Aerin learned something important about humiliation:
It was never the grand gestures that hurt most.
It was the little ones.
The way a room tilted when people laughed.
The way your name suddenly sounded smaller.
The way you started counting where to put your hands so you didn't look… wrong.
And Valessara of Thryndel was a master of little humiliations.
She did not shout. She did not rage. She did not need to.
She simply arranged the world so that Aerin looked foolish inside it.
Tonight's event was the Oil Covenant Reception, a grand banquet meant to reassure foreign dignitaries that Aqura had not become wealthy by accident—
—which was an impossible premise, because it absolutely had.
The Great Hall glittered with gold and candlelight. Musicians played something elegant and expensive. Nobles wore jewels that looked like they'd been dragged out of the sea by mermaids with bad spending habits.
Aerin stood near the dais in formal wear.
Formal wear chosen by Valessara.
The coat was too stiff, too tight at the collar, embroidered with bright gold vines that made him look like a decorative curtain rod. A chain draped across his chest like he was a ceremonial display for "King: Limited Edition."
He tugged at the collar for the tenth time.
Valessara noticed.
"Stop that," she said softly, smiling as if she were being kind.
"It's—tight," Aerin whispered.
"It's royal," she corrected. "Try not to breathe like you're afraid."
Aerin did not know how to stop breathing afraid.
Behind them, Cassian leaned near a pillar with the posture of a man attending a funeral he was required to applaud. His jaw was clenched so tightly Aerin worried his teeth might crack.
Lina and Merrowin stood together like two statues that had learned the art of looking calm while planning ten murders.
Elira was not visible.
Which meant she was somewhere nearby, holding a blade and making a list.
The herald bellowed the opening announcement. The crowd applauded. The musicians swelled.
Valessara stepped forward to greet the guests first.
Aerin followed instinctively.
She held up a hand without looking at him.
He stopped.
The hand was not for him.
It was for the room.
"Let it be known," Valessara said, voice clear and smooth, "that Thryndel honors Aqura's rise. We welcome this… unexpected prosperity."
Laughter bubbled softly through the crowd. Polite. Controlled. Like everyone was in on a joke Aerin hadn't agreed to.
Valessara turned slightly—just enough to include Aerin in her gaze, not enough to include him as an equal.
"And I would like to thank my future husband," she continued, "for agreeing to be guided. He is… very adaptable."
She placed a hand on his shoulder.
It looked affectionate.
It felt like ownership.
Aerin's face warmed. He glanced at the room. People smiled. Some looked sympathetic. Most looked entertained.
He opened his mouth to speak—something diplomatic, something reassuring, something that proved he wasn't a decorative napkin—
Valessara squeezed his shoulder.
Not hard.
Just enough to remind him who controlled the moment.
"He's shy," she added with a sweet laugh. "But don't worry. I'm not."
The room laughed more openly.
Aerin smiled too, because his body had learned that smiling was safer than not smiling.
The Harem Alarm—mounted high on a beam like an inconvenient conscience—buzzed once, low and angry.
Valessara looked up at it and smiled wider.
"Even your charming relic approves," she said.
The alarm buzzed again, louder.
Valessara's smile sharpened.
"Oh hush," she murmured, still smiling. "I'm speaking."
The crowd chuckled at that too.
Aerin's stomach sank.
She wasn't just humiliating him.
She was humiliating everything he'd built—his kindness, his awkwardness, even his strange relationship with the stupid magical device that had haunted his entire year.
She pivoted toward the foreign dignitaries, moving effortlessly.
"Now," she said, "let us discuss oil policy."
The words hit like cold water.
Oil policy.
As if Aerin were a resource and not a ruler.
Aerin stepped forward again, trying to regain footing.
"I'd like to say—"
Valessara lifted her glass.
"A toast," she said, interrupting him cleanly, "to stable leadership."
Stable.
As if he wasn't.
Aerin froze mid-sentence.
The nobles raised their glasses.
Cassian's fingers flexed like he wanted to crush something.
Merrowin's eyes narrowed behind her fan.
Aerin sipped wine that tasted like ash.
Valessara leaned closer, lips barely moving.
"Smile," she whispered. "If you look miserable, they'll think I've made a poor choice. And I don't make poor choices."
Aerin's smile stiffened.
"And remember," she added, voice like velvet over steel, "three steps behind me."
Aerin wanted to say something brave.
Something kingly.
Something that made the room stop laughing and start respecting him again.
Instead, he heard himself say, quietly:
"Yes."
And that was how it continued.
All night.
She introduced him as "my fiancé" without using his name.
She corrected him when he spoke, laughing as though it were playful.
She asked him to fetch her shawl in front of the Thryndel envoy, as if he were staff.
She praised his "obedience" twice and called it a "virtue" once.
Aerin's ears rang with polite laughter and the soft clink of glasses.
By the time the banquet ended, he felt like he'd been peeled open and displayed.
When the last guests began to disperse, Aerin finally stepped away from the dais and headed for the side corridor.
He made it three steps before Valessara called him—loud enough for several nobles to hear.
"Aerin."
He turned immediately. Too quickly.
She approached, graceful as ever, then reached up and adjusted his collar in front of everyone.
"Stand up straight," she said. "You look like you're apologizing for existing."
Aerin's throat tightened.
A few nobles looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Others watched as if this was entertainment.
Valessara smiled sweetly at the onlookers.
"He's learning," she said.
Then, quieter, so only he could hear:
"Don't embarrass me again."
Aerin nodded, because that was what his body did when it wanted the moment to stop.
Valessara walked away like nothing had happened.
Aerin stood there, frozen.
Then he exhaled—and realized his hands were shaking.
Outside, in the training yard, Mira and Cassian stood under the lantern light like two people waiting for a storm to pass.
They weren't holding hands.
They weren't leaning in.
They were simply… together.
Which, in this palace, meant everything was complicated.
Mira stared at the dirt.
Cassian watched the palace windows as if he could see the laughter still clinging to them.
"She did it again," Mira said softly.
Cassian didn't ask who.
He knew.
"I heard the room," he said. "From outside."
Mira swallowed. "He didn't even fight back."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "He wasn't allowed to."
Mira turned toward him.
"I thought," she admitted, voice small, "that if I stayed away, it would hurt less."
Cassian's expression softened.
"And?"
Mira laughed once, bitterly. "It hurts more."
They stood in silence.
Then Mira spoke the words she'd been avoiding for days.
"I can't keep doing this."
Cassian nodded slowly. "Dating me?"
Mira winced. "You're kind. You're safe. You're… everything he thinks he's not."
Cassian let out a breath through his nose.
"That's the most insulting compliment I've ever received."
Mira smiled sadly.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," Cassian said. "You meant it like the truth."
Mira's eyes shone.
"I don't want to use you."
"You're not," Cassian said gently. "You're trying to stand somewhere that doesn't burn."
Mira looked toward the palace.
"I still love him," she whispered.
Cassian's throat bobbed, like he swallowed something heavy.
"I know," he said quietly.
Mira flinched at his calmness.
"You're… too okay with this."
Cassian gave a humorless laugh.
"I fight monsters," he said. "The heart is worse. At least monsters are honest."
Mira stepped closer.
"Cassian—"
He raised a hand.
"No," he said softly. "Don't apologize. It makes it feel like I'm owed something."
Mira's breath caught.
Cassian smiled, sad and sincere.
"You don't love me," he said. "And you shouldn't pretend you do just because your world is falling apart."
Mira nodded, tears slipping free.
"I'm sorry."
Cassian shook his head.
"Be sorry for him," he said. "And be brave enough to stop lying to yourself."
Mira wiped her cheeks quickly, like she was ashamed of the tears.
Cassian exhaled.
"This ends here," he said. "Before it becomes cruel."
Mira nodded.
They stood together for a moment longer.
Then Cassian stepped back and bowed his head slightly, not as a knight, but as a man.
"Go," he said.
Mira turned toward the palace.
Cassian watched her go with an expression that looked like loss, carefully contained.
Then, because he was Cassian and Cassian was incapable of existing without dry humor, he muttered to the empty yard:
"I swear, if anyone proposes to me again tonight, I'm joining a monastery."
A shadow shifted behind a pillar.
Elira's eyes gleamed faintly.
"I can assist," she whispered.
Cassian jumped.
"GODS—why are you always there?"
Elira stepped out, holding a dagger like a thoughtful pet.
"I am monitoring," she said. "Mira's emotional status changed. That increases risk."
Cassian rubbed his temples.
"Do you have a hobby that isn't lurking?"
"I am learning embroidery," Elira said proudly.
Cassian stared.
"…With the knife?"
Elira nodded.
Cassian decided he didn't want details.
Aerin returned to his chambers like a man walking through water.
He shut the door and leaned against it, head tilted back, eyes closed.
He could still hear the laughter.
He could still feel Valessara's hand on his shoulder.
He could still taste the way he'd swallowed his own voice.
A soft knock came.
"Aerin?" Mira's voice.
His heart jumped so hard it hurt.
He opened the door.
Mira stood there, eyes still damp, posture steady because she was Mira and Mira could hold herself together even when she was breaking.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Aerin laughed—small and cracked.
"No," he admitted.
Mira stepped inside and closed the door gently behind her.
They stood facing each other in the dim light.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
Just existing in the weight of what had been taken from them.
"I saw the way she treated you," Mira whispered.
Aerin looked down.
"I'm sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Choosing? Losing? Being weak? Being alive?
Mira took a breath, like she wanted to say something enormous.
"I—"
Aerin's door burst open.
Elira slid in.
Blade drawn.
"I will kill her," Elira announced.
Mira jumped. "ELIRA!"
Aerin made a sound halfway between a groan and a prayer.
"Elira, no."
"She humiliated you," Elira said, eyes blazing. "In front of witnesses. That is a declaration of war."
"It's… politics," Aerin said weakly.
"It is cruelty," Elira corrected. "Cruelty has solutions."
Mira stepped in front of Aerin instinctively.
"Not like that," she said.
Elira stared at her.
"You broke up with Cassian," Elira said abruptly.
Cassian, of course, appeared in the doorway at that exact moment because the universe enjoyed ruining conversations.
"I did," Mira said.
Cassian lifted both hands. "I was leaving. I heard 'kill' and got curious."
Elira nodded to him like he'd been acknowledged as a fellow professional.
"I will not kill Cassian," she said. "He is useful."
Cassian blinked. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Aerin rubbed his face.
"Everyone out," he said quietly.
No one moved.
Aerin tried again.
"Everyone out," he repeated, louder.
Cassian immediately stepped back.
"Not my royal circus," he muttered, and vanished.
Elira hesitated, still holding the blade.
Mira gently placed a hand on Elira's wrist.
"Elira," she said, soft but firm, "if you do this, you'll destroy him."
Elira's eyes flickered.
"I would save him."
"You would make him a king covered in blood," Mira replied. "He won't survive that."
Aerin stared at Mira.
His throat tightened.
Because she knew him.
Because she understood the truth he couldn't say out loud:
He could survive humiliation.
He could survive embarrassment.
He could survive being a joke.
He could not survive being a monster.
Elira's grip loosened, just slightly.
She looked at Aerin.
"…You do not want it."
Aerin shook his head.
Elira exhaled, like she was swallowing fire.
"Then I will do it later," she muttered.
"No later!" Aerin said quickly.
Elira frowned. "Then how do we solve?"
Mira answered before Aerin could.
"We endure," she said. "And we plan. The right way."
Elira stared at her.
Then, very reluctantly, she sheathed the blade.
"I will endure aggressively," she declared.
Mira nodded like that was acceptable.
Elira turned to leave, then paused.
"Aerin," she said.
He looked at her.
"I am still behind curtains," she said seriously. "In case she attacks."
Aerin didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Thank you," he managed.
Elira vanished like a ghost who had discovered romance and hated it.
Mira and Aerin were finally alone.
For three seconds.
Then the window shattered.
Aerin screamed.
Mira screamed.
A note fluttered in on the wind.
Aerin picked it up with shaking hands.
It read, in precise foreign script:
WE WILL TAKE THE OIL KING.
WE WILL RANSOM HIM.
DO NOT RESIST.
Aerin stared.
"…I'm very resistable."
Mira snatched the note. "This is serious."
Aerin nodded shakily. "Yes. But also—who wrote 'oil king' like it's my title?"
Mira looked like she wanted to strangle someone.
"Stay inside," she said, already moving toward the door.
Aerin grabbed her hand.
"Mira."
She stopped.
He swallowed.
"I… I'm sorry," he said again, but this time it was specific. "I wanted you. I still want you. And I hate that I'm standing next to her."
Mira's eyes softened.
"I know," she whispered.
They leaned toward each other, desperate for one moment of warmth—
The palace lights went out.
Aerin screamed again.
Somewhere in the corridor, Cassian shouted, "WHY IS IT ALWAYS DRAMATIC?"
And then the kidnappers arrived.
The kidnapping was, unfortunately, efficient.
Aerin was grabbed from behind as he stepped into the corridor—because of course he stepped into the corridor.
A bag went over his head.
He yelped.
"Please be careful," he said immediately. "I bruise easily."
"Silence," a voice hissed.
"I'm cooperating," Aerin continued. "I just like to narrate my experience."
"STOP TALKING."
Aerin did not stop talking.
They dragged him down a hallway.
"I'm guessing you're not palace staff," Aerin said.
"Quiet."
"If you're from Thryndel, please know Valessara is already doing enough damage—"
"QUIET!"
The bag smelled like onions.
Aerin gagged.
"Your bag is… pungent."
One kidnapper groaned audibly.
They shoved him into a carriage.
Aerin landed awkwardly.
"Ow. My dignity."
The carriage moved.
Aerin's stomach flipped.
"I get motion sick," he announced.
"NO ONE CARES."
"I'm just informing you so you're emotionally prepared."
A kidnapper muttered something in a foreign language that sounded like a prayer for patience.
Aerin continued, because Aerin could not handle silence when terrified.
"So what's the plan? Ransom? Political leverage? Threaten me with paperwork? Because paperwork works on me."
"STOP."
"I'm trying to help," Aerin insisted. "I can negotiate very politely if you remove the bag and allow me to breathe like a person."
A long pause.
Then a voice, tired and annoyed:
"Why do you talk like that?"
Aerin blinked under the bag.
"Like what?"
"Like you're apologizing for existing," the kidnapper snapped.
Aerin fell quiet for exactly three seconds.
Then he whispered:
"…It's a habit."
The kidnappers went quiet.
This was worse.
Aerin panicked again.
"So! Weather's nice."
"GODS."
The carriage jolted.
Aerin's head hit the side.
"I'm fine," he said. "I just feel faint."
"Good," the kidnapper muttered. "Maybe you'll sleep."
Aerin sniffed dramatically. "I can't sleep when I'm emotionally compromised."
"PLEASE."
When they finally reached their hideout—some abandoned lodge near the border—Aerin was dragged inside and sat on a chair.
The bag came off.
Aerin blinked at the dim room.
Four kidnappers stood around him. All masked. All armed.
One held a scroll.
One held a sword.
One held… a snack.
Aerin pointed at the snack.
"Is that bread?"
The kidnapper with the snack paused.
"…Yes."
"That smells amazing," Aerin said honestly.
The snack kidnapper looked briefly proud, then remembered kidnapping was supposed to be threatening and returned to glaring.
The leader stepped forward.
"We are from the Consortium of Khar," he said. "You will be ransomed."
Aerin nodded. "Okay."
The leader blinked. "Okay?"
"Yes," Aerin said. "That makes sense."
The leader's posture faltered slightly.
"You are not afraid?"
"I am," Aerin said immediately. "But I've been threatened by better dressed people. At least you're honest."
The kidnappers exchanged glances.
The leader cleared his throat.
"We will demand half your oil profits."
Aerin's eyes widened.
"Oh no."
The leader leaned in, satisfied. "Yes."
Aerin shook his head.
"No, I mean—oh no for you."
"…For us?"
"Yes," Aerin said kindly. "Because Merrowin will bury you in legal language and you'll beg for prison."
A long pause.
Snack kidnapper whispered, "Who is Merrowin?"
Aerin sat up.
"Lady Merrowin is our Minister of Diplomacy," he explained, warming to the topic. "She once made a man apologize to a chair."
The kidnappers stared.
Aerin nodded. "The chair accepted."
The leader's voice tightened.
"You will not mock us."
"I'm not mocking you," Aerin said earnestly. "I'm warning you."
The leader rubbed his forehead.
"Why do you keep talking?"
Aerin hesitated.
Then, because fear made him honest, he said:
"Because if I stop talking, I'll start thinking."
The room softened in a way none of them expected.
Even the leader looked briefly… human.
Then the leader caught himself and snapped back into villain mode.
"Enough," he barked. "We will send our demands."
Aerin raised a hand politely.
"Yes?"
The leader sighed. "WHAT."
"I just want to make this easier," Aerin said. "If you send demands, Valessara will take control of negotiations. She'll turn this into a war. She likes war because it makes her feel important."
The kidnappers exchanged nervous glances.
Aerin continued, gently unstoppable now.
"And Cassian will track you. He's very handsome and angry. That's a dangerous combination. And Elira—"
The kidnappers stiffened.
"The assassin?" Snack kidnapper squeaked.
Aerin nodded solemnly.
"She lives in my palace now. She's… emotionally unstable."
The leader stared.
"You're telling us your own security weaknesses."
Aerin shrugged helplessly. "I'm bad at being kidnapped."
The leader took a step back.
"Is this a trick?"
"No," Aerin said. "This is my personality."
A heavy silence fell.
Snack kidnapper slowly offered Aerin the bread.
Aerin accepted it like a peace treaty.
"Thank you," he said softly.
The leader watched that, conflicted.
Then he muttered, to no one in particular:
"We kidnapped… the wrong king."
Aerin blinked. "Do you have a right king?"
The leader stared at him like he wanted to throw himself into the nearest river.
An hour later, the kidnappers were arguing among themselves.
"He's too much," one hissed.
"He won't stop explaining things," another snapped.
"He thanked me," Snack kidnapper whispered, shaken. "No one thanks me."
The leader paced.
"We can't ransom him if he tells us how the ransom will fail."
Aerin raised a hand from his chair. "I can stop talking."
All four kidnappers turned toward him.
Aerin swallowed.
"…I will stop talking."
He fell silent.
Three seconds passed.
The kidnappers' faces tightened with relief.
Then Aerin whispered:
"But I think you should know—"
The leader screamed.
"ENOUGH! TAKE HIM BACK!"
Aerin blinked. "Already?"
"Yes," the leader snapped. "You are… psychologically expensive."
Aerin nodded, genuinely apologetic.
"I'm sorry."
"STOP APOLOGIZING!"
"I can't," Aerin said softly. "It's automatic."
The leader pointed at the door like he was banishing a demon.
"Return him. Now. Before I join a monastery."
They dumped Aerin at the border at dawn.
No drama. No ransom. No threats.
Just a sack of bread and a deeply exhausted kidnapper who shoved Aerin forward like a cursed object.
Aerin turned back, confused.
"Are you sure you don't want to negotiate something reasonable? Like a trade agreement? A minor apology?"
The kidnapper's eye twitched.
"GO."
Aerin went.
He walked toward his kingdom with bread under his arm and the lingering feeling that he had somehow failed at being kidnapped correctly.
Behind him, the kidnappers watched him go.
Snack kidnapper whispered, "He's… nice."
The leader whispered back, haunted, "He's a nightmare."
When Aerin returned to the palace, chaos exploded.
Cassian grabbed him by the shoulders.
"ARE YOU ALIVE?"
Aerin nodded. "Yes. Also they had bread."
Cassian stared. "Bread."
"Really good bread."
Merrowin stormed in, eyes sharp. "Where did they take you?"
"Border lodge," Aerin said. "They gave up."
Halbrecht looked like he might collapse. "They—gave up?"
Aerin shrugged. "I talked."
Merrowin blinked slowly.
"…You talked them into surrender?"
"I talked them into exhaustion."
Cassian burst out laughing—one sharp, disbelieving laugh he couldn't stop.
Elira stepped out of a curtain, blade ready.
"Who do I kill?" she asked.
"No one," Aerin said. "They're already suffering."
Elira narrowed her eyes. "This feels wrong."
Mira stood behind the council, quiet, pale, eyes shining with relief.
Aerin saw her and the room fell away.
He stepped toward her.
"Mira—"
Valessara's voice cut through the corridor like a whip.
"There you are," she said, entering with flawless composure. "I cannot believe you allowed yourself to be taken."
Aerin stopped.
Everyone froze.
Valessara looked at him with disgust.
"You embarrassed me," she said softly. "Again."
Aerin's hands clenched.
Something shifted in him—small but real.
For the first time, he didn't bow his head.
"I was kidnapped," he said, voice steady. "That's not about you."
Valessara blinked, startled by the resistance.
She recovered instantly.
"You're lucky I'm here," she snapped. "Without me, you would be dead."
Aerin looked at her, then looked at the people behind him—Cassian, Lina, Merrowin, Elira, Mira.
He saw, suddenly, what was true.
Valessara was not his protection.
She was his cage.
He inhaled.
"I am alive because my people came for me," he said quietly. "Not because you own me."
The corridor went silent.
The Harem Alarm—which had been strangely quiet for days—gave one soft, clear chime.
Valessara's smile tightened.
She leaned in and whispered, sharp and venomous:
"You will regret speaking to me like an equal."
Aerin swallowed.
Then, with a courage that surprised even him, he whispered back:
"I already regret agreeing to marry you."
Valessara stiffened.
For one moment, she looked like she might explode.
Then she turned and walked away, fury held together by pride.
Aerin exhaled shakily.
Mira stepped closer, voice trembling.
"You stood up."
He nodded. "I think… I'm learning."
Elira appeared at his other shoulder.
"I still want to kill her," she said, calm and sincere.
Aerin sighed. "I know."
Cassian clapped Aerin on the back hard enough to almost knock him over.
"That," Cassian said, grinning, "was the bravest thing you've ever done."
Aerin wobbled. "Please don't clap me. I'm fragile."
Mira laughed through tears.
And in that laughter—soft, relieved, real—Aerin felt something return that Valessara had been stripping away piece by piece:
Hope.
That night, Aerin stood on the balcony again.
Mira joined him, hands folded, eyes searching his.
They didn't speak at first.
Then Mira whispered:
"I broke up with Cassian."
Aerin's heart twisted.
"I know," he said.
"I didn't do it for you," she said quickly. "I did it because I couldn't lie anymore."
Aerin nodded, throat tight.
Mira stepped closer.
"I love you," she said. "Even if you marry her."
Aerin flinched like the words were too precious to touch.
"I don't want to," he admitted. "I don't want to marry her."
Mira's breath caught.
"Then don't," she whispered.
Aerin stared at the city below, lights flickering like stars fallen to earth.
"I don't know how to fight the world," he confessed.
Mira smiled sadly.
"Maybe," she said, "you don't fight with swords. You fight with stubborn kindness."
Aerin laughed softly. "That sounds pathetic."
Mira shook her head.
"It's why the kidnappers gave you back," she said.
Aerin blinked. "Do you think that's why?"
"Yes," she said. "You're impossible to turn into a villain. Even when people try."
Aerin's eyes stung.
They leaned closer, slow, careful.
This time, no one interrupted.
Not Cassian.
Not Elira.
Not the council.
Not even the Harem Alarm, which only hummed quietly like it was finally, finally satisfied.
Their foreheads touched.
And for a moment, the palace—politics, oil, crowns, cages—didn't matter.
Just two people trying to hold onto something real in a world that kept demanding performance.
Somewhere behind them, a curtain shifted.
Elira's voice whispered proudly into the dark:
"I did not stab anyone today."
Aerin closed his eyes and smiled.
"Progress," he murmured.