Chapter 382: The Duke’s Lack of Appetite

"You know, this cake is surprisingly decent," Gillian said, taking a small bite before dabbing the corner of his mouth with a crisp linen napkin. "The baker used real mountain berries for the preserve. A rare touch for the royal kitchens."

Across the sprawling reception room, Zarius didn’t even turn around. He remained standing near the high window, his broad shoulders squared, gazing out at the vast stone courtyards below.

Zarius couldn’t care less about the prince’s tea, the cake, or the delicate, eggshell-thin porcelain cups Gillian was leisurely enjoying. His mind was entirely fixated on the absurd political maneuver that had been pulled on him earlier that morning without so much as a whisper of warning.

In a quiet, pragmatic sense, Zarius supposed he should feel a fleeting sense of relief that the Crown’s endless, suffocating marriage negotiations weren’t currently being pushed onto him. His own position was firmly set, his bond with Cherion clear and absolute to anyone with eyes in the capital.

But his sister? Marielle was a different story entirely. House Valtrane’s high commander was not a pawn to be casually slid across a diplomatic chessboard just to appease a restless royal council.

Turning away from the tall glass panes, Zarius abandoned all formal court pleasantries.

"What is the royal family’s true game here, Gillian?" Zarius asked, his eyes narrowing as he locked his gaze onto the Solaric princess’s brother. "Iryna’s sudden, public push to betroth herself to Marielle isn’t just a casual whim. What are you actually planning behind closed doors?"

Zarius mentally retraced the frustrating events of the past hour. The moment their grueling audience with the King had finally concluded, Iryna had offered a graceful, perfectly timed excuse, claiming she had an urgent, scheduled appointment with the High Priest to monitor her lingering recovery, and smoothly slipped out of the room like silk through fingers. Her departure had left Zarius stranded in this private reception parlor, trapped in an unscheduled, unsolicited ’informal chat’ with Gillian.

Gillian set his silver fork down onto the porcelain plate with a soft clink. The playful, easygoing aura he usually wore around the court relaxed slightly, replaced by the weary look of a royal brother who had spent the entire morning putting out diplomatic fires.

"If you’re asking whether I orchestrated this whole circus, the answer is an emphatic no," Gillian said plainly, leaning back against the high, velvet cushions of his armchair. "I’ve been trying to reason with Iryna from the second she brought this up right up until this morning. I explicitly told her to think carefully before dropping a formal, binding proposal for Marielle right into the middle of delicate peace treaty negotiations."

Gillian gave a dry, helpless little smile, shaking his head as he poured himself another splash of hot tea. "But Iryna is not an easy sister to deal with, Zarius. Surely I don’t need to explain that to you. You of all people should understand what it’s like trying to command a headstrong woman, your sister and mine are practically cut from the exact same cloth."

Zarius’s jaw tightened, the muscle twitching slightly beneath his skin. He knew Gillian wasn’t lying about that much. Marielle and Iryna both possessed a stubborn streak that could flatten an entire armored battalion if they set their minds to a task. Neither of them took orders easily, especially when it came to their own personal futures and political destinies.

"It isn’t just about her stubbornness, Gillian," Zarius said, taking a slow step toward the table, his presence immediately filling the room with an undeniable weight. "It is about the precedent it sets. A marriage proposal of this scale, tossed into open court without consulting the head of House Valtrane, looks less like a union and more like a hostile political maneuver."

Gillian let out a long, quiet breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I know how it looks. And I know how your northern lords are going to react when the news reaches the border. They’ll think the capital is trying to leash your command by tying your sister to a royal princess. But I swear to you, Iryna’s motives aren’t coming from the King’s cabinet. She acted entirely on her own authority."

"Which makes it even more dangerous," Zarius countered flatly. "An unpredictable royal with her own agenda is far harder to manage than a calculating king."

Noticing the suffocating political tension settling heavily over the room, Gillian leaned back farther into his chair, forcing his shoulders to relax. A familiar grin stretched across his face, his eyes glinting with a flash of unapologetic, mischievous amusement as he attempted to break the dark mood.

"Besides, are you really so fiercely opposed to the alliance, stern Northern Duke?" Gillian teased, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he looked up at Zarius. "Think about the grander picture for just a moment. Put aside the treaty clauses and the court politics. If this marriage actually goes through, it means you and I will officially become brothers-in-law."

Gillian let out a soft, theatrical laugh, spreading his hands wide open in mock celebration. "Isn’t the thought of being my brother just thrilling, Zarius?"

Zarius gave him absolutely nothing. The joke had landed, rolled across the room, and completely died at his feet.

"I am not in the mood for jokes, Gillian," Zarius said flatly, his voice dropping an octave into a low, dangerous register that made the quiet room feel smaller. "Let me make one thing absolute clear to the Crown, House Valtrane will never force Marielle into a political sacrifice simply to patch up the royal family’s delicate peace treaties or smooth over your kingdom’s internal factions. If Marielle refuses this proposal, the matter is closed. I will shut it down myself, regardless of what His Majesty thinks."

Gillian’s smile faded completely, the playful bantering vanishing as his posture shifted into something far more grounded. He looked at Zarius, his posture settling into something deeply serious, nodding his head slowly in understanding.

"I know," Gillian said, his tone entirely sincere now. "And frankly, I agree with you completely. A forced match between two women of that caliber would be a disaster for both our houses. The last thing this realm needs is a bitter commander and a resentful princess tethered together by royal decree. Marielle and Iryna need to sit down and discuss this properly, face-to-face. They need to weigh the actual benefits, the political fallout, and what they both actually want out of it, without the King, the council, or the court breathing down their necks."

Gillian paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the air between them for a long moment. He set his teacup back down, the delicate porcelain ringing faintly against the tray.

Then, as if a light switch had been flipped, the prince let out a short, airy sigh and pushed himself up from the velvet armchair, smoothing out the front of his royal tunic.

Walking over to where Zarius stood like a statuesque guard, Gillian raised a hand and clapped the Northern Duke firmly on the shoulder, giving it a rough, friendly shake that would have knocked a lesser man off balance.

"Now, stop glaring at me like I just personally insulted your entire ancestral lineage," Gillian said with a chuckle, gesturing back toward the untouched spread on the low table. "Come over here and eat the cake with me before I abandon my royal manners entirely and devour the rest of it myself."

Zarius closed his eyes for a single, long-suffering second. He looked back at Gillian.

He was almost certain the entire royal family was unhinged, but watching Gillian practically vibrate with happiness over baked goods was at least marginally less exhausting than discussing political betrothals.