The dining hall was already occupied when we arrived.
My father sat at the center of the long table speaking quietly with several council members while servants moved carefully between them refilling glasses and arranging breakfast.
And beside them—
Duke Ephraim.
The kingdom's lawyer.
The moment his eyes landed on me, his expression brightened immediately.
"Lady Seraphina."
His voice carried easily across the hall as he stood from his seat.
I barely noticed the guards at first.
Not until I stepped further inside.
Then I saw it.
Too many.
Positioned near the walls. Near the pillars. Near the exits.
Alert.
Watching.
Not openly threatening. But ready.
My chest tightened slightly before I forced myself to remain calm.
Behind me, Draven walked in silence wearing the same black mask and dark clothing as always.
Raphael.
Nothing more.
At least publicly.
Ephraim crossed the room quickly before I could even reach my chair.
"You look healthier already," he said warmly. "The North nearly became unbearable without you."
I smiled politely. "That sounds exaggerated."
"It isn't," he replied smoothly. "Half the estate became painfully dull."
That made a small laugh escape me.
And immediately—
I felt it.
That subtle shift in atmosphere behind me.
I glanced slightly sideways.
Draven hadn't spoken. Hadn't moved.
But his jaw had tightened.
Just slightly.
And one gloved hand behind his back had slowly clenched into a fist.
Oh.
Oh, that was interesting.
Ephraim either didn't notice… or deliberately pretended not to.
"I was beginning to think the South kidnapped you permanently," he continued lightly while pulling my chair out for me himself.
The moment his hand brushed briefly against mine—
the air behind me turned cold.
Not visibly. Not loudly.
But enough for me to notice.
Draven's posture hadn't changed at all.
Which somehow made it worse.
I sat carefully while hiding the smile threatening to appear.
Because this— this genuinely looked like jealousy.
God.
Ephraim finally returned to his seat across from us while the servants continued arranging food.
My father watched the interaction quietly.
Too quietly.
Like he was measuring reactions instead of listening to conversation.
Testing.
And suddenly— I understood.
This wasn't flirting.
Or rather—
not entirely.
Ephraim was pushing boundaries deliberately.
Watching Draven.
Waiting.
To see whether the masked man beside me would react like a bodyguard—
or like Duke Draven Everfrost himself.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Breakfast began quietly at first.
Then one of the older council members sighed heavily while setting down his cup.
"The South has become increasingly arrogant lately."
Another nodded. "Especially Duke Draven."
Ephraim leaned back slightly in his chair.
"I heard southern military influence expanded again near the western territories."
My father scoffed lightly. "The South survives because people fear one man."
And finally—
Draven spoke.
Calmly.
"They survive because they're competent."
Silence fell immediately.
Several gazes shifted toward him.
Ephraim rested his chin lightly against his hand, watching carefully now.
My father looked irritated already. "You speak confidently for a wandering mercenary."
Draven leaned back slightly against the chair behind me.
"Confidence isn't difficult when discussing obvious things."
God.
I lowered my gaze quickly toward my cup.
Because I could already feel where this was going.
One council member frowned. "You think the South is superior to the North?"
Draven tilted his head slightly.
"I think the North wastes time pretending superiority while the South sharpens itself quietly."
The insult landed hard.
Several men stiffened immediately.
My father's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful."
But Draven continued anyway.
"The North has resources," he said calmly. "Land. Political reach." A pause. "But your military structure is weak."
Murmurs immediately spread across the table.
One advisor scoffed. "Ridiculous."
"No," Draven corrected smoothly. "Predictable."
Silence again.
Even Ephraim looked interested now.
Draven rested one arm lazily against the chair while speaking like this conversation bored him entirely.
"Your soldiers follow status before skill," he continued. "Your commanders compete against each other instead of thinking collectively." His fingers tapped once lightly against the wood beside him. "And your council spends more time talking about power than maintaining it."
Every sentence hit harder than the last.
I bit the inside of my cheek immediately because my father looked absolutely furious now.
And somehow—
that only made this funnier.
One council member spoke sharply, "You're criticizing the entire North in front of its rulers."
"Yes," Draven replied simply.
God.
I almost laughed.
Ephraim suddenly smiled then.
Slowly.
Like he'd finally found the reaction he wanted.
Because throughout all of this—
Draven still hadn't once lost control emotionally.
Not openly.
But I noticed it.
Every single time Ephraim addressed me directly—
the slight clench in Draven's fist returned.
Every time I smiled—
his jaw tightened faintly beneath the mask.
Subtle.
Controlled.
Jealous.
And somehow— that realization was becoming dangerously entertaining to me.
The tension around the table had become almost unbearable.
Every council member looked somewhere between offended and deeply uncomfortable while Draven sat there completely relaxed beside me, dismantling the North piece by piece with effortless calm.
"The council spends more time preserving pride than preserving strength," he continued lazily.
"Which explains why the South keeps advancing while the North debates titles."
One older advisor looked ready to collapse from outrage.
My father's expression had darkened long ago.
Yet somehow—
Draven still looked bored.
I finally exhaled softly before glancing toward my father with mock sympathy.
"Father," I said lightly, "perhaps you should allow Raphael to breathe."
The moment the words left my mouth, several council members nearly choked.
Because the truth was painfully obvious.
Raphael wasn't the one suffocating in this room.
He was the reason nobody else could breathe properly.
My father shot me a sharp look before leaning back heavily into his chair.
His gaze shifted slowly toward the silver ring resting against Draven's gloved hand.
Immediately, the atmosphere changed again.
Colder.
"Irritatingly," my father muttered darkly, "every time I look at that ring, I remember my enemy."
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
"I remember Draven Everfrost."
My pulse slowed slightly.
And then—
without hesitation—
Draven finished the sentence for him.
"Your failure."
The words landed softly.
Lazily.
But they hit harder than shouting ever could.
The entire table froze.
My father slowly looked up.
Dangerous.
Absolutely dangerous.
Even the servants had stopped moving entirely now.
For one long second, nobody breathed.
Then my father spoke.
"Guards."
The word cracked sharply through the room.
Several guards immediately stepped forward.
"Take him," my father ordered coldly. "Throw him into the prison."
The room erupted into tension instantly.
But Draven—
Draven didn't move.
Didn't even stand.
He simply turned his head slightly toward the guards approaching him.
And smiled beneath the mask.
"You should think carefully before touching me," he said calmly.
The guards hesitated immediately.
Draven leaned back further into the chair.
"If even one finger lands on me," he continued softly, "you'll repay it with your lives."
The temperature in the room dropped instantly.
Because he didn't sound threatening.
He sounded certain.
The guards stopped completely.
None of them moved closer.
Not one.
I saw it happen in real time—
fear.
Actual fear.
One guard instinctively stepped backward.
Another looked uncertainly toward my father instead.
And suddenly—
my father looked humiliated.
His jaw clenched so hard I thought he might actually explode.
Then violently—
he shoved his chair backward.
The harsh screech echoed across the dining hall.
Several servants flinched immediately.
My father stood abruptly before slamming one hand against the table hard enough to rattle the dishes.
"Cowards," he hissed.
But the guards still didn't touch Draven.
Not one of them.
My father looked furious enough to kill someone.
Then finally—
he turned away sharply and began walking out of the dining hall, one hand shoved into his pocket while the other tightened at his side.
Right before disappearing through the doors—
his eyes cut toward me.
Cold. Sharp.
A warning.
Be ready. You're coming with me.
Then he left.
And somehow—
the silence afterward felt even worse.
Slowly, I pushed my chair back.
My father's warning glance still lingered in my mind.
Be ready.
I already knew what that meant.
Questions. Pressure. Suspicion.
And judging by the fury on his face— this conversation would not be pleasant.
I stood carefully from my seat.
The moment I turned toward the doors—
a hand caught my wrist.
Firm.
Immediate.
My breath stalled slightly.
Draven still hadn't risen from his chair.
He remained seated lazily beside the table, one arm resting against the armrest while the other held my wrist with quiet strength.
The movement itself wasn't violent.
But it stopped me completely.
The entire hall noticed.
Several council members immediately stiffened.
And near the doorway—
my father stopped walking.
Slowly, he turned back.
The atmosphere sharpened instantly.
Draven finally lifted his gaze toward him.
Calm. Unbothered. Dangerously steady.
Then—
without releasing my wrist—
he spoke.
"She goes nowhere."