"The Ravenshield County will accept. The county and its vassals shall remove themselves from the Navaris Kingdom at once."

Lenore’s ears rang. The county and its vassals?

She blinked, her mind stumbling over the words. It was all she could do as time seemed to slow, her thoughts dragging like a body caught in deep waters.

A silence followed—unnatural, stretching thin and fragile before it snapped.

And then—chaos.

It rippled through the nobles like a stone shattering still water. First shock, then uncertainty, and then something deeper—something that turned their hushed whispers into frantic murmurs, their stillness into restless shifting. Hands clenched. Stares darted. The walls echoed with scattered voices rising and falling, searching for some semblance of reason.

Some staggered, caught in disbelief, their faces pale. The idea of Ravenshield leaving had never crossed their minds—because it was unthinkable.

Others, however, did not gasp or whisper. They exchanged knowing looks—grim, resigned—as if this moment had already played out in their minds long before today.

Because it had.

The bond between Navaris and Ravenshield had been unraveling for years, fraying thread by thread.

But now, they were here.

Now, they were watching the moment history fractured.

And for the kingdom—this was hollowing.

For the nobles who relied on Ravenshield’s power, who had always looked to their swords for protection, this was horrifying.

Then there were the confused—the young nobles, the naïve, those who had never bothered to understand the shifting balance of power within the kingdom. They had never considered the possibility that Ravenshield could simply leave. And now, they could not comprehend why the King was letting it happen. Why he was allowing it. Why he was standing there, doing nothing to stop it as half his kingdom slipped away.

Their gazes turned to him, eyes wide, searching for answers, for intervention, for anything but the silence that stretched between them. But the King did nothing. He only stood before them, a man worn thin by the weight of his own failures. He did not move to stop the Count, did not raise his voice to command loyalty. He merely watched, knowing full well this fracture had happened under his rule.

Generations of struggle, undone in a single moment. And yet, something in him still refused to fully grasp that it was his own son—his own flesh and blood—who had been the catalyst for it all.

The prince sputtered. “Y-You—” His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. “You’re abandoning your oaths?!” His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “You can’t—” His voice climbed, frantic, grasping at a reality slipping through his fingers. “You swore loyalty to the throne! To the crown!”

The Count didn’t look at him. He never looked at lesser men.

Instead, his gaze remained locked on the King, his expression unreadable, his presence heavy with something unspoken.

“Jayson Ser Loskri Navaris.”

Even Ravina’s ears burned at the sound of the prince’s full name.

“You will escort your mother back to the estate.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

“But—” The prince’s protest died on his lips the moment his father met his eyes.

“Johnon, escort the prince.”

At the King’s nod, one royal guard stepped forward—then another, and another. Escort was a kind word, but it was clear: the prince’s part in this was over.

With practiced grace, the Queen rose and walked toward her son. She wrapped her arms around him, a silent gesture of comfort or control—perhaps both—and allowed him to lead her away. Just before leaving, she cast the King a sinister glare, one only he and the Count would catch.

But even as the doors shut behind them, the hall did not fall silent. The nobles were still reeling, their voices rising in frantic discussion, struggling to grasp what had just unfolded before them.

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Ravina looked around, feeling strangely detached, as if watching from outside her own body.

A crowd arguing. The royal guard escorting the prince and his mother away. The King, standing beneath the Count’s looming presence, looking small.

Just what was going on?

The Count had come prepared—he had brought his men, ensuring he had the weight of their presence behind him. But the King’s passivity, his absolute surrender to the moment, was almost unnerving.

And again—the county and its vassals?

Her ears still burned at the words. They echoed in her mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just her leaving.

It was the entire county.

She couldn’t understand. The Navaris and Ravenshield houses were the only truly ancient bloodlines left. Certainly, the Ravenshield name had changed over time, but only they—alongside Navaris—could trace their lineage back to the kingdom’s very founding.

History claimed their bond had been one of mutual benefit, built on friendship, unity, and marriage between allies. The Nation Mother’s family had been lost, but the rest remained.

But history was often wrong.

More than one house had its own records, each holding their own truth. And now, Ravina found herself wondering—what had truly happened?

What had changed?

What had turned this so-called amicable relationship into something so fragile that it could shatter in a single moment?

And then, the realization struck her.

Wasn’t she the one being cast aside?

Wasn’t she the one he had abandoned?

Yet—he was not rejecting her.

He was rejecting them.

For… her?

She didn’t want to imagine it. Didn’t want to let herself believe it. Because when the truth finally came out—when reality settled in—it would only hurt more.

But that didn’t stop her heart from thundering faster.

“You can’t be serious.”

A voice cut through the rising tension, snapping her back to the present. Heads turned sharply toward the speaker—William Dukeson, still standing on stage.

He strode forward, his anger radiating as he addressed the King.

“You would willingly surrender half the kingdom?” His voice was sharp, incredulous, but when his glare landed, it wasn’t on the King.

It was on her.

As if this was her fault.

As if she was to blame.

For a moment, Ravina wondered just how much she could get away with. If her father was already challenging a King, surely a small kick to the balls wouldn’t be so bad?

It’s only a Duke’s son, not a Duke…

But she bit her tongue.

The King shook his head. "The only bond between Navaris and Ravenshield was honor," he said, his voice low and heavy. "And you and your friends just pissed it away."

William blinked, startled, before shaking his head furiously. “Nonsense!” he snapped.

But he was not in the same position as his father. A Duke’s title might look powerful on paper, stronger than a count, but reality was far more terrifying.

He kept ranting, his voice rising with each word, but the King had heard enough. With a single, dismissive wave of his hand, he cut him off.

“This is nothing but treason! We should arrest and execute the lot of them—”

He never got the chance to finish.

The royal guards moved swiftly, seizing him before he could even gasp in protest. His outrage turned to shock as steel-clad hands gripped his arms, forcing him back.

The King barely spared him a glance. "Take him and everyone else on this stage to the dungeons. We’ll deal with them later. Right now, I have more pressing matters."

Another wave of his hand, and the guards dragged the struggling men away. The girls who provided false testimony were able to be simply escorted. They didn't struggle, just let the guards guide them out of the room, their faces pale and hollow—as if only now realizing the depth of their actions.

The King exhaled, his shoulders heavy. "I don’t suppose that will be enough?" His voice was weary. "I’ve lost quite a bit as it stands… to lose those sons like this—" He paused, leaving his words open.

“I don’t care about that.”

The Count’s voice was flat, dismissive. He turned to Ravina. “Is there any grievance you wish to pursue?”

She blinked. “Grievance?” she echoed, unsure.

“It was you they targeted. I don’t deal with dogs.”

And then it struck her—he was asking her how they should be punished. If she even wanted them punished.

For a fleeting moment, she considered it.

But the answer was clear.

She straightened her back. “Ravens don’t worry about dogs,” she said, her voice steady. “We have wolves.”

The Count smiled. Proud.

Again, Ravina’s heart quickened, a warmth rising in her chest—unexpected, unwelcome, yet impossible to ignore. He was proud of her.

The Count turned back to the King. “It’s your problem, not ours.”

The King sighed—visibly relieved. “Thank you,” he muttered, a broken man.

For a brief moment, Ravina almost pitied him.

But she pushed those feelings away.

Ravens don’t worry about dogs.