The atmosphere was calm. The soft clinking of cutlery echoed in the silence. Ivar, Duke Kael, Alina (the Duke’s wife), and Sarit were seated around the table. Candles burned steadily, casting warm shadows across their faces.

Duke Kael set his spoon down, his gaze settling on Ivar. He paused for a moment.

Duke Kael:

“There’s something... about Ivar that needs to be said.”

Sarit (without lifting her head, coldly):

“You want to say it now?”

Duke (averting his gaze from her, glancing at his watch):

“It’s already late… but it can’t wait any longer.”

Ivar (raising an eyebrow, curious):

“What is it?”

Duke (plain and blunt):

“Ivar… you’re engaged.”

Ivar (mouth slightly open, stunned):

“What? I’m what?!”

Alina (seemingly unaware):

“Engaged? To who?”

Duke:

“To the second prince of the Empire — Prince Rashen.”

Alina (louder now, incredulous):

“What?! That… cursed prince?!”

Ivar (eyes narrowing, voice sharp and disrespectful):

“Are you sure you haven’t confused me with someone else? Am I some kind of toy to be passed around wherever you see fit?”

Sarit (sets her fork down, firm and stern):

“Ivar. Watch your tone.”

Ivar (goes quiet, but his eyes are blazing with anger, lips pressed tight.)

The room grows heavier. Ivar still staring at the Duke, disbelieving.

Ivar (voice shaky but furious):

“Engaged?! Me? To a cursed prince? Why?!”

Duke Kael (calm but firm):

“This engagement was arranged by my father, the former Duke of Riven. Long ago.”

Ivar (sarcastically):

“Right. Let me guess. Before I was even born!”

Duke (coldly):

“Correct. You didn’t even exist. But the pact… it’s old. Deep-rooted. Breaking it would be considered treason against the royal family.

And if it’s seen as treason… the entire Riven House would be in danger.”

Ivar (laughing bitterly):

“How wonderful! So to preserve your name and honor, I get sent to a mask-wearing prince half the kingdom thinks is cursed?”

Alina (with scorn and narrowed eyes):

“With that rude mouth of yours, maybe a cursed prince is the only one who could tolerate you.”

Sarit (shouts, slamming her hand on the table):

“Enough, Ivar!

Have you forgotten who you are? You’re the son of a duke. Arka or not, you need to learn your place!”

Ivar (eyes now brimming with tears, voice breaking):

“My place? You mean being a worthless pawn to be moved around wherever it benefits you?

If that’s my place… then I’d rather be nobody.”

Duke Kael (voice firm, slightly reproachful but composed):

“You should know that what you call ‘nobody’ is a responsibility others would dream of having.

The official engagement is in five days. You must be ready.”

Ivar stays motionless, eyes fixed on the empty plate in front of him, as if something inside him had shattered.

A heavy silence blankets the table. The candles flicker quietly, and the only sound is Ivar’s broken breathing.