The golden doors of the throne room had sealed with a final, echoing boom, cutting off the distant clamor of the nobles filing toward the grand celebration hall. For the first time in hours, the vast cathedral-style chamber belonged only to the Grimharts.
No Imperial Aegis knights stood at the columns. No stewards hovered with wine or whispered warnings. No curious eyes watched from the galleries. Just the family.
The throne room stretched like a stone forest, vaulted ceilings lost in shadow where everflame lanterns hung in iron cages shaped like rearing stags. Black marble floors veined with silver caught the light and threw it back in cold ripples.
The Obsidian Throne loomed empty at the head of the dais, its antlered backrest casting jagged shadows that looked almost alive. Rows of carved seats—once filled with dukes and mythical lords—now stood vacant save for the imperial bloodline itself.
Empress Seraphine Grimhart had claimed the central seat in the front row, her crimson gown pooling around her like spilled blood. One hand rested protectively on the gentle swell of her belly, fingers tracing slow circles over the fabric. The new heartbeat inside her—tiny, fierce, unmistakably Grimhart thrummed beneath her palm. She looked exhausted and radiant at once, violet eyes soft as she watched her children settle into their places behind her.
Sael took the seat directly to her right, his magic a faint golden aura that warmed the air around him. Grace sat to the left, emerald skirts arranged with casual elegance, one leg crossed over the other. The twins, Samael and Vael, shared a single wide chair between them, small legs swinging, eyes wide and curious but silent. Jared claimed the end seat, white half-cape still draped dramatically over one shoulder, the silver embroidery catching every flicker of lantern light. His gloved hands rested on his knees, knuckles tight beneath the leather.
The silence stretched, comfortable for some, suffocating for others.
"Aren't the nobles going to worry about our absence?" Sael asked, voice low. The heir's tone carried the weight of future rule—practical, already calculating optics and whispers.
Grace snorted, leaning back in her chair with the easy confidence of a woman who had once smuggled honey cakes past locked doors and now ruled a duchy with the same fierce protectiveness. "They can stick their worries into their asses for all we care. This is the first time in seven years the whole family has been together under one roof. They can wait. The empire won't crumble if we steal an hour or two."
Seraphine smiled faintly, still caressing her bump. Her free hand reached back without looking, finding Grace's and squeezing once. The gesture said everything words could not: *Stay. Just a little longer.*
Emperor Ezra moved in front of the seats like a caged lion, pacing the open space between the family and the empty dais. His golden eyes—sharp, regal, glowing with that ancient Edenian fire—reflected the lantern light as if they held comets of their own. The black antlered crown had been set aside; without it he looked less like an emperor and more like a father burdened by truths he could no longer delay. His robes whispered against the marble with every measured step, hands clasped behind his back.
Jared watched him for a long moment, the storm-grey of his own eyes unreadable. The rage from the riverbank still simmered beneath his skin, but the warmth of his mother's hug and the twins' small arms around his neck had banked it into something quieter. Something that almost felt like hope—until the word his father had used earlier clawed its way back into his mind.
"Father," Jared said at last, voice steady but edged, "what did you mean by marriages?"
Ezra stopped mid-stride. The word hung between them like a drawn blade.
Seraphine coughed uncomfortably, shifting in her seat, one hand pressing a little harder against her belly as if to shield the new life from the tension. Sael looked away, suddenly fascinated by the silver veins in the marble floor. Grace let out an awkward laugh that echoed too loudly in the throne room's vastness. The twins, too young to grasp the undercurrents, simply blinked up at their eldest brother with identical grey eyes full of innocent confusion.
Ezra turned slowly to face them all. His golden eyes met Jared's without flinching.
"Well… about that," the Emperor began, voice measured, every syllable carrying the weight of imperial decree. "These past seven years, many of our close and distant relatives have been dying. Dying way too fast, to be honest. In ways that I myself do not fully understand. Accidents in hunts that should have been safe. Fevers that resisted every healer's spell. monster waves that somehow found their way into secure estates. There are now only a handful of people left with Edenian blood outside our immediate family. A handful, Jared. And most of them are elderly or childless."
The news landed on Jared like a boulder dropped from a high mountain. He felt it in his chest—crushing, cold. The bloodline. The same sacred fire that had once been cast from paradise, the power that had forged an empire from wilderness and comets… thinning. Dying. He had spent seven years proving he could still be Grimhart without magic, and now the empire itself was telling him the magic was running out.
"And we need to rebuild it," Ezra continued, inexorable. "That's why… you're going to take one for the family, my boy."
Jared stood up so fast the chair scraped backward across marble. The white cape flared. "No. That's all he said." His voice cracked like ice on the Blackwater. "You will not use me as a whore to rebuild this damned bloodline."
The words struck the vaulted ceiling and fell back like accusations.
Ezra's golden eyes narrowed. Without warning he enacted the pressure again—not the crushing tide from the public audience, but a focused, personal weight aimed only at his second son. Invisible power slammed down on Jared's shoulders like a warhammer. The air thickened. Jared's knees buckled once, twice. He fought it—teeth clenched, grey eyes blazing with pure defiance—but the Emperor's will was older and heavier than any battlefield he had ever faced. Jared dropped to one knee, gloves pressing against cold stone, breath coming in short, furious gasps.
"Watch how you talk about our blood, boy," Ezra said, voice low and dangerous. "It makes you who you are. Who we are."
"Ezra, stop." Seraphine's voice cut through the magic like a blade. She rose halfway from her seat, hand still on her belly, violet eyes flashing. The pressure vanished as quickly as it had come.
The Emperor exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. He gave his wife a small, genuine smile—the first real one Jared had seen on his father's face since the reunion. Seraphine had opposed him for years over the exile, over the silence, over every hard choice. Tonight, for the first time in what felt like decades, she stood with him.
"I know you're mad, sweetling," she said gently, turning to Jared, her voice softening the way it had when she snuck into his locked room as a boy. "But you need to do this. Sael can't take multiple wives—he is the heir, bound to one lawful marriage for the stability of succession. Your younger brothers are too young." She glanced at the twins with a tender, protective look. "Way too young," Ezra added quietly, echoing her words.
Seraphine continued, squeezing Jared's shoulder as he slowly rose from his knee. "Your sister is already married, but she is yet to conceive a child."
Jared turned to Grace. His older sister smiled—warm, unapologetic—and lifted her left hand, flexing it so the simple gold wedding band caught the lantern light. "Good for you," Jared said, the words rough but sincere.
"You will soon meet him," Grace replied, eyes sparkling. "He always wanted to meet you. And by the looks of it…" She trailed off with a happy little shrug. Her joy was genuine, unguarded. For the first time since returning, Jared felt something like relief. He would not have to decapitate his brother-in-law. At least not yet.
"Don't worry, he's a good guy," Sael added, leaning forward with a rare grin. "I tried looking for dirt on him. Couldn't find any. We won't have to execute him."
Jared laughed.
The sound rolled out of him—deep, genuine, the first true laugh since he had stepped through the unicorn-blood circle and back into this marble cage. It filled the cathedral chamber, easing the tension like sunlight after a monster wave. The twins giggled without understanding why. Grace joined in. Even Sael chuckled. Seraphine's eyes misted again with happiness. And Ezra—despite himself—allowed the smallest softening around his golden eyes. The sound of his forsaken son laughing gave the entire family a sense of ease, a fragile bridge across seven years of silence.
"I know what we ask of you is hard," Ezra said after the laughter faded, stepping closer until he stood directly before Jared. "Especially after all this time. But this is your duty, my son. You must do it."
Jared looked at his father—not in challenge, not hunting for a staring contest or an excuse to fight, but as a father. The man who had once smiled at Corvus the Black King in the Black Forest. The man who had sent a boy into exile because the stags had rejected him. The man who now carried the weight of a dying bloodline on shoulders that had borne an empire. Jared searched those golden eyes and saw, beneath the imperial mask, something almost human: exhaustion, fear for the future, and a desperate hope that his children would be stronger than the cracks in their legacy.
He sighed, long and heavy, the fight draining from his posture. "Guess I have no choice then."
Seraphine clapped her hands once, bright and decisive. "Good. Now let's go to the banquet. Let's not make those bastards wait any longer."
They rose as one—family first, empire second. The twins took their mother's hands. Grace looped her arm through Sael's. Jared walked beside his father, the white cape brushing the Emperor's robes. Amon the Red Knight fell in silently at the rear as they exited through a side passage, the golden doors opening once more at an unseen command.
The grand celebration hall beyond was already roaring with life. Nobles turned as the family was announced by the herald's amplified voice: "Their Imperial Majesties and the royal children of House Grimhart!" Applause thundered. Tables groaned under mountains of roasted stag, honey-glazed fruits, and decanters of comet-wine that sparkled like liquid starlight. Musicians struck up a lively waltz. Servants flowed like shadows, refilling goblets and clearing plates.
The Grimharts moved through the crowd as a unit. They ate—Seraphine picking delicately at spiced meats while protecting her bump, the twins sneaking extra honey cakes under the table, Grace and her husband sharing private smiles across the high table. They drank—Ezra raising toasts that made the dukes laugh too loudly, Sael matching cups with warlords who still remembered his campaigns. They laughed—genuine moments when the twins told a silly joke or Grace recounted a court scandal that had everyone roaring.
Jared took part. He smiled when nobles clapped him on the back, accepted goblets pressed into his gloved hands, even danced once with a minor baroness who blushed at his too-handsome face. But he noticed the looks. Some nobles watched him the way one watches a plague carrier—polite smiles that never reached their eyes, whispers behind fans and goblets. *The magicless one… sent to whore for the bloodline… the Forsaken Prince at last useful.* He felt every stare like a blade between the ribs, but he kept the mask in place. For his family. For the duty he had just accepted.
Hours later, when the moon hung high over Stag City and the last drunken duke had been escorted out, the family retired to their quarters. Servants bowed low as they passed. Torches guttered in the corridors. The twins were half-asleep on their feet, carried by Sael and Grace. Seraphine leaned on Ezra's arm, her free hand never leaving her belly. Jared walked at the rear beside Amon, the Red Knight's crimson eyes scanning every shadow out of habit.
At the door to his chambers, Jared paused. The palace was quiet now, the revelry reduced to distant echoes. He turned to his father one last time.
Ezra met his gaze. No pressure. No decree. Just a father looking at a son who had carried the empire on his back for seven years without magic or thanks.
"Rest, my boy," the Emperor said quietly. "Tomorrow there will be more work."
Jared nodded once. The white cape felt heavier now, the silver embroidery like chains disguised as honor. He stepped inside, Amon closing the door behind them with a soft click.
Alone in the room that had once been his prison, Jared stripped off the gloves, the frock coat, the necktie—each piece of silk and velvet falling to the floor like shed skin. He stood at the window in only his shirt and trousers, staring out over the sleeping capital. Somewhere beyond the spires, the Uncrowned Lands waited. His men waited. The life he had built from nothing waited.
And somewhere deeper in the palace, his mother caressed a new heartbeat while the empire demanded he create more.
Jared touched the dull Mark on his forearm, the three crescents that had never glowed.
"Duty," he whispered to the night.
The word tasted like blood and comets.
Outside, the first faint tremor of another monster wave rolled across the distant mountains. The ice in the Frostweald cracked again.
The Forsaken Prince had come home.
But the price of that home was only just beginning to reveal itself.