The banquet hall shimmered under thousands of golden lights.
Crystal chandeliers, soft music, the scent of rare spices and polished wood — all the makings of a perfect, prestigious evening.
But even with all the glitter, the air still buzzed with the tension Aren's outburst had left behind.
Nobles whispered behind gloved hands.
Courtiers stared openly as the Vale family passed.
Some with awe.
Some with terror.
Some with new, sharpened interest.
Yet Aren walked through them as if they were no more significant than a breeze.
Selene at his side, calm and radiant.
Mira holding his hand, a tiny proud smile on her face.
Elara, gripping the hem of her mother's dress, shooting curious glances around.
When they reached their assigned table — a place of high honor close to the Emperor's own — Aren let Mira climb onto his lap, much to her delight.
Selene chuckled softly and settled beside him.
The others took their seats with varying emotions.
Lyra sat almost mechanically at first, her hands trembling slightly in her lap.
Her husband placed a steadying hand over hers, squeezing gently.
Her eyes burned, overwhelmed by what had just happened — not from fear, but from the storm of emotion swelling inside her.
Her father — that indomitable, legendary figure — had thrown the entire court into chaos just to protect her.
Without hesitation. Without apology.
For her.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she wiped them quickly away, laughing under her breath at herself.
Mira noticed and hugged her, and Lyra hugged her daughter tightly in return.
Darian sat across from them, smiling faintly. But underneath, turmoil brewed.
He raised a goblet to his lips, not even tasting the wine.
Was he worthy of this?
Was he truly strong enough to stand at the head of House Vale?
Tonight had shown the raw truth.
In the face of insult, it hadn't been him — the new Grand Duke — who had protected their family.
It had been his father, the man who once shook empires with his will.
A deep, ugly voice whispered inside him:
You're not enough.
He set the goblet down harder than intended, drawing a glance from his wife, who touched his arm softly.
Darian inhaled, then forced himself to stand.
He walked to Aren's side, cleared his throat awkwardly, and said — not loudly, but with a conviction he had rarely allowed himself to voice:
"Father. I..."
He hesitated.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"I want to say that... I'm grateful. For what you did. For protecting Lyra, all of us."
He swallowed.
"But I also want you to know," Darian continued, his voice roughening, "that I will not allow myself to rely on your shadow forever. I will protect this family. I may not be there yet — but I swear it. Even if I have doubts, even if I stumble— I won't stop trying. You won't always need to step in for me."
Aren met his son's gaze quietly for a long moment.
Then he smiled — a small, rare smile filled with deep pride.
"You're already enough, Darian," Aren said simply. "You always were."
Something in Darian's chest cracked and healed at once. He sat back down, breathing easier than he had in months.
Meanwhile, Mira and Elara had drawn attention of a very different sort.
Several noble ladies nearby cooed and fawned over them, enchanted by their pretty dresses and bright eyes.
"Oh, they're precious!"
"Look at her little hairpins — are those moonstones?"
"And the younger one — such a clever gaze!"
Mira blushed, hiding her face against Aren's chest, while Elara tried valiantly to maintain her usual reserved expression, only to break into tiny shy smiles when praised.
Aren watched them both, one hand resting protectively around Mira's small back, the other gently tousling Elara's hair whenever she dared peek up at him.
Their laughter and joy became like small candles against the heavy formality of the banquet.
It was during this lighter moment that the Crown Prince approached.
Young, clearly nervous, he bowed deeply to Aren first — an action that caused many gasps from the surrounding nobles.
Then, turning to Lyra and the family as a whole, he spoke:
"I humbly offer my sincerest apologies to House Vale," he said, voice steady despite the clear fear behind his eyes.
"I... I am new to the duties of issuing invitations. I followed etiquette too rigidly, and in doing so, I overlooked matters of heart and honor that no rulebook can teach."
He bowed again, even deeper this time, until his forehead almost touched his knees.
"It was my mistake, and my fault alone. I ask your forgiveness. I swear on my name that this will never happen again."
The hall, which had begun buzzing again with gossip, fell silent once more.
Nobles strained to hear, to see.
Lyra, overwhelmed again, stared at him speechless.
Her husband nodded gravely.
Selene offered a gracious smile.
Aren — after a long, heavy moment — inclined his head slightly.
"No harm done," he said, though the quiet weight of his voice made it clear: there would be no second mistakes.
The Crown Prince straightened, relief flooding his face, and bowed one final time before retreating.
The evening continued.
Food was served — dishes so exquisite they almost seemed unreal.
Music resumed, cautious at first but growing bolder.
Nobles began to breathe again, though many still darted fearful glances toward the Vale family's table.
Mira and Elara chattered happily.
Lyra, now smiling fully, laughed with them.
Darian sat a little straighter, a little prouder.
And Aren... Aren watched them all, a storm still coiled in his heart.
Tonight, he had reminded the world:
His family was not to be touched.
His family would not be forgotten.
And if they tried again — he would be ready.
But for now, he let himself drink in the sight of them — safe, happy, together under the gilded lights.
For now, that was enough.