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Orvian sees the recognition flicker across my face. His smirk sharpens. "For her."

The words cut through the din of the masquerade like a blade to the gut.

My fingers tighten around the chain.

He leans in slightly, his voice a whisper edged with amusement. "You could have it, you know. A relic of pure destruction. Just think of what you could do with it."

He is aware.

He knows how valuable it is, how even the High Council does not possess magic like this.

With that ring, I could bend entire armies to my will, carve my name into the bones of history, make my father’s rule look like a child’s game of chess.

I could end this world and build a new one atop its ashes.

Yet, I do not move.

I feel Nairastare burning into the side of my face.

She doesn’t understand what he’s offering, not truly. But she knows it’s something I shouldn’t refuse.

Orvian sees my hesitation. He pushes further, voice silk-smooth. "Come now, Zephiran. A slave is replaceable. A ring like this?" He gestures at the artifact, voice curling with persuasion. "Once in a lifetime."

I should take it. Every cell of my body screams for me to have it.

But when I glance at Naira—when I see the way she refuses to look away, refuses to bow, refuses to fucking break—I realize something.

It is not a choice.

It never was.

I turn back to Orvian, and the expression on his face shifts just slightly.

He knows my answer before I speak it.

"She is not for sale."

The tension thickens. Everyone in this hall goes rigid.

Orvian lifts a brow, though there is no true surprise in his eyes. "Not even for this?"

I release the chain, reach forward, and slam the box shut.

"No."

A beat of silence.

He laughs, slow and disbelieving. "You’re either a fool or a liar."

I raise my chin slightly, lips curling in a slow, dangerous smile. "Perhaps I’m both."

The amusement lingers, but there’s something else now. Something calculating.

He knows what I’ve just admitted.

The High Council knows it too.

The whole fucking court sees it now.