Chapter 486: The Panic Over Nothing

Every eye around the table shifted away from Alderon and landed squarely on Yerel.

The room held its breath. Emrys leaned forward, his thin fingers trembling slightly against his parchment files, while Orvian watched Yerel with the desperate, wide-eyed hope of a drowning man looking for a lifeline. The anxiety in the council chamber was almost thick enough to taste, a raw, collective dread that the House Valtrane was quietly swallowing the kingdom’s foreign ties whole while the central court sat bound by royal oaths.

Yerel didn’t flinch. He sat back in his seat , looking completely unbothered by the sudden weight of the entire council’s desperation. A smooth, gentle smile rested on his lips, the exact, practiced expression of a gracious, composed heir who had everything under control.

He let the quiet stretch for two long seconds before he finally moved, adjusting the cuffs of his coat.

"My lords, please," Yerel spoke softly, his voice a calm, rich melody that seemed to absorb the tension right out of the room. "There is no need to whip yourselves into a panic over a gesture of diplomatic goodwill."

"With all respect, Your Highness," Emrys interjected hurriedly, his voice strained, "this is far more than goodwill. If Princess Iryna marries Lady Marielle, Solaric will have a direct connection to House Valtrane. They will be able to deal with the North directly instead of going through the Crown! And it isn’t just this betrothal that troubles the council."

Yerel tilted his head, his dark eyebrows lifting with curiosity. "Oh? What else troubles you, Lord Emrys?"

"The recent movements of the Solaric delegation," Orvian chimed in, taking the cue and leaning his thick forearms against the table. "Prince Gillian and Princess Iryna have been seen slipping out of the inner palace gates for two days straight now. They are visiting the lower-district orphanages and charity shelters in the old quarter."

A chorus of low, uneasy mutters broke out among the lower-end councilors.

"Foreign royalty spending so much time among people from the lower districts?" Orvian continued, his brow furrowing deeper. "It is entirely unnatural. Highborn royals do not spend hours sitting in damp orphanages unless there is an underlying motive. They are gathering intelligence, or worse, cultivating popular favor among our common folk right under our noses!"

"It is highly suspicious," another elder minister agreed sharply. "Why would they show such sudden, intense concern for our people? If Solaric gains the support of both the Northern nobles and the people of the capital, their influence in Auzelian will grow far beyond what it is now."

Yerel let out a quiet, genuine chuckle. It was a light, friendly sound that caught the ministers completely off guard.

"Lord Orvian, Lord Emrys," Yerel said smoothly, placing his palms flat on the table as he leaned forward slightly, looking around the room with an expression of warm, patient amusement. "You speak as though our guests are shadowy conspirators rather than visitors attempting to navigate a foreign court."

"Your Highness, we must be cautious..." Emrys began, but Yerel raised a single hand, stopping the minister without ever raising his voice.

"I spoke with Prince Gillian directly just yesterthis day morning," Yerel said, his tone entirely relaxed, as if sharing pleasant gossip over afternoon tea. "He was personally overseeing the supplies being sent to the lower district. He explained his actions quite clearly."

The ministers went quiet, hanging on every word.

"Prince Gillian managed his empire’s border relief funds for years before coming to Auzelian," Yerel continued, his voice smooth and steady. "He simply finds sitting idly in palace luxury boring. He enjoys seeing how ordinary people live, and he wished to offer a token of charity to help those in need as a gesture of appreciation for my father’s hospitality."

Yerel smiled warmly at Emrys. "Is a foreign prince offering free blankets and food to our orphanages a crime, my lord? Or should we arrest him for saving the royal treasury a few silver coins before the winter frost hits?"

A small, nervous ripple of laughter passed through two of the younger councilors at the far end of the table. Emrys’s face flushed a dull red, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for a logical counterargument to the prince’s effortless charm.

"Consider the grander picture, my lords," Yerel added, his tone softening as he spoke, making his words sound more like reassurance than an argument. "Solaric wishes to solidify peace after decades of border friction. By permitting Princess Iryna’s betrothal to Lady Marielle, we can honor her choice without involving the royal family in the arrangement. The Crown has already given its word, and there is no reason to create another royal match when Princess Iryna has made her wishes clear."

He sat back, resting his hands comfortably in his lap. "House Valtrane has guarded our northern border for generations. To view their success as a threat to the throne is to doubt the stability of Auzelian itself. We are in complete control of this court. Let our guests perform their charity, let the betrothal talks proceed, and let us handle foreign diplomacy with the quiet dignity our people expect from us."

The chamber fell into a calm, settled quiet. The sharp, paranoid edge that had gripped the ministers ten minutes ago had completely dissolved, smoothed over by Yerel’s calm logic and poise.

Orvian let out a slow breath, his tense shoulders visibly relaxing. "If Your Highness is truly confident in their intentions..."

"I am confident in the strength of our empire," Yerel replied effortlessly, offering the room a serene smile.

At the head of the table, Alderon let out a dry, low hum. "Then the matter is settled. All that remains is to wait for Lady Marielle’s answer."

The ministers stood up one by one, bowing deeply to the King and Prince before gathering their documents and filing out through the doors, their hushed conversations now much lighter and less panicked.

Standing like a dark statue three paces behind Yerel’s chair, Karson kept his face utterly stoic as his eyes followed the departing ministers. His hands rested firmly near his belt, his pulse steady, but beneath his armor, his chest felt heavy.

He had watched the entire performance from start to finish. He had listened to Yerel talk about the orphanage crates, the blankets, and Gillian’s "charity" with such effortless, disarming charm that even the most paranoid ministers in the realm had walked out feeling completely at ease.

Yerel turned slightly in his chair, glancing over his shoulder at his head guard. His expression was still smooth and pleasant, his eyes sparkling with quiet satisfaction.

"You see, Karson?" Yerel murmured softly, his voice low enough that only the soldier could hear over the rustle of the room. "Old men always panic over shadows. All it takes is a calm voice to remind them who truly holds the reins."

Karson bowed his head respectfully. "A brilliant display, Your Highness."

Yerel let out a satisfied hum as he rose from his seat and straightened his coat, seemingly convinced that everything was under control.