Chương 234: 40. Royal Capital Latpan 3

The walk to the Twilight Audience Hall was quieter than I'd expected. Not empty — there were attendants, guards, functionaries on duty along the way. But not one of them looked twice. Not one of them spoke out of turn. Footsteps, the swish of cloaks, the faint clink of metal — all of it felt as though the city had trained the very echoes in this place to know their proper bounds. The corridor was absurdly high.

Black stone pillars marched along both sides, coiled with carved dragon motifs, every head turned inward — ancient eyes funneling every line of sight toward the far end. Narrow, high windows sliced the morning light into cold white bands that fell across the floor, turning the path beneath my feet into a single line of alternating light and shadow that led only forward. I understood, then, why this was called the Twilight Audience Hall. Not because it looked like dusk.

Because anyone who walked in here left the lighter parts of their life outside, first. My guide stopped before a pair of towering doors and stepped aside. The doors didn't open immediately. For that brief instant, I very ignobly remembered Hans' last piece of advice: Don't play dumb.... Excellent. Deputy Head, your parting gift is currently echoing extremely enthusiastically in my head. The doors swung inward. No heralds. No elaborate announcement. Just a heavier quiet bleeding out from the gap. I stepped through.

The first person I saw wasn't the one on the throne. It was Ignicia. She'd changed. Gone was the armor from the harbor, blackened with soot and ash. In its place was the deep red and black-gold of an inner-court formal ensemble — less metal, shorter cloak, cleaner lines. Precisely because there was less, it framed her more sharply. Her shoulders were cut harder. Her cloak was trimmed closer. Her red hair was bound more cleanly, black horns catching a dull shine from the hall's firelight.

She stood at the throne's side like a blade that had just come out of the quench: cooled down, but still too hot to touch. She saw me too. Her gaze flicked over, just for a moment. No reassurance. No hints. No don't be afraid or any other luxury we no longer had. Just that brief, steady look that said: Stand up straight. Don't shame me.... That, I could understand. I took one more step, and finally saw the man on the throne. Albatros Dracunia.

I'd thought that after meeting Ignicia, seeing Lei Lian, and walking through everything I had on the way here, I'd have some frame of reference for what the word Emperor meant. I'd been wrong. There are a few things you cannot actually prepare for by thinking about them in advance, no matter how vividly you imagine them beforehand. He didn't tower over the hall. He wasn't drowning the room in some cartoonish aura designed to blow people off their feet. He simply sat there.

And because he sat there, the entire hall knew exactly where its center of gravity was. Black, dark red, and twilight gold wove through his imperial uniform, pulling his frame in tight. His hair fell long over his shoulders, the deep, burnished red of copper steeped in dusk. The pair of black obsidian horns sweeping back from his temples curled in a shape not far from a crown, catching the firelight along their edges in a faint line of gold — two silent verdicts rendered in bone and stone.

But it was the eyes that did it. Not rage. Not a killing glint. Not even a deliberate attempt to press down on me. They simply looked. Calmly. Calm enough that, in an instant, I understood why Hans had said not to try playing stupid. Because playing dumb in front of these eyes would be like pouring water straight into a volcano — pointless, and proof of nothing except that something was fundamentally wrong with my head. I walked to the proper spot and bowed.

"Cedric, member of the Eckhaus delegation, pays his respects to Your Majesty, the Emperor." Albatros did not, at once, tell me to rise. He didn't look at me first. His gaze went to Ignicia. It wasn't simply the look of a father seeing his daughter come home safely. Or rather — not only that. That single glance took in her injuries, weighed her exhaustion, checked her posture and her breathing, and carried something else I couldn't quite name — something that was certainly not mere sentiment.

It looked more like a king confirming exactly how far his most important flame had burned, and what it had cost. Meeting that gaze, Ignicia's spine didn't relax by a fraction. After two breaths, Albatros finally spoke.

"Raise your head." I did. Only then did his eyes settle fully on me.

"The Yanxia detour. Whose decision was it to change course?" I steadied myself and answered.

"The initial course correction came from a compromise between battlefield intelligence and a judgment call on the sea route. What followed after that was driven by circumstances converging from multiple directions. It wasn't any single person's decision."

"During the forced landing — who lost control of the situation first?"

"... Not Her Highness." I paused, then told it straight.

"It was the situation itself. Forcing the air route any further at that point would only have meant both of us crashing harder." He showed no satisfaction at that answer. No displeasure, either. He simply continued.

"The tiered abandonment of the Port of Isca Apubra. Who first proposed that approach?"

"Her Highness Ignicia set the strategy. Lei Lian executed it. The Harbor Defense Commander bought time with a night raid on the outer sea. As for myself—" I considered the phrasing.

"I performed some rather undignified supplementary work." The corner of Ignicia's eye moved, almost imperceptibly. I suspected she wanted to say: your self-assessment is, for once, entirely accurate. Albatros said, flatly:"Drake Tower's abandonment. You were present."

"I was."

"The final detonation of the harbor's main warehouses and supply zones. You were present for that as well."

"... Yes."

"And you are currently alive."

"That does appear to be the case at present, Your Majesty." The words were out of my mouth before I fully registered I'd said them. I would very much have liked to take them back. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Unfortunately, speech doesn't come with a reverse gear. A beat of silence passed through the hall. Ignicia finally spoke, her tone dropping several degrees.

"Cedric." It wasn't loud. But the meaning underneath it — do not have an episode in here — came through with perfect clarity. I lowered my head at once.

"My apologies." Albatros watched me without reproach, only slowly resting his right hand on the arm of the throne.

"You hold your ground better than I expected." I couldn't read praise or condemnation in that line. So I didn't try to guess.

"I've finished with the formal questions," he said. The air in the hall seemed to press down a fraction more. Not because of volume. Because I understood that the part that actually mattered was only just beginning. Albatros's voice remained level — as level as someone reading from a record they had already reviewed in full.

"During the Yanxia affair, you did two things a mortal should never do to the imperial blood of Dracunia." The nerve along my spine, which had never fully relaxed to begin with, pulled taut on the spot. Here it comes.

"First," he said.

"You touched her reverse scale." The hall was so quiet that breathing itself felt like an intrusion.

"Second. You shared a night under the same roof." I suddenly understood, with great clarity, exactly why some people develop a sincere urge to simply cease existing in the middle of a formal occasion. Because as long as you're alive, moments like this eventually find you. And the worst part was that he hadn't gotten a single word wrong. Ignicia finally took half a step forward.

"Father—" Albatros didn't raise his voice. He didn't look at her. But that half-step stopped dead where it was.

"I know," he said quietly. Three words. Heavier than any rebuke could have been. He turned to her at last, the look brief and precise.

"I know it was with your permission." At that, I watched Ignicia's fingertips curl inward, just slightly. Not guilt. More like the particular tension of someone who has been seen through completely, forcing the reaction back down by will alone. Albatros's gaze returned to me.

"So I am not asking her."

"I am asking you." Standing there, it occurred to me that surviving this far probably did involve a nontrivial amount of luck. A reasonable person, ending up in a situation like this, would have had to miss a great many perfectly sensible chances to turn back. And yet, here I was. Albatros's tone stayed calm.

"If a mortal only watches dragonfire from a distance, there is no offense in it. If he merely shelters beneath it, that is not necessarily a crime either."

"But if he touches what should not be touched, draws near what should not be approached, lets her bend her own lines for him, lets her change for his sake — and then tries to step back with a mortal's careless disregard, as though none of it will hold him to anything—" He paused. No threat. No flash of anger. He simply finished the sentence.

"Then it is fitting that he be cleansed with fire." My throat went dry for a moment. Not from trembling fear. From understanding, with total clarity, that this wasn't a threat. It was a statement of the rules. Which was considerably more frightening than anger. I held the silence a moment, then spoke.

"Your Majesty. I cannot cover any of what you've just described with the word accident." Albatros gave no reaction. I knew that wasn't enough. So I kept going.

"As for the reverse scale — that was to save her life." I drew a breath.

"The night we shared a roof also began out of necessity. But if what you're truly asking is whether, now that things have come this far, I still intend to file all of it under coincidence — then the answer is no." My voice sounded a little dry in that vast hall. But at least it held steady. Ignicia stood off to the side, saying nothing. I didn't look at her.

Because if I looked over now, I might end up remembering things entirely inappropriate to be thinking about in front of her father — which would only make me look like a man actively courting his own death. Albatros studied me. Was it long? Not really. But those two or three breaths under that gaze were more than enough to make a man reconsider the entire circumstances of his own birth. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Good." There was no praise in the word. But it wasn't outright rejection, either. It felt more like— At least you didn't manage to be a fool by the end of it.

"I will give you two paths." My spine straightened another fraction without my permission. Albatros's voice stayed quiet, but each word fell like a block of black stone dropping into still water.

"First. Become Ignicia's Rider."

"Second. Take one breath of my dragonfire."

"Choose." Wonderful. Cleaner than I'd expected. Clean enough that even the urge to think this isn't really a choice felt like a waste of breath. Under ordinary circumstances, I might have managed something like: the second option doesn't sound designed for anyone planning to still be alive afterward. Right now, I didn't have it in me. Because the truly frightening option wasn't the second. It was the first. Dragonfire is over in a single breath. Being a Rider is not. It wasn't a flattering title.

It wasn't a graceful excuse to keep standing at her side. It wasn't some weightless honor. If anything, it meant being bound directly into the fire of Dracunia's imperial blood, permanently forbidden from ever pretending I was just passing through. Which meant that the moment I nodded— I would no longer be simply Cedric of Eckhaus. No longer just a member of the delegation. No longer just some man who'd said something, a little too late, in a burning harbor. I would have to step formally into her life.

Into the order of the Dragon Kingdom. Under this Emperor's eyes. And accept everything that came bound to that name.... Honestly. Compared to dying, this option was considerably more complicated. I almost laughed. Not because any of it was funny. Just because I finally understood exactly why I'd ended up here. I had run out of room to retreat a long time ago. From that night in Yanxia. From the moment she let me touch her reverse scale. From the moment I turned around and ran back into the harbor.

From the moment I said, out loud, I just want to stay by your side. A great many things had already happened, well before today. What Albatros was offering me now wasn't a fork in the road of fate. He was simply pointing, directly at my face, toward the path I should have admitted to a long time ago. I let out a breath and looked up at him.

"Your Majesty." My voice wasn't loud. But it was clear.

"The second path is, I suspect, only the courtesy you've left me to save face." Albatros neither confirmed nor denied it. I went on.

"As for the first — if I accept this name, there's no more falling back on just a foreign envoy after this. Is that correct?" This time, the answer didn't come from the Emperor. It came from Ignicia. She finally spoke, her voice cold and perfectly steady.

"If you choose it, don't even think about walking it back." I turned to look at her. She was already looking at me. There was no softness in those gold eyes. No shyness. No attempt to soften the blow on my behalf. Only something direct, burning, and almost cruel in its clarity — as if to say: This isn't a game, Cedric. Nod now, and you stand by it afterward.... Good. That was exactly like her. I turned back to Albatros.

Whatever last shred of wishful thinking had still been clinging to my chest finally burned clean away.

"Then I choose the first." The hall didn't erupt into any dramatic reaction. No gasps. No murmur. Even the firelight kept drifting along the pillars at its same, unhurried pace. But I knew, with total certainty, that something had just changed. Albatros looked at me for a long moment, then slowly rose from the throne. Only when he stood did I understand that, until now, he had actually been holding himself back by remaining seated. It wasn't a matter of raw height.

It was the particular weight that moves through a space when authority itself shifts — the whole room becoming aware of it before the mind can explain why. He descended two steps. No further. But it was enough to make clear: this was the throne stepping forward to meet me. Not an invitation to climb up and make conversation.

"From this day," Albatros said, "you are no longer merely a foreign envoy." His voice didn't rise. It pressed down along every stone surface in the hall.

"You stand at Ignicia's side. You walk with her, fight beside her, and bear the weight of her name." I straightened my back further without meaning to.

"If she burns a city, you do not retreat."... That one landed a little too close to recent memory.

"If she falls, you do not abandon her." That one was heavy enough to kill any urge to joke. Albatros's gaze settled on my face. The final line came quieter than the two before it — and far more frightening for it.

"If you betray her—" He didn't spell out the fire waiting behind those words in full. He simply closed the sentence, lightly.

"My twilight flame will find you before hers does." I sincerely believe this may be the least romantic, and simultaneously the most unambiguous, relationship confirmation I have received in this life so far. Beside me, Ignicia didn't move. But I saw her fingers curl inward, just slightly. So slightly that if I hadn't happened to be watching, I would have missed it entirely. On the right side of the hall, a court scribe who had stood in silence the entire time finally set brush to paper.

The scratch of the nib across parchment was almost nothing. And yet it carried more weight than a hundred proclamations. Because it meant this wasn't someone speaking carelessly. Not the residue of a battlefield. Not foolish words said in a sea of fire that could be quietly forgotten later. It had been written down. Formally recorded, by the inner court of the Dragon Kingdom. Albatros turned his gaze back to Ignicia. The look was shorter this time. Milder.

But I found, unexpectedly, that it held something deeply restrained, deeply private. Not comfort. Not quite approval. Certainly nothing an outsider like me could read through cleanly. More like— He had already seen what she'd chosen for herself, and so he was making it real for her. Meeting her father's gaze, Ignicia answered only, very evenly:"Your daughter understands." Then she turned to me. Those gold, slit-pupiled eyes were dangerously quiet in the mingled twilight and firelight.

"Cedric."

"Here."

"You chose this yourself." I looked at her, and felt, of all things, a faint urge to laugh. Not to brush it off. Not out of bravado. Just — now that we'd come this far, everything felt strangely clean.

"Yes," I said.

"I chose it myself." She held my gaze for half a breath, then let out a faint, almost lazy sound through her nose.

"Then remember it."... Of course. Something that sounded nothing like a declaration of love, and yet was far harder to walk back than any declaration could have been — that was exactly her style. Albatros had already turned to return to the throne. Before his foot reached the first step, he paused. He didn't look back. He simply added one more line, tossed off as casually as a comment on tomorrow's weather — and just as guaranteed to cost someone a full night's sleep.

"Three days from now. Report to the outer field of the Dragon Court." I blinked. I'm sorry? Albatros's voice stayed as mild as ever.

"If you are to be a Rider, you will first learn how not to fall to your death off a dragon's back." There it was. I'd known this couldn't possibly stop here. And I would swear that, in that very brief silence beside me, Ignicia was holding something back. Just barely. Just a fraction. Almost certainly a laugh. I very much wanted to argue for myself — something like Your Majesty, could the falling perhaps be postponed?

— but whatever sanity I had left intervened in time to keep that particular stupidity from reaching open air. Albatros said nothing further. When he settled back onto the throne, the feeling of this matter is now settled was clearer than anything he'd said outright. I stood there, and for the first time, truly understood: The fire at the Port of Isca Apubra hadn't only burned away my escape routes. It had, while it was at it, burned the rest of my life straight into the Dragon Kingdom.

And from the look of things, the first item waiting for me wasn't anything resembling romance. It was figuring out how not to die falling off a dragon.... All right, then.