A Father's Trust

He raised both hands—

And clapped them together once in a gesture of respect.

"My king," Ronan said, his voice thick with emotion.

Leon looked slightly surprised.

"Lord Ronan—"

"Thank you," Ronan continued.

Faint tremble slipped through his words, even as he fought to hold them firm.

"For taking care of my daughter."

A hush carried those sounds through the stone room.

A silence settled, just for a second. Nobody broke it.

Into motion came Leon, swift, seizing Ronan's hands mid-gesture - just shy of a bow taking full form.

Firmly came the words: "Lord Ronan," spoken by Leon.

A firm hold stopped the elder just short of a full bow, yet it never crossed into roughness. Not loud or harsh, the touch spoke calm control - one that silenced hesitation on its own.

"She is my wife now."

Floating through the air, his words held no rush, no crack - just a quiet strength that refused to bend.

"So of course I take care of her."

A hush passed through the room, making it feel smaller despite its size. The people nearby seemed to blur at the edges, less distinct.

Faint color crept into Chloe's face, soft at first, then brighter near her ears.

A strange warmth crept into her ears, surprising her. Down went her eyes, fixed now on the shiny floor right under her boots.

Close to Kyra, Syra dipped her head near, softening her words into something meant to be hushed.

"She's blushing."

A quiet grin tugged at Kyra's mouth despite her effort to hold it back.

"I heard that," Chloe said quietly, cheeks deepening in color without warning. The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Suddenly, Syra raised her hands, palms out. A quiet "What?" slipped through. She hadn't spoken a word.

Kyra quietly added, "You said it very loudly."

Funny how Ronan stood there, a quiet smile tugging at his face while he took it all in.

One side of his lips lifted, just slightly. A hush settled around the curve there.

That works, he remarked without flair.

A single dip of his head. A pause. Another followed, measured like breath after silence. The third came softer, as if trust had settled deep in his chest.

Clearly satisfied.

He seemed just a dad then, not some highborn lord, as if noticing she was safe now, held firm by someone who cared.

Back Ronan moved then.

A small breath escaped him, shoulders lifting slightly just as the warmth in his chest faded behind a still face.

The lord returned.

"Proceed," he stated, shifting into a sterner pitch, his words measured once again.

His chin dipped a fraction. The angle of his face shifted just enough to catch the light differently.

"Proceed?"

Over by the far wall, Ronan pointed to the platform lifted above the ground. The hall stretched wide around it, empty except for echoes.

A massive seat rose at the core - hewn from black rock, edged in gold, silent proof of a realm without its sovereign.

"The throne awaits its king."

His fingers pointed ahead, so he walked that way.

A pause. His gold-flecked gaze held the throne. Stillness settled between breaths.

A ghost of a grin touched his mouth.

"You're very eager today."

A quiet chuckle slipped out, Ronan's lips barely lifting like something heavier was kept in check. Watching Leon move, his gaze stayed fixed, sharp and slow, like a blade drawn across stone. The air between them tightened without warning.

"Only doing my duty," he replied.

Leon chuckled softly.

A hush came, though the noise itself stayed soft - barely more than a breath. Still, tension pressed down, thick as fog before rain. Around, the vast room held its silence, watching without eyes. Banners barely moved, their whispering slowed, as if afraid to break what waited.

For just an instant, Leon turned his gaze toward Ronan, amber eyes flickering with quiet amusement.

"Duty, hm?" Leon said under his breath. "You make it sound so noble."

A small shrug lifted his shoulders. One person needs to

A quiet puff of air left Leon's nostrils - half laugh, half nod. It hung just above silence, that tiny sound.

Then he turned.

He started moving straight to the throne - no pause, no show. Just steps cutting through silence.

Footsteps bounced off the walls inside the room.

Slow.

Measured.

Footfalls met the gleaming surface, soft but sure, sending stillness outward like rings on water. Not a shout, though each soul there sensed the weight anyway. Walking slow, steady, like knowing your path makes silence louder than noise.

A flight of seven stone stairs climbed toward the elevated stage.

Each step carried Leon upward, slowly. One after another took him higher. His feet found each rung without rushing. Movement came in steady beats, not leaps. Each lift brought him closer, just by continuing.

Stillness first. Then steps followed, without flair - each one pulled forward by what stood ahead. A slow walk, shaped by knowing the load up there was his to carry.

Frozen in place, his wives stood still behind, eyes fixed without a sound.

Not a single one broke the silence.

Something about this moment felt different.

Once in a while, laughter spilled out of Leon so wide it pulled everyone into its glow.

He'd been spotted joking around, propped up in doorframes, a sly sparkle lighting his gaze. A quiet laugh often followed. That look never fooled anyone twice.

After long fights, they'd found him worn out. Or sometimes it was the nights without sleep that left him drained.

Funny how he could light up a room, then dig in his heels like stone. A spark danced behind his eyes most days, though once set on something - no turning back. Wild energy followed wherever he went, yet stillness came if he chose otherwise.

But this—

This was something else.

Today, Leon didn't feel like the same man who joked with them over wine or argued over trivial things just to hear them complain.

From the floor of the throne hall, he looked taller.

Sharper.

More dangerous.