Ian’s POV
The weight of the realm settled over me the moment I crossed its threshold, the air heavy with the scent of ancient stone and the faint, lingering traces of magic. This place was a constant reminder of who I was and what I had to uphold. The title of King wasn’t something I wore lightly, and every time I returned, it was like donning a mantle that grew heavier with each passimg day.
Today, though, the weight was almost unbearable. The council had been relentless in their demands, and I knew what awaited me in the chamber—more of the same questions, the same insistence, the same push for something I refused to give them.
Sophia.
As I walked through the corridors, the familiar architecture surrounded me—tall, imposing columns, tapestries woven with the history of our kind, and torches that flickered with an eternal flame. The walls seemed to hum with the whispers of those who had come before, a constant reminder of the tradition and power that had shaped this place.
It should have felt comforting. Instead, it only heightened my frustration.
The council chamber was exactly as I’d left it—dark, grand, and oppressive. The long table in the center was surrounded by high-backed chairs, each occupied by a member of the council, their expressions varying from stern to outright hostile as I approached. They were all there—Armand, with his cold, calculating gaze; Lucius, his lips pressed into a thin line; and Selene, the only one who ever showed a glimmer of empathy, though even she had grown weary of the issue at hand.
I took my seat at the head of the table, the chair reserved for the king, and let the silence stretch, my gaze sweeping over each of them. They waited, as they always did, for me to speak first. But I knew what they wanted, and I had no intention of giving it to them.
Finally, Armand broke the silence, his voice sharp and cutting. “We’ve been patient, Ian, but our patience is wearing thin. Where is the girl?”
His tone was biting, but it was his use of the word “girl” that irritated me. As if Sophia were nothing more than a curiosity, a specimen to be examined and judged. My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice level. “Sophia is not your concern.”
Lucius leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Not our concern? She was turned against her will, by your hand no less—or, rather, by your failure to control those under your influence. She is very much our concern.”
“She is my responsibility,” I corrected, my tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will not be bringing her here.”
Selene’s voice was softer, though it carried the same insistence as the others. “You’ve broken many rules for her, Ian. Risked much. The council has a right to understand why.”
I knew what she was really saying—what they all were. They wanted to see the woman who had caused me to defy centuries of tradition and law, the one who had made me break every rule in the book. They wanted to see for themselves why I had risked everything for her.
But I wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.
“Sophia’s existence does not need to be justified to any of you,” I said, my voice cold. “She is under my protection, and I will not subject her to your scrutiny.”
Armand’s lips curled into a sneer. “You’re protecting her from us? How noble. But you forget, Ian, that the council is not so easily dismissed. We demand to see her.”
“You demand nothing,” I shot back, the calm façade I’d been holding onto slipping for just a moment. “You may advise, you may counsel, but you do not command me.”
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