"I am listening."
Queen Selene studied Alaric for a moment longer, as though weighing how much truth he could carry without flinching. Then she moved—slowly, deliberately—toward the table, resting her fingertips against its edge.
"The draw approaches," she said calmly. "Sooner than the court wishes to admit."
Alaric did not react at once. He already knew, Everyone did. Still, he inclined his head slightly.
"Yes. Tradition will be observed."
Selene's lips curved—not in a smile, but something sharper.
"Tradition," she repeated. "A word often used when people lack the courage to name what they truly mean."
She turned to face him fully now.
"For generations, the burden has fallen upon the youngest prince. Not by law—but by convenience. By habit. By the court's quiet agreement that one son may be… spared, while another is offered."
Alaric's gaze darkened a fraction.
"And now," he said carefully, "that son is Piers."
"Yes," Selene replied, without hesitation. "My son."
The word landed with weight.
Alaric drew a slow breath. "The nobles will insist the custom is fair."
"Fair?" Selene's voice cooled. "To whom? To the crown, perhaps. Never to the child who bears it."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice—not out of secrecy, but control.
"I will not have Piers bound to a draw. I will not have his future decided by chance and superstition. He was not raised for that fate."
Alaric searched her face, then spoke the truth she had not yet voiced.
"You are proposing a replacement."
Selene did not deny it.
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
Alaric's expression did not change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.
"You know the court will ask why the order must be broken now."
"They will," Selene agreed. "Which is why the replacement must be… undeniable."
She turned away once more, gaze drifting toward the window, toward the unseen parts of the palace that never truly slept.
"There is one prince," she continued evenly, "who has never been embraced by tradition—only tolerated by it. One whose presence already unsettles the court. One whose marriage to a village maiden would be seen not as sacrifice… but as correction."
Alaric already knew the name.
Still, he let her say it.
"Levi," Selene finished.
The air shifted.
Alaric exhaled slowly through his nose.
"He is not the youngest."
"No," Selene said. "But neither is he cherished."
She faced him again, eyes steady, unflinching.
"you're the first prince and Evander is your brother. I have never treated you both as anything less than my own. To offer any of you would be unthinkable."
A pause.
"But Levi?"
Her voice did not harden. It softened—dangerously.
"He has always stood apart. His birth questioned. His mother erased. His loyalty doubted. If any prince were suited to bear an insult disguised as honor, the court would accept him."
Alaric folded his hands behind his back, posture immaculate. "And the king?"
Selene's gaze flickered—just once.
"The king will hesitate," she admitted. "He always does."
Then, quietly: "That is where you come in."
Alaric looked at her now, truly looked at her.
"You wish me to guide the narrative."
"I wish you," Selene corrected, "to protect your brother."
A beat.
"And to remind the court," she added, "that tradition has never been immutable—only enforced by those powerful enough to shape it."
Alaric was silent for a long moment.
Then he inclined his head, slow and precise.
"If this path is taken," he said, "there will be consequences."
Selene's expression did not waver.
"There always are."
Their eyes held. Alaric did not answer at once.
He turned slightly, pacing a short distance across the solar, boots barely whispering against the polished floor. When he spoke, his voice was lower—measured, thoughtful.
"It will not be easy," he said. "You are asking the court to bend something it has obeyed for generations. Traditions like this are not laws, but they are treated as such. The nobles will resist."
Selene watched him calmly.
"And even if they do not," Alaric continued, stopping now, "even if every voice in that chamber agrees to spare Piers… the king will not."
A pause.
"He will see it as interference. As manipulation."
Selene's lips curved faintly. "Of course he will."
Alaric met her gaze. "He will never willingly allow Levi to take that place. Not openly."
His jaw tightened, and for the first time, disdain slipped through his composure.
"I have no desire to see my younger brother bound to some despicable, lowly village pig," he said flatly. "But the king will see this for what it is—an insult. And he will not sanction it without cause."
Selene did not bristle.
She only stepped closer.
"Then all we must do," she said softly,
"is give His Majesty a reason to approve."
Alaric's eyes narrowed slightly.
Selene turned back toward the table, her fingers tracing its edge as she spoke—slow, deliberate.
"Levi committed a great offense last night," she continued. "He abandoned the ballroom before the king's departure He did not excuse himself. He did not inform me. Nor you."
Her voice sharpened, just enough.
"He left without permission. Without respect."
Alaric's expression darkened.
"The court has yet to decide his
punishment," Selene went on. "They debate whips, confinement, public disgrace."
She looked back at him.
"But tell me, my prince—what punishment would wound Levi more deeply than any blade?"
Alaric said nothing.
Selene finished for him.
"To bind him. To humble him. To force him into a marriage that strips him of pride, of distance, of superiority."
A pause.
"What greater punishment exists than being made equal to those he despises?"
For a moment, Alaric was utterly still.
Then—slowly—something changed.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
A smirk, faint at first, then unmistakable.
A low chuckle escaped him, dark and amused, until it grew into a quiet, wicked laugh.
"How," he murmured, shaking his head, "did I never think of this before?"
He looked up, eyes glinting with something dangerous.
"No matter how much I injure Levi," he said, voice edged with satisfaction, "I never seem to scar that worthless ego of his."
His smile widened.
"But this…"
A soft laugh.
"This will do far worse. More harm than any chain, any blade, any dungeon ever could."
Selene watched him, pleased—but not surprised.
"Then you understand," she said.
Alaric straightened, princely composure sliding back into place like a mask.
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "The court will see it as justice. The king will see it as discipline."
A beat.
"And Levi will see it as humiliation."
The solar fell silent once more.
The plan, now spoken aloud, no longer felt like a thought—
—but an inevitability.
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Thank you guys so much for reading my work, i fell motivated with every view, and every vote .thank you so; so much .
The plan is out now, everything has been set in stone. things are starting to unravel. I can't wait to find out what happens next.