Ryli's shoulders still shook when the door creaked open. Soft steps approached him, and stood in front of him.
He did not bother lifting his head. His face was buried in his palms, his breath uneven, his chest tightening with every ragged inhale. The words his father had spoken still echoed inside his skull like a hammer striking iron.
You either marry her and remain my heir, or Rickon will.
The mattress dipped slightly. Then a soft hand touched his shoulder.
He froze.
Even before he opened his eyes, he knew. "Mom!" His voice cracked as he lifted his face. Tears clung stubbornly to his lashes. "He threatened to strip me of the throne if I do not marry her."
Queen Freya sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him without a word.
Her embrace was warm. Familiar. For a moment he allowed himself to lean into it like a frightened child.
"Shiii," she murmured, gently brushing his hair back. "It is alright."
Ryli pressed his face against her shoulder again, breathing unevenly.
Silence filled the chamber.
Only the distant sounds of the court celebrations drifted faintly through the stone walls. Laughter. Music. Goblets clinking.
The kingdom feasted.
While the future king sat crying on his bed.
Freya stroked his back slowly, her face calm, almost thoughtful. "You have to marry her," she said at last.
Ryli's head snapped up. "What?"
He pulled away from her embrace as if burned. "You too?" His voice rose, disbelief flashing across his face. "You too, you are on his side?"
Freya watched him carefully. "I am on your side."
Ryli shook his head sharply. "No, you are not."
"You know your father," she continued quietly. "You know what the king can do. If you do not marry her, you will lose everything."
Ryli stood and began pacing the room. The thought made his stomach twist. Lose everything. His throne. His title. His power.
All of it handed to Rickon.
His fists clenched. "I do not want to marry a cripple," he said bitterly.
Freya did not argue. Instead she nodded slowly. "I agree with you."
Ryli stopped pacing. His head turned toward her. "You agree?"
Freya's lips curved slightly. "She could be your queen on paper," she said calmly, "and not in practice."
For a moment Ryli simply stared at her.
Then something flickered in his eyes.
A spark.
His eyebrows lifted slowly. "How?"
Freya leaned back against the bedpost, folding her hands gracefully in her lap.
"Think about it." Her voice carried the soft patience of someone explaining a simple riddle.
"Your father wants an alliance with the Woodlands. That is all he cares about."
Ryli listened, his breathing slowly settling. "If you refuse the marriage," Freya continued, "your father gives Sonia to Rickon."
Ryli's jaw tightened.
"But if you accept," she said softly, "the alliance is secured." Ryli's eyes widened slightly.
Freya's smile deepened. "Engage her," she said. "Marry her."
Ryli waited.
Freya tilted her head. "You can still have your girls."
The silence that followed stretched long.
Ryli's mind began racing. Images flashed across his thoughts.
The throne. The crown. The armies.
The banners of the nine kingdoms bowing to him.
Then another image intruded.
Sonia. The wheelchair. Her unmoving legs. His lips curled faintly.
Freya continued gently.
"When you ascend the throne, you will be king. No one will control your decisions then it will be final."
Her eyes gleamed slightly. "And queens can be discarded."
Ryli's breathing slowed completely. His hands moved slowly to his chin. He began pacing again, but this time his steps were measured.
Thinking, and calculating.
Freya watched him without interrupting. After a long moment, Ryli stopped.
"That is the way out."
His face brightened as realization settled over him. A slow grin spread across his lips. "That is the way out," he whispered again.
Then suddenly he threw his arms around his mother. "You are a genius, mom!"
Freya allowed herself a small satisfied smile as she patted his back. "Now go out there," she said softly. "Act nice toward her."
Ryli nodded eagerly.
"She is the key to your throne." The words settled into his mind like iron.
The key.
He stepped away and wiped his face quickly. The tears vanished. His shoulders straightened. His chin lifted.
By the time he reached the door, the crying prince had disappeared. The future king walked out instead.
The throne room was still alive with celebration when Ryli returned.
Music echoed against the high ceilings. Nobles laughed loudly as servants carried trays of wine and roasted meats across the hall.
When Ryli stepped inside, several heads turned. His father stood near the throne speaking with a group of lords.
Ryli walked straight toward him. Robert noticed him immediately. Their eyes met.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Ryli leaned closer and whispered quietly. "I will marry the girl."
Robert studied him.
Slowly, the king's lips curved. He nodded once.
The conversation was over.
Ryli stepped back into the hall. Throughout the event, his gaze never left Sonia.
She sat among the guests beside her father, the large wooden chair supporting her small frame.
Many nobles approached her with gifts and polite words. Some looked curious.
Others were sympathetic.
A few tried to hide their discomfort. Ryli watched everything.
Then he smiled. A warm, charming smile. The kind that had melted countless hearts before.
Sonia noticed.
Her eyes met his' across the hall. She looked away immediately. But a moment later she glanced back again.
He was still smiling.
The earlier insult still lingered in her mind like a fresh bruise. Yet something about the prince's expression softened her anger slightly.
Against her will, her lips curved faintly in return.
As the celebration continued, gifts for the future queen began arriving.
One after another, the nobles stepped forward.
Jewels. Silks. Golden ornaments.
Each gift presented with elaborate bows and respectful words. Then Lord Ezion stepped forward.
Behind him servants rolled something large covered in cloth. The murmurs in the hall grew curious.
Ezion pulled the cloth away. Gasps spread through the room. It was a wheelchair. Something the nine kingdoms had never seen before.
The frame was carved from dark polished wood. Intricate patterns ran along the sides like flowing vines. The wheels were strengthened with iron rims, and the seat was cushioned with soft embroidered leather.
Edmond stepped forward slowly. He placed his hand on the chair. His fingers traced the carvings carefully.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I will never forget this." Lord Ezion bowed his head.
Then he gently lifted Sonia from her seat. The hall watched in silence. He placed her carefully onto the wheelchair.
It fit perfectly.
The murmurs turned to admiration.
Later, another lord approached.
"Lord Woodland," he said, stretching his hand forward.
Edmond did not take it. His eyes darkened.
Before him stood Lord Theon Kendrick of Cliffland.
One of the men he desires so much to kill but can not kill because of the king's protection.
Edmond stared at the outstretched hand. Then slowly he looked up at Theon's face. "We are not friends," Edmond said coldly.
Theon's hand remained extended. "I can never be friends with the man who drew his sword through my sister's heart."
Theon lowered his hand slowly. His expression remained calm. "I understand you grieve your loss," he said. "But we were at war."
He paused briefly. "Besides, I was not the one who pierced her heart."
Edmond's jaw tightened. His anger burned just beneath the surface. But the king's court surrounded them.
He forced himself to remain calm. "War or no war," Edmond said quietly, "only a monster slaughters guests at a wedding. Talk less of a childhood friend and his wife.
Theon nodded slowly. "You may insult me."
Then his eyes hardened slightly. "But you are not better off."
Edmond's gaze sharpened.
"You stood against your own sister in battle," Theon continued. "And I also heard that you have now sired a bastard, breaking your marital vow."
The words struck like sparks.
"We both have done things we are not proud of."
Edmond stepped closer. From a distance it looked like two lords sharing polite conversation. But Edmond leaned close to his ear. "I am nothing like you." His voice was barely a whisper.
"If I see you outside this city," his eyes burned. "I am going to kill you."
Theon's legs trembled slightly.
"That is my vow to you."
Theon stepped back quickly. Without another word, he turned and walked away.
When the celebration finally ended, the nobles began leaving the hall. John stood behind Sonia, holding the handles of the wheelchair.
"Let us take you to your room, my lady." He began pushing her gently through the corridors.
The palace halls were quieter now. Torches flickered along the stone walls. But suddenly John stopped.
Ryli stood ahead of them. Blocking the path. The prince bowed slightly. "If it will please my lady," he said smoothly, "I would love to walk her around the palace."
John glanced at Sonia. "I wish to show you the arts and histories of this palace."
Sonia tilted her head. Her eyes never left his. "What do you want," she asked quietly, "from the cripple whom you have rejected?"
Ryli stepped forward slowly. Then he knelt. "I am sorry about how I reacted earlier," he said.
His voice sounded sincere.
"I did not know your condition until you arrived." He lowered his gaze. "It took me by surprise."
The silence stretched.
"They should have warned me earlier," he continued softly. "But they did not."
Sonia studied his face carefully. Every word. Every movement.
"Will you forgive me?" He reached into his cloak and brought out a small velvet box.
Inside lay a golden necklace. It shimmered in the torchlight like captured sunlight.
"Accept this as my apology."
Sonia took the necklace slowly. Her fingers traced the delicate design. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. The craftsmanship was flawless.
For a long moment she simply admired it. Then she lifted her face. Her eyes met his again. "Which girl," she said softly, "will say no to the future king?"
Ryli chuckled. Sonia laughed quietly with him. "If you may," Ryli said, standing again, "shall we proceed?"
Sonia smiled and nodded.
Ryli moved behind the wheelchair. He turned it gently and began rolling her down the corridor.
His smile remained warm. But his jaw tightened slightly. As if something darker stirred beneath the charm.