Adelissa froze by the window, catching sight of banners bearing the royal house’s coat of arms atop carriages pulling into the courtyard. The procession came to a halt right alongside the training grounds.

“My Lady... His Majesty has arrived,” Rose said, her voice filled with apprehension.

Adelissa felt everything inside her tighten with a dark foreboding.

The training grounds were a hive of activity. Clad in light padded armor, Ashheim deftly parried his opponent’s strikes.

“What is the matter, Graystorm? Forgotten how to hold a sword?” the prince teased his opponent, easily evading another blow.

“Hardly! It’s purely tactical!” the knight chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow before raising his blade once more.

Suddenly, Ashheim froze for a moment, staring at the arriving entourage. Graystorm tried to seize upon that split second and launched an attack, but the prince, acting on instinct without even looking, knocked his sword aside.

“Bout’s over,” Ashheim’s voice turned sharply cold.

He handed his practice sword to a squire and strode briskly toward the men in royal livery who had stepped onto the grounds.

“Your Highness,” the King’s Grand Chamberlain bowed low. “His Majesty awaits you. Please, follow me.”

The knights and young squires on the grounds whispered among themselves in surprise, watching the prince as he was led away.

“Nothing good can come of this...” Isaac Grant drawled, casually leaning an elbow on Graystorm’s shoulder.

“My thoughts precisely,” Graystorm replied, shoving Isaac’s arm off his shoulder.

Ashheim stood in the study, unable to process what he had just heard. Sitting before him in an armchair was King Odelon - though barely a trace remained of the once-stately ruler. The Sovereign looked mortally exhausted and deathly pale.

“I cannot take Gabriel’s place,” Ashheim said firmly.

The King went to object, but was suddenly racked by a heavy, wheezing cough. The Grand Chamberlain hurriedly offered him a handkerchief. Odelon struggled to catch his breath for a long time, and when he finally pulled the cloth from his lips, bright crimson spots of blood bled across the white silk.

“Gabriel is... incapacitated,” the King rasped with great effort, clutching the bloodstained handkerchief. “He can barely sit upright in a chair. To speak of his ability to provide the crown an heir is entirely out of the question. His wife lost the child, and he is incapable of fathering another. Besides...”

The King broke into another fit of coughing, fighting through the pain.

“Besides... Gabriel has developed a foul, cruel disposition,” the King raised a weary, bloodshot gaze to his son. “If he ascends the throne, he will become a tyrant. And that is something I cannot allow. The Queen poisoned my food when she realized I might replace the heir. I have locked her in the secluded quarters, but her allies at court are still far too numerous. Who do you think... she will order destroyed first when she learns I met with you?”

Odelon leaned forward, his dry fingers tightening around the bloodied cloth.

“Do you think she will pause to consider whether you agreed to accept the crown or not? You will die. And Adelissa alongside you.”

An icy chill ran down Ashheim’s spine at the mere thought of losing the girl who meant more to him than life itself.

“The Fornweirs belong to the Queen,” Ashheim countered, swallowing down the lump rising in his throat. “Marquis Valtorius is far too clever to place himself in harm’s way.”

“And you believe Clementine is generous enough to spare his daughter?” the King laughed with a dry, wheezing cough. “Fornweir is a crafty fox. He understands that if his daughter becomes a true queen at your side, his house will reach the pinnacle of power. He will instantly renounce Clementine and back you! Unless...”

The King cut himself off abruptly, staring intently into his son’s pale face.

“Unless he proves to be enraptured by that creature.” The King gritted his teeth painfully, trying to suppress another fit. “Valtorius Fornweir is no fool, but he knows full well that Clementine holds the power at present. If she strikes an alliance with him beforehand, you will lose your wife and your life. Decide now, before it is too late.”

Ashheim returned to his quarters with a heavy heart. The conversation with his dying father still echoed in his ears, and before his eyes stood a choice that stripped away his last hope for a quiet, peaceful life.

Yet at his door, an unexpected and tense scene awaited him.

Stationed in the corridor were men clad in cloaks bearing the coat of arms of House Fornweir - Marquis Valtorius’s personal guard. Servants were hurriedly carrying out trunks, while Godfrey, the head steward to Adelissa’s father, gave instructions to the palace staff with cold politeness.

“What is happening here?” Ashheim’s voice pierced the silence of the corridor like a steel blade.

The guards instantly stood at attention, and the manager bowed deeply, not embarrassed for a second.

“Your Highness. We are carrying out the orders of Marquis Valtorius. My Lord demands that Lady Adelissa return to the ancestral estate immediately.”

Adelissa stood a short distance away, surrounded by her maids. Her face was pale, and her bright blue eyes were filled with confusion and dread. She took a step toward the prince, but one of the Fornweir guards politely yet unyieldingly blocked her path.

“Forgive us, My Lady, but the marquis strictly commanded us not to delay.”

Ashheim clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His father’s words had proven prophetic: Clementine had already made her move, and the crafty Valtorius Fornweir had accepted her terms.

“Stand down,” Ashheim said softly, but with lethal menace, taking a step toward the guards. “Not one of you takes my wife out of this castle.”

“Your Highness, with all due respect, we have orders from the head of our house - ” the steward attempted to object.

“And I have an order from the KING!” Ashheim roared, his gaze turning so icy and authoritative that the guards instinctively backed away. “Adelissa is my wife. She remains under my protection. Set down those trunks and get out of my quarters before I order the guard to throw you into the dungeons for insubordination! Or worse - have your heads taken where you stand!”

Once they were left alone, Ashheim approached Adelissa. The girl was trembling, unable to comprehend why her own father had decided to tear them apart so hastily.

“Ash... what is going on?” she asked softly, looking up at him. “Father wrote... that he has requested an annulment of our marriage... so that I may become Prince Gabriel’s wife.”

Ashheim gently took her delicate, cold hands into his own.

“The King is dying, Adelissa,” he whispered, looking straight into her eyes. “And I... shall have to become the next king.”