The ballroom of Arcadia Academy shimmered beneath chandeliers like a galaxy frozen mid-breath. Tonight, peace was more than a concept—it was the rhythm in the music, the laughter, and the clinking of goblets raised in fragile joy. For the first time in years, the war-born students of the realm danced not to survive but to remember how.

Renee stood at the heart of it, poised yet untethered. Her gown, dark silver with crimson undertones, whispered of royalty, though no crest adorned it. Her smile—subtle, unreadable—never quite reached her eyes. She didn’t need to draw attention; gravity bent toward her.

Around her, the shadows of history stood.

Christofer Sforza leaned against a pillar, all fire and calculation, his gaze dissecting the room as if every laugh could hide a dagger. Xavier Reed stood stiller than stone, his expression vacant save for the occasional glance toward Renee—like a compass that didn’t need North. Damien Sinclaire stood closest, looming, calm, but not relaxed. Never relaxed. The tension in his shoulders sang of a storm waiting on her breath.

Two women flanked them—both professors now, both her fiercest allies.

Armored in poise, Eleonor Blanca watched the room like a knight studying a battlefield. And Sasha Sokolova—golden, wicked, and practically vibrating with anticipation—sipped her wine as if it were gossip distilled.

Then the doors opened.

Prince Elias Cyran Velandron entered like a man born for spotlights. Dressed in ivory silk and self-importance, he held the hand of Irina Sanchez, the Academy Chairman’s daughter, blonde and glittering like a polished trophy.

A hush swept the room as Elias took the stage, basking in the silence he believed was reverence.

“My fellow scholars and honored guests,” he began, voice carefully trained for dramatic weight, “tonight marks not just a return to peace but a turn toward brighter futures. Toward clarity. Toward truth.”

He turned, lifting Irina’s hand high like a declaration. “And in that spirit—I wish to dissolve my engagement with Lady Renee Ducart formally… and announce my betrothal to Lady Irina Sanchez.”

The silence cracked.

Renee did not flinch. She turned slowly toward the stage, her expression serene, her eyes alight with something far more dangerous than anger: amusement.

“Your Highness,” she said, warm and clear enough to slice steel, “thank you for your forthrightness. I sensed this day would arrive.” There was a pause. And I came prepared.”

Without a word, Xavier produced the leather scroll inside his jacket and handed it to her like a blade.

Renee took it with a nod. Then, as though the world moved to her tempo, she walked toward the stage. Every step echoed, sharp and deliberate.

“If this is truly the moment of new beginnings,” she said as she climbed the stairs, “let us not delay. Signatures seal fate far better than promises.”

Elias blinked, caught off guard.

Trying to reclaim control, he grabbed the scroll, demanded a pen, and signed dramatically. His golden seal followed with a clink of finality.

Renee smiled softly.

Then, she reached into her clutch and withdrew something that did not belong in a ballroom.

A seal. Obsidian and crimson, ancient and unmistakable.

She pressed it onto the document with a calm, almost reverent motion. A fiery sigil flared into existence—Arcadian royalty—the real one.

Gasps detonated.

Elias froze. “What is that?”

She handed the document back to him gently. “Your freedom, Your Highness. Signed, sealed… and now officially endorsed.”

He took a shaky step back. “How… how did you—”

Renee tilted her head, tone laced with deliberate grace. “Respect, please. I believe you're still addressing a lady.”

Sasha’s low and deadly laugh danced across the silence like smoke.

“But if your question is how I obtained the Arcadian royal seal,” Renee continued, each word sharper than the last, “perhaps you should ask yourself whether you ever read the contract you signed. Or the one you broke.”

Elias scrambled to unroll his copy. The color drained from his face as his eyes moved down the page.

“You were… You were just a knight,” he said, voice cracking. “A commoner. A captain because of—because you were mine!”

Renee smiled.

“Is that truly what you believe?” she asked, gaze narrowing just slightly. “Even now, after reading that document?” She turned to the crowd. “For those who remain confused…”

She held her head high, voice now regal, resonant, unmistakably royal.

“My name is Renee Arcadia Nosfera. Third Princess of Arcadia. Daughter of House Arcadia and the Bloodline Nosfera. Captain of the Crimson Wing. And former fiancée to Prince Elias Cyran Velandros.”

A gasp swept the ballroom like wildfire. Nobles paled. Students whispered. Someone dropped a glass.

Elias looked like a man who had just signed away his crown.

“What did I just do?” he whispered.

Sasha chuckled darkly and stepped forward beside Renee. “Oh, sweetheart,” she drawled, swirling her wine, “you just made your biggest move on the chessboard. And gave away your queen for a pawn with good hair.”

Renee descended the steps like a sovereign returning to court.

Behind her, the prince stood mute, drowning in the wreckage of his hubris.

And Sasha, with a grin that could slice throats, whispered to Eleonor, “Epic. Fucking. Fail.”

They left the ballroom not with haste but with intent. Heads turned as Renee strode out, her inner circle flanking her like sentinels of a forgotten dynasty.

Outside, under the moonlit arches of Arcadia Academy’s grand entrance, Christofer broke the silence.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth, composed, but ready for fire. “Where to now?”

Renee didn't break stride. “To the palace. These documents won’t submit themselves.”

Xavier was already tapping coordinates into his car's system before she finished. Damien opened the door for Renee without a word, eyes scanning the shadows. Eleonor and Sasha followed, the former solemn, the latter practically glowing with glee.

The ride to Arcadia Castle was short, but the silence within was thick with anticipation.

Guards at the gates saluted when they saw her crest illuminated by the dashboard light. The gates swung open before them like fate yielding to its rightful claimant.

Within the marble-clad halls of the royal stronghold, the reception committee awaited.

King Cael Arcadia stood straight-backed in ceremonial black and white, calm as a glacier, unshaken by spectacle. Beside him, Queen Valethrina Nosfera — radiant, cold, and unreadable as starlight — observed with a knowing smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

And then there were her brothers.

Thalor — ever the prince, noble and golden — gave her a small smile of bittersweet pride.

But it was Damon who moved first. He crossed the distance in three long strides and wrapped Renee in a crushing hug.

“News travels fast,” he muttered in her ear, voice rich with that signature bite. “Heard that royal scum traded gold for pebbles. Idiot never knew what he had.”

From behind them, Sasha cackled. “I approve of this message. Print it. Frame it. Hang it in the throne room.”

“Enough,” Queen Valethrina said sharply, though not cruelly. Her voice echoed with velvet steel. “You’re inside royal walls now. These halls have ears, and loose tongues decorate other people’s nooses. Speak wisely.”

Thalor nodded. “Let’s take this discussion to Father’s office. No ears but our own there.”

The air grew heavier with expectation within King Cael’s study, lined with law-bound tomes and sacred scrolls.

Cael sat behind his desk, hands clasped. “Renee. Now that your identity is no longer hidden, and your engagement has been dissolved publicly… what do you intend?”

Renee stood tall. Her voice was unmistakable. “I intend to return to my studies and graduate. Then I plan to assume the Marshalship from Uncle Arnold, as originally intended.”

Thalor exhaled slowly. “I always dreamed you'd wear the crown. Not the uniform.”

“But imagine it,” Damon chimed in with a mischievous grin. “Arcadia with us running it? Total blast. You keep the fire, and I keep the knives. What could go wrong?”

Queen Valethrina raised an eyebrow. “A kingdom-sized crater, perhaps.”

Then, she turned to the others. “And what about the rest of you? What are your intentions now that this… mess is officially unraveling?”

Christofer answered first, calm and unwavering. “Nothing’s changed. I chose my commander long ago.”

Xavier followed voice flat, eyes on Renee. “I belong at her side. She is my axis.”

Sasha sighed dreamily. “Please. Like I’d miss the royal drama. I live for it. Someone has to seduce the interrogators.”

Eleonor stepped forward, placing a hand over her heart. “My duty remains the same. I am Renee’s shield. Her sword. Her ground.”

Damien’s eyes never left Renee. “You know where I stand. Troupe and soul. That’s non-negotiable.”

Cael studied them all for a moment before nodding. “Then we’ll move forward with unity. Renee, who have you named the dissolution agent for the engagement contract?”

Renee lifted the scroll from her case. “King Thareon Drakareth of Drakoryth. He’s already named in both the original contract and dissolution addendum. Elias signed off without even reading.”

The room tensed.

Cael frowned. “Thareon? You know we could’ve processed this internally in several days.”

Renee smiled serenely. “True. But I had a feeling King Thareon would be the best choice. Even if it means waiting.”

Damon smirked, pointing a finger at her. “You're playing something deeper. I can smell it.”

She blinked innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Queen Valethrina, dry as stone, added, “Well. For what it’s worth, I won’t pretend to mourn this farce. Elias was a self-absorbed little peacock with a god complex on an empty stomach.”

Laughter erupted.

Thalor chuckled despite himself. Damien barked with joy. Even Eleonor smirked faintly.

Sasha raised her goblet in salute. “Renee’s mom is officially my new queen.”