“Princess, you’re awake. That’s good; we still have things to discuss,” Ren greeted Hazel when he returned to his villa, finding her at breakfast, laughing and chatting with a few of the maids.

“Oh, Chief—please, just call me Hazel,” she replied with a smile, brightened by his arrival. Her sorrow was starting to lift, and in its place, hope glimmered.

“Please, sit down. They’re serving manna coffee—it’s excellent for the soul,” she offered, her eyes shining as she motioned toward the table.

Ren waved his hand with a smile. “Thanks, but I already ate with Ogren and Magron. And please, Ren works fine for me, too,” he replied, pulling up the seat closest to her.

She looked relieved. “It’s nice to see that you’re all finding common ground. Last night, I was honestly worried.”

“I wouldn’t call it getting along—‘united’ is probably the better word,” he chuckled.

“United?” she echoed, a spark of curiosity lighting her gaze.

“Yes. You still want your throne back, don’t you?” Ren continued, studying her reaction.

Hazel took a steadying breath, her gaze flickering down. “I want you to have it, Ren. If I took it, the senate would unravel everything within weeks. They’d plot until I was nothing more than a pawn in their game.”

Ren leaned in, his eyes kind but intense. “If we’re married, it won’t matter whose throne it is.”

Hazel’s expression shifted, her eyes widening as his words sank in. For a moment, she seemed frozen, and then, a wave of pure joy lit her face. “Wait—are you serious? You really mean it?” she gasped, her voice trembling with excitement, a spark of hope making her appear almost radiant. She nearly rose from her seat, her hands clasped to her chest.

Ren couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm but held up a hand to steady her. “Now, don’t go expecting me to kneel or anything,” he teased, trying to temper her excitement. “This is a practical arrangement to protect us both and secure the future of Arpoia.”

“That’s more than fair,” Hazel replied, still brimming with happiness. “You’re right—this is about securing our kingdom, protecting it from the senate’s schemes.” She took a breath to settle herself, but the thrill of his words hadn’t faded. “Even so, you’re stepping into a conflict that was never yours. You’re risking so much for me—for Arpoia.”

For a moment, she looked at him with pure admiration. Ren could see that, while she knew this alliance was strategic, she couldn’t hide the deep sense of relief, gratitude, and respect she felt. In this moment, Hazel saw him not just as a leader but as the one person willing to share the impossible burden with her.

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Hazel took a deep breath, letting herself reflect on how rapidly her world had shifted.

Just days ago, she had stood beside her father, defiant in her refusal to marry a stranger for political convenience. Yet here she was now, ready to push for an alliance in the form of marriage—and surprisingly, she found herself at peace with the idea. She wondered if it was duty that spurred her on, or simply a raw instinct for survival.

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But there was more to it than that. Being around Ren had given her a deeper understanding of the man he was. In just a few short days, he had revealed himself to be a leader of integrity and rare strength.

Ren wasn’t only competent; he carried himself with a natural authority that made people trust and respect him. He took meticulous care of those who followed him, treating them with fairness and loyalty, which made Hazel realize that Ren's people followed him out of genuine respect rather than fear.

There was a humility to Ren that drew Hazel in, too. While he could be fierce and unyielding when the situation demanded it, especially with those who clung to stubbornness or cruelty, he was also gentle and polite in her presence, always respectful.

His anger seemed reserved only for those who harmed others or rejected reason, and Hazel appreciated that strength—she would have reacted the same way in his place.

As she thought about it, she found herself even more willing to place her trust in him. Marrying Ren didn’t just seem like a strategic choice; it felt like aligning herself with someone who shared her values and would always act with Arpoia’s best interests at heart.

Hazel decided that Ren was not just a suitable ally but an ideal one. In that moment, she gave him her full, unspoken trust, believing that in a world riddled with treachery, Ren’s character was the anchor she needed.

“Your father and I knew each other from a much closer standing than I’d previously let on ,” Ren produced a letter from his coat and passed it to Hazel , “ He asked me to give it to you on the condition that you ever came to me seeking help.”

Ren watched as Hazel unfolded the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned her father’s final words. Her eyes grew intense with emotion, but he let her have her moment in silence.

His mind drifted back to his last, secret meeting with the king—their conversation still vivid in his memory.

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The rendezvous had taken place only months before the king’s assassination, under a veil of absolute secrecy. Magron and a few of Ren’s most trusted allies had accompanied him, while the king had brought only the queen, a handful of advisors, and a few loyal soldiers.

They had met in the heart of a vast, open meadow, far from prying eyes, surrounded by a breathtaking landscape that gave the moment an almost surreal quality.

Wildflowers bloomed in every direction, painting the rolling grassland in waves of purples, yellows, and blues that danced in the gentle breeze. Sunlight poured over the meadow, casting a warm glow that seemed to soften the intensity of their meeting.

In the center of this natural expanse, a small round table had been arranged with two chairs.

The two men met at the table while their entourages kept a respectful distance, each one standing at attention, their eyes fixed on their respective leaders and the surrounding land for any sign of danger.

As Ren had approached, he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the occasion. This was no ordinary meeting, and he sensed it held significance far beyond what either had spoken aloud.

“Your Majesty,” Ren had greeted the king, bowing his head with respect.

The king’s expression softened, a hint of warmth breaking through the formality. “Ren Canahy, it is good to finally meet you in person. Raise your head so your king may gaze upon thy face.”

The king’s tone was cordial, his gaze sincere as he assessed Ren. He gestured toward the table, where a steaming pot of rich, aromatic coffee awaited them, its scent mingling with the fragrance of the meadow flowers.

The king poured two cups, handing one to Ren as a gentle breeze stirred the wildflowers, scattering a few petals into the air.

“Let us set aside formalities for a time,” the king said, his voice low and quiet, inviting a rare intimacy. “Here, I wish to speak with you not as king to subject, but as one friend to another.”

Ren accepted the cup with a respectful nod, feeling a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the king spoke.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, meeting the king’s gaze.