Chapter 25
It had been one week since Regulus Voss ceased to be Governor of Ambervale.
He found the distinction deeply offensive.
The estate had not changed.
The servants still moved with the same quiet efficiency. Meals were still prepared at the proper hours. The gardens—his gardens—remained as meticulously maintained as ever. The city beyond still functioned, irritatingly well, as though his absence had not plunged it into immediate decline.
Which, in his opinion, it should have.
Instead, the days had simply… lengthened.
Regulus sat in his private sitting room with a book open in one hand and a small stack of household documents laid out beside him. He had attempted, earlier that morning, to apply himself to both.
He had failed with both.
The book had not been read.
The documents had not been reviewed.
He turned a page anyway, more out of principle than engagement.
The title meant nothing to him.
That, too, was offensive.
He had not been a man accustomed to idle time. Even when he had not been working, there had always been the appearance of work, which was, in many respects, nearly as important. Now—
Now there was simply time.
Too much of it.
And entirely unsupervised.
Regulus frowned at the page as though it had personally wronged him.
A knock sounded at the door.
He did not look up immediately.
“Yes.”
The door opened.
A servant stepped in, composed but carrying just enough tension to suggest something had disrupted the natural order of the morning.
“My lord.”
Regulus sighed inwardly.
If this was another minor household matter—
“His Highness, Prince Valerius, has come to call.”
Regulus froze.
Not outwardly.
Outwardly, he remained seated, one hand resting lightly on the open book, his expression controlled.
Internally—
What?!
That was the entirety of it.
The Crown Prince.
Here.
Again.
Regulus closed the book slowly.
This was not ideal.
This was, in fact, the opposite of ideal.
The investigation had concluded—or as near to concluded as such matters ever came. The auditors had taken over. The formal consequences had already been delivered. There was no further reason for the Crown Prince to be making personal visits to his estate.
Unless—
Regulus stood.
Unless there was.
A second thought followed immediately after.
What did I miss?
He set the book aside with deliberate care and straightened his coat.
“Receive him properly,” he said.
“Yes, my lord.”
The servant withdrew at once.
Regulus exhaled once, sharply, and adjusted his cuffs.
Very well.
If this was to be another conversation of consequence, he would meet it as he always had—with composure, dignity, and just enough restraint not to appear defensive.
He stepped into the main receiving room moments later, posture set, expression neutral.
Valerius was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood near the tall windows, light falling across him in clean lines, his presence as composed and immovable as ever. There was nothing in his expression to suggest urgency, displeasure, or even particular interest.
Which made this worse.
Regulus approached and bowed. “Your Highness.”
“Lord Voss.”
The exchange was formal.
Measured.
Entirely unhelpful.
Regulus gestured toward the seating. “Please.”
Valerius took the offered seat without hesitation. Regulus followed, settling across from him with controlled precision.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Regulus waited.
If this was to be another matter of state, it would reveal itself shortly.
Valerius did not rush.
He regarded Regulus with that same steady, assessing gaze that had, over the past weeks, dismantled more than one carefully constructed illusion. Then he said, “I’ve come on a personal matter.”
Regulus’s mind went completely blank.
That was new.
Personal.
The word did not belong here.
Not in this room. Not in this context. Not with the Crown Prince seated across from him.
Regulus folded his hands. “I see.”
He did not.
Valerius continued, tone unchanged. “I intend to formally court your daughter.”
There was a pause.
A very long pause.
Regulus looked at him.
Valerius looked back.
Nothing in his expression suggested he had misspoken.
Regulus’s thoughts attempted, briefly, to reorganize themselves into something coherent.
They did not succeed.
“…Your Highness?” he asked at last.
That was, unfortunately, all he had.
Valerius did not assist him.
Regulus tried again. “You mean…”
He stopped.
There was, in fact, only one interpretation.
“…Lynara.”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Of course he meant Lynara.
Regulus leaned back slightly in his chair.
This was… unexpected.
No—that was insufficient.
This was impossible.
And yet the Crown Prince sat before him, calm, composed, and entirely certain, which suggested that whatever this was, it was neither a jest nor a passing inclination.
Regulus studied him carefully.
There was no mockery.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
This was real.
Regulus inhaled slowly.
Very well.
If this was real, then it required a proper response.
“You intend,” he said, choosing each word with care, “to pursue a formal courtship.”
“Yes.”
“In earnest.”
“Yes.”
Regulus nodded once.
That, at least, was consistent.
He allowed himself a moment to consider the implications.
His daughter.
Lynara.
The Crown Prince.
The same daughter who had, over the past months, overturned half his assumptions, reorganized portions of his city, spent alarming amounts of money with unnerving confidence, and somehow emerged from the recent crisis not diminished, but… elevated.
Regulus’s gaze shifted, briefly, toward the window.
Everbloom Garden.
He had visited it, of course.
He had seen what she had built.
Not fully understood it—but had seen it.
And others had seen it too.
They spoke of it.
Admired it.
Visited it.
Stayed.
A slow, unfamiliar sensation moved through him.
Not pride.
Not exactly.
Something adjacent to it.
Something steadier.
He looked back at Valerius.
“If Your Highness is sincere in this intention,” he said, voice steady now, “you have my permission to proceed.”
There it was.
Said properly. Given properly.
Valerius inclined his head slightly. “I am.”
Regulus exhaled once, quietly.
Well.
That was settled.
He paused, then added, with a faint tightening at the corner of his mouth, “She will, of course… require proper handling.”
Valerius did not miss the implication. “I’m aware.”
Regulus believed him.
That did not make it less concerning.
A brief silence followed—less strained now, though no less significant.
Valerius rose.
Regulus stood with him.
“I will bring appropriate gifts,” Valerius said.
Regulus nodded at once. “Of course.”
That, at least, was entirely correct.
Valerius adjusted his cuff once, the movement precise. “I will return to formally announce my intentions.”
Regulus inclined his head. “I will ensure the household is prepared.”
That, too, was correct.
The moment passed.
Valerius turned and moved toward the door, his presence leaving the room with the same controlled ease with which it had entered.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Regulus remained standing.
For several seconds, he did not move.
Then, slowly, he sat.
The room felt different.
Not larger. Not smaller.
Just—altered.
Regulus leaned back and stared at nothing in particular. “The Crown Prince,” he said aloud.
It sounded no more reasonable spoken out loud than it had unspoken.
He exhaled.
Once.
Then again.
His gaze shifted toward the window.
Toward the direction of the garden.
“Lynara,” he said.
This time, something like a smile touched briefly at the corner of his mouth.
Faint. Unsteady. But real.
“Well,” he murmured. “That explains… something.”
It did not, in fact, explain anything.
But it was the closest he was likely to get.
And, for the first time in a week, Regulus Voss did not find himself entirely dissatisfied with the direction of events