Rivena remained still, her posture relaxed, her expression composed enough to pass as disinterest.
Outwardly, she gave nothing away. Inwardly, she was already moving pieces.
She had more than enough strength to be granted a territory of her own. No one in the room truly doubted that. If she had wanted one, she could have made a case for it. She could have pushed, demanded recognition, framed it as entitlement earned through blood and capability.
But that had never been what drove her.
Power, in isolation, bored her. Administration, titles, the weight of land and names attached to it—those were tools, not goals. Useful only insofar as they served something larger.
Her gaze drifted briefly toward her father, then away again. It seems Father is trying to avoid an internal war. That's the logical move. And shifting the focus away from Trafalgar after revealing his talent… very smart, Daddy.'
The thought settled easily.
