Banishment. He actually said it.

Not a calculated maneuver, not a carefully placed strike against her, but a rash overreaction. Somehow she had won in this single great loss.

At worst, she would be exiled. Sent away—but at the very least the count would not abandon her. She would at least have his support, a simple life if anything else.

And as for the prince? He had overstepped. Judging her alone, delivering a verdict that carried the weight of a personal vendetta rather than the law. It was clear to anyone with half a mind that she had been set up. A play scripted by not just him but the sons of ranking dukes and counts.

The Ravenshield name would remain untarnished. The royal family would now owe the Ravenshields for not pressing the issue further, for not demanding a public retraction. Because while the monarchy ruled, they did not rule unchecked. There was no democracy, no courts for nobles to stand trial—but power dictated power.

At one time, the royal family might have commanded complete loyalty. But now? Tyranny was only accepted by the powerless.

And the Ravenshields were never powerless.

There was no noble family in this kingdom that would sit idly by while something like this happened. Even if they stood alone, they were still the guardians of the north, the first and last defense of the empire, a name that stood parallel to the royal family in legacy, power, and history.

The family she wasn't a part of but managed to be lucky enough to join.

Her breath came steady, her hands remained still. She should be relieved, shouldn’t she? She had won. It was still her loss, yes—but this battle, sudden and carefully orchestrated, had still ended in her favor. And still—why did it feel like something had been carved out of her?

It was a dull ache, something just beneath the surface. She had known this life was temporary. A role she played. A name that was never truly hers. Yet now that her leaving was certain, her chest felt strange, hollow.

The prince inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to recover. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, steadying his breath. When they reopened, they met hers—and she saw it.

The look of a man who knew he messed up. It was almost enough to let her smile—if only her hollow heart would allow it.

Unfortunately for him, the words of royalty could not be so easily taken back.

"You will be imprisoned until—"

"Enough."

The single word cut through the hall like a blade, slicing through the tension with effortless authority.

The air shifted. Nobles turned, drawn to the weight of that voice, and Ravina felt her chest tighten as her eyes followed theirs.

No.

Her breath hitched. He was here.

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He was dressed in a deep black suit, silver embroidery tracing elegant patterns along the lapels. A subtle flourish of purple accented the design, its richness only serving to darken his already imposing presence. His black hair, neatly styled, framed a face that betrayed nothing. His movements were smooth and sharp as he ascended the stairs to the platform. The click of his cane against polished marble filled the silence as the entire room held its breath as he ascended.

He hadn't been there when the ball began, or when the first names were called. She looked, for some reason. And then she was disappointed when she failed to find him. She didn't know why; the man was using her and they both knew it. He was using her. They both knew it. He had never offered her comfort, never once pretended to be anything other than the cold, calculating noble that he was.

Yet… when did she start thinking of him as father, and not… "Count Ravenshield," The prince started, tone smooth. The Count barely spared him a glance. His attention was elsewhere. The four noblewomen who had accused Ravina stiffened under the weight of his attention.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, but razor-sharp with malicious intent.

"I don't suppose Baron Chidewel was aware," he mused, disinterested, "that his daughter would slander the Ravenshield name—after everything he owes us?" The air tightened as the girls stiffened.

He didn't bother waiting for his question to be answered. His gaze sweeping over the women with a sharp eye, like a bird looking over its prey. "Or that Barons Levinthal, Thalmore, and Anilha wished to sever their friendly relationship with us? How curious, considering their entire territories depend on vital trade routes through Ravenshield lands."

A chill ran through the hall, and the murmurs of the crowd grew uncertain. This was no plea for mercy, no attempt at negotiation. This was a noble making it clear that their actions had consequences and he would not be letting this go.

"They will not be forced into silence to cover your daughter’s crimes," the prince shot back, his voice unwavering. "You cannot force them to lie for you."

At that, the Count finally turned to look at him, not bothering to hide his contempt. His eyes, cold and unreadable, lingered on the prince for a moment before he exhaled—a measured, disappointed sigh.

"I suppose you’re right," he mused. "I cannot force them to tell the truth—just as you cannot keep your promise of reward should they uphold your lie."

"I never—Hey!" Jayson snapped, but the Count had already lost interest. With the same casual grace as before, he turned away from the prince and addressed a man behind him, still in the crowed.

"Sir Lenord."

Ravina’s breath caught.

She recognized him. One of her father’s knights—the ones who had arrived in the city alongside him. Unlike that time, he wore no military uniform, but a crisp, finely tailored suit. A glance around confirmed her suspicion—there were more. Faces she recognized, but only just. Had they been there the entire time or did they arrive with her f- the count.

“My Lord.” The knight, Sir Lenord, stood tall, attentive, waiting for the word of his master.

"I want every merchant working within our territory under the banners of these four harlots’ families to have their necks severed before I return." His voice remained even, as if he was ordering his daily coffee.

The girls shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uneasy glances with their escorts. It was painfully clear they hadn’t fully grasped what had just happened—or the weight of the consequences now set in motion. Sir Lenord, ever efficient, merely gave a curt nod before snapping his fingers at two of his men. Without hesitation, they bowed and swiftly departed, their purpose understood without the need for words.

There was a reason the north demanded a strong military presence. The mountain pass leading into Nevarius was more than just a strategic route—it was a gateway, the only land-based entry into the kingdom.

The pass bypassed Nevarius' natural defenses—the mountains, the Deadlands, and the impassable eastern desert—offering the only inland path into the kingdom. Without its military presence, the north would have long since crumbled under foreign ambitions. It was not a land controlled by the weak.

Sir Lenord, however, understood immediately. Without hesitation, he gave a simple nod before snapping his fingers at two of his men. They moved without question, bowing briefly before turning to leave.

The hall remained silent.

There was a reason the north demanded a strong military presence.

And it belonged to the Ravenshields.