The corridors of the clan compound were already empty. Fire crystals in the niches burned with an even, gentle light, casting long shadows across the dark stone floor. Somewhere far off, muffled voices carried—delegations hadn’t yet dispersed to their quarters; servants hauled trunks, checked lists, laid out bolts of cloth.

  Arden walked slowly.

  The evening dragged, thick and sticky. Lucaris’s wine still lingered on his tongue, but his thoughts were cold and clear.

  He barely reacted when Eyra stepped out of a side passage.

  Crystal light spilled over her pale hair with a soft golden sheen. She stopped a few paces away, as if by chance, yet her fingers worried at the edge of her sleeve.

  "You’re late," she said, forcing her voice to stay level.

  "Busy."

  He saw her swallow before she continued.

  "So… what’s he like?"

  She didn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze slid past him—to the wall, the floor, the crystals.

  "Smug," Arden answered.

  Her lips twitched.

  "Is that bad?"

  "It’s dangerous."

  Eyra frowned; worry flickered in her eyes, and she tried to bury it at once.

  "They say he’s strong."

  "He’s confident in his strength."

  She bit her lip, then looked up.

  "And you?"

  Too fast. Too direct.

  Arden stopped. For a few moments he simply looked at her.

  "There won’t be an engagement."

  Eyra blinked.

  "What?"

  "I won’t allow it."

  He said it evenly. No threat. No drama.

  Confusion flashed in her gaze—then irritation.

  "Won’t allow it?" She took an involuntary step closer. "Are you serious?"

  He didn’t look away.

  "Yes."

  She gave a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.

  "You… who are you to decide?"

  "I’m not deciding," he replied calmly. "I’m acting."

  Her brows drew tight.

  "You’re not the clan head. Not an elder. Not my father."

  The words came faster, as if they were forcing their way out.

  "It’s not for you to choose for me."

  "I’m not choosing," he stepped toward her; his voice dropped. "I won’t let them drag you into this."

  Eyra clenched her fists.

  "Drag me?" Anger flashed in her eyes. "You think I don’t understand what’s happening?"

  He saw her chin tremble, the effort it took to keep her voice steady.

  "He’s worse than the rumors," Arden said harsher. "Much worse."

  She snapped her head up.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "So what?" There was almost despair in her voice. "You think if they cancel this, everything changes? You think they won’t try to marry me off again?"

  For a moment she looked away, and fear flickered there.

  "You live like you can solve anything. Like your strength gives you the right to reshape someone else’s fate."

  The words hung in the air.

  Arden felt his shoulders tighten, but his face stayed calm.

  "I won’t let you become his trophy."

  "And I won’t let you decide for me!" Her voice broke.

  A few servants at the far end of the corridor slowed, then quickly averted their eyes.

  Eyra drew a deep breath, as if holding back something larger.

  "Don’t interfere, Arden."

  Now her voice was quieter. Tired.

  She turned sharply, almost violently. Her dress swayed like a pale wave. A few steps—and she vanished around the corner.

  Arden remained where he stood.

  He dragged a palm down his face and let out a quiet breath.

  Fighting enemies was easier than listening to the ones you were trying to protect.

  But he had no intention of backing down.

  Morning brought no relief.

  The inner-wing dining hall greeted him with its usual silence. Tall windows let in soft light; hot dishes and tea were already set on the table.

  Eyra wasn’t there.

  Arden sat without a word.

  Liora lifted her gaze to him. Her golden hair was gathered loosely; a few strands slipped over her shoulders.

  "She needs time," she said quietly.

  Arden clenched his fists under the table.

  Not a flare.

  Control.

  Liora poured him tea.

  "Sometimes a person has to live through their pain alone," she said carefully.

  She didn’t look straight at him. The words were evasive. But there was understanding in her tone—too personal to be accidental.

  Arden sat at the table long after she spoke. His thoughts wouldn’t loosen.

  Eyra’s small spiritual root with three elements meant a limit she’d understood long ago. Foundation Establishment for her was nearly unreachable. This tournament wasn’t a step forward—it was a step toward someone else’s home.

  He turned over options.

  Give her resources? It would raise questions.

  Find a mentor? There was no time.

  Push through the elders? The alliance would still happen.

  No path guaranteed freedom.

  For a moment, a dangerous thought flared—if her root were different…

  He crushed it immediately.

  That wasn’t a human choice.

  But that didn’t make it easier.

  On the way to the training field, the clan looked different.

  Temporary canopies had appeared in the inner courtyards. Merchants displayed rare herbs, talismans, crystals. People in unfamiliar clothes—emblems of vassal houses, the colors of the imperial delegation.

  Whispers followed each step.

  "Fifth stage…"

  "Earth-rank spells…"

  "The prince’s son…"

  Arden felt the looks.

  Appraisal. Comparison.

  The tournament was the clan’s internal affair, but the prince’s visit layered more tension over everything.

  He walked without hurrying.

  And didn’t notice when he ran into someone.

  A light bump. Cloth brushed his arm.

  A girl.

  Violet hair slid over her shoulders. Her veil had shifted slightly. Deep eyes lifted to him.

  She didn’t look offended.

  More… attentive.

  Arden recovered first.

  "Sorry."

  He offered a hand, helped her up.

  Held her gaze for a heartbeat—

  then let it go.

  "I wasn’t watching where I was going."

  She nodded.

  Said nothing.

  But when he walked away, her eyes stayed on his back for a few seconds longer.

  When Arden returned to the estate by the straight path, the sun was already tilting toward sunset. Stone walls warmed to a soft crimson hue, and long shadows stretched across the courtyard.

  He saw them at once.

  By the entrance to the inner yard stood Eyra.

  And facing her—Lucaris.

  Lucaris looked relaxed. Too relaxed for someone else’s grounds. One hand behind his back; the other drifted lazily over the carved pattern of a column. He was smiling—not wide, but enough to be seen.

  He didn’t hide his gaze.

  He was studying Eyra from head to toe. Slowly. Like he was choosing an item.

  Eyra kept her back straight.

  But her shoulders were tense.

  "You’re avoiding me," Lucaris said lightly, almost cheerfully.

  "I had things to do," she answered.

  Her voice was steady. Too steady.

  "So many guests in the clan," he went on. "I decided my future bride should at least accompany me."

  He took a step closer.

  Too close.

  "Come on. Let’s talk without extra ears."

  It wasn’t an invitation.

  It was an order.

  Eyra froze for a moment.

  "Now isn’t the time."

  "For me, it’s always the time."

  He leaned in a little more.

  "I don’t like postponing something pleasant."

  The words were soft.

  But there was no warmth in them.

  He took her by the wrist.

  The motion was natural, practiced—like he already had the right.

  Eyra flinched.

  Not from pain.

  From realization.

  "Let go…"

  Her voice went quieter.

  Lucaris tightened his grip.

  "You’re too nervous. I just want to get to know you better. We’ll be living together, after all."

  At that moment, the space between them changed.

  Arden stepped into it without a sound.

  He didn’t rush.

  Didn’t shout.

  He simply stopped beside them.

  And caught Lucaris’s hand.

  His fingers closed on the imperial heir’s wrist.

  Precise.

  Hard.

  "You’re a guest," Arden said calmly. "The Crimson Moon Clan doesn’t encourage gestures like that."

  Lucaris turned his head.

  First—surprise.

  Then irritation.

  He tried to yank his hand free.

  It didn’t work.

  He pushed harder.

  Muscles tightened.

  His face stayed relaxed.

  But his eyes went colder.

  Arden didn’t change expression.

  He only tightened his grip a fraction.

  Just enough for Lucaris to understand.

  This wasn’t a game.

  For a few seconds they stared at each other.

  Without a word.

  Lucaris looked away first.

  He jerked his hand free only when Arden allowed it.

  "Didn’t really need that," he tossed out with a light smirk. "Your upbringing… strict."

  He flicked at his sleeve as if dust had stuck to it.

  Then he looked at Eyra.

  This time—slower.

  "Don’t worry. I’m patient. We’ll work on your training later."

  The word came out soft, almost tender.

  Which made it worse.

  He turned and left.

  Eyra stood perfectly still.

  Her wrist was still tense.

  Arden released her hand.

  He didn’t look at her immediately.

  First—at Lucaris’s retreating back.

  Only when he disappeared around the corner did Arden turn.

  Silence hung between them.

  Not relieved.

  Taut.

  They walked without speaking.

  First across the yard. Then down the corridor. Stone slabs answered their steps with a dull echo. No servant dared lift their eyes.

  Arden didn’t try to talk.

  Neither did Eyra.

  The dining hall was empty.

  A servant quickly brought tea and vanished, as if he sensed now wasn’t the time to be present.

  Eyra sat first.

  She held the cup with both hands but didn’t drink. She just watched the dark surface of the infusion, where the crystals’ soft light reflected.

  Arden sat opposite.

  He didn’t touch his cup.

  For a few moments, the silence felt denser than stone.

  Finally Eyra inhaled.

  "You shouldn’t have."

  He raised his eyes.

  "Interfered," she clarified.

  Her voice was calm.

  Not offended.

  Not angry.

  "He crossed a line."

  "That’s not for you to decide."

  He wanted to answer.

  But she continued.

  "Even if you cancel this engagement…" Her fingers tightened around the cup. "Another will follow."

  She didn’t look at him.

  "This isn’t the first time they’ve discussed my fate. And it won’t be the last."

  The words sounded almost ordinary.

  That made them heavier.

  "I understand," she added. "You want to protect me."

  She looked him in the eye for the first time.

  And he saw no fear there.

  Resignation.

  Not brokenness.

  Not submission.

  Acceptance.

  "But I was born into this clan not to choose."

  Something clenched inside him.

  Sharp.

  Hot.

  He wanted to say it wasn’t true.

  That she had a right.

  That he wouldn’t allow it.

  But the words stuck.

  Because he knew—she was right.

  Eyra took a slow sip of tea.

  "Don’t make me the reason for conflict," she said softly. "I don’t want to be the cause of a war inside the clan."

  He looked at her.

  And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to say.

  Silence returned.

  But now it was different.

  Heavy.