arren scanned the room, his gaze lingering on each noble. The unspoken tension was palpable, but none dared to challenge him further. Finally, he returned to his seat, his fingers lightly drumming on the table. “Then we are in agreement,” he said curtly. “Caelum will not inherit the throne, but this council will respect him as a prince. The decree stands, and from this day forward, the unmarked will have a place in Andromeda. This council is adjourned.” The nobles bowed their heads as Arren rose, his cape trailing behind him as he exited the chamber.