He swallowed hard and moved toward the stallion, one step at a time, every muscle tense with anticipation. He placed his foot in the stirrup, feeling the leather bend under his weight, and his hand slid to the horse’s warm, muscled flank, checking for any hint of unease in the creature’s body.

The horse snorted, sensing his nervousness, and Ren’s pulse quickened even more. He forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths.

With a nod to Magron, who stood ready to help, Ren swung his other leg over the saddle, feeling the entire weight of his body shift as he settled in. The stirrup swayed beneath him, and for a moment, he felt suspended, precariously balanced on the unfamiliar beast.

His heart jumped into his throat when Magron’s hand slipped away from the saddle, leaving him alone to manage the powerful creature beneath him. The horse shifted, adjusting to his presence, and Ren’s hands instinctively tightened on the reins. He leaned forward, trying to find his center, his fingers white-knuckled as they gripped the leather straps.

The stallion’s muscles rippled beneath him as it adjusted to his weight, and Ren’s breath came faster, his eyes darting to Hazel.

She was already astride her own horse, moving with a natural grace that made the entire process look effortless. She sat tall, her back straight and her hands relaxed, exuding a serene confidence that he envied.

It was clear she had been riding since childhood—her connection with the horse was seamless, the reins barely a suggestion as the animal responded to her lightest touch.

Ren swallowed his fear and forced himself to sit taller, taking another deep breath of the crisp air.

He glanced at Hazel, who gave him a small, encouraging smile.

As she did so , the jubilant noise of the crowd faded into a low murmur. The confusion was palpable, a wave of uncertainty rippling through the masses.

They watched, eyes narrowed and whispers spreading like wildfire, as Ren Cannahy sat in the saddle.He could feel the shift—what had been warm and welcoming now turned cold and questioning. The people only recognized Hazel , not him.

The festive atmosphere began to dissolve, and the silence that took its place was as heavy as the gathering clouds before a storm.

From the senate steps, Lucius Antony’s lips curled into a subtle smile, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s.

He saw the change unfolding and welcomed it, relishing every flicker of doubt in the people's eyes. Around him, senators and nobles exchanged knowing glances, and a few even allowed themselves to chuckle softly, sensing opportunity.

This was their chance—if the people began to doubt Ren now, it would make Antony’s path to power that much easier.

“So that’s Ren Cannahy,” Antony said, his voice barely above a murmur, his eyes never leaving Ren. “He looks every bit as I’d expected him to be—out of place, uncertain.”

He could sense the discomfort among the senators, some sharing his amusement while others held their breath, waiting for the moment to break.

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One senator, old and crooked with a face lined by years of intrigue, leaned in close to Antony's ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “The people don’t seem so pleased with him,” he whispered, the words carrying a faint hiss.

Antony’s eyes gleamed, but his reply was cool and measured. “Perhaps,” he said, allowing the single word to hang in the air, heavy with possibility.

He knew that doubt, once sown, was like a weed—it would spread if given room to grow. And the silence, the sudden unease among the crowd, felt like fertile ground.

Hazel sensed it too—the shift in the crowd’s mood, the fragile loyalty wavering. She had to act, and she had to act now. Antony’s hungry eyes bore into her, waiting for a misstep, for the smallest crack in her resolve.

The moment felt like a precipice, one wrong move and she knew everything could tumble into chaos. She saw the hesitation in the crowd’s eyes, the uncertainty as they looked at Ren—a stranger, an outsider.

A flash of fury ignited inside her. She wouldn’t let Antony win.

With a determined look, she slid off her horse. Gasps rippled through the crowd, the unexpected gesture catching everyone off guard.

She moved quickly, her boots tapping against the cobblestones, eyes locked on Ren. Without a word of explanation, she stepped up to his horse and, before he could react, took hold of the saddle and swung herself up behind him.

The crowd’s confusion deepened; even Antony’s mocking smile faltered as he leaned forward, his brows knitting in surprise. He wasn’t expecting this. Nobody was.

“This was not part of the plan,” Ren muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible above the deafening silence.

His grip tightened on the reins as he felt her settle behind him, her body pressing close for balance.

“I’m improvising,” Hazel replied with a tight, defiant smile.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, the gesture intimate and unmistakable, and she raised her chin, scanning the crowd with eyes that dared them to question her choice.

For a moment, everything hung in the balance—an excruciating, stretched-out pause where doubt twisted like a knife in Ren's gut.

He could feel the collective breath of the crowd, caught and held, as if they were all teetering on the edge of a decision they were too scared to make. His pulse pounded in his ears, his body tense with the weight of all those watching eyes.

But then, slowly, something began to change. The wind carried a murmur, then a cheer from the far end of the boulevard, hesitant at first but growing louder, stronger. The uncertainty started to dissolve, replaced by cautious admiration. They might not know who Ren was, but their princess had chosen him—she was not just standing beside him, she was riding with him.

After all that she had endured, after barely escaping death’s grasp, she was risking herself in front of the entire kingdom to show that she trusted this man.

It was an unmistakable declaration: she was with him.

The crowd, inspired by Hazel , began to cheer again, and this time the sound was more intense, more determined. Flowers were tossed into the air once more, drifting down around Ren and Hazel in a shower of colors that mirrored the slowly returning confidence of the people.

Ren, feeling Hazel’s steady warmth at his back, allowed himself to breathe again. He relaxed his grip on the reins, and the horse calmed beneath him, sensing his shift to resolve.

Up on the senate steps, Antony’s eyes hardened. The flicker of triumph he had savored only moments ago was extinguished, replaced by a seething frustration..

Ren’s composure and aura gradually came back to him and he was again himself , his head held up proudly as he waved with one hand to the people as the other kept a steady hold on the reins. Hazel joined him , welcoming all the praises that her people sent her way.

Antony gave an amused smile as he watched Ren ride towards him , his grand army slowly marching behind and the multitudes praising him and decorating his path with beautiful flowers.

“Ren Canahy , I will remember that name ,” he acknowledged the man in silence.