THE CHOOSEN ONES

The glass door to the balcony slid open with a soft *click*, and the cool night air brushed against my skin. Outside, Rheon leaned casually against the stone railing, his silhouette framed by the chandelier. His sharp eyes swept over me, assessing, before he stepped forward and pulled me into a firm embrace.

"You did well, Tia," he murmured, his voice warm and steady, devoid of any hidden agenda. It was the kind of comfort that felt rare in our world—a world where every gesture, every word, was weighed for its political value. For a moment, I allowed myself to lean into it, feeling the weight of the evening lift ever so slightly.

"Yeah, I know," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My gaze flickered past Rheon's shoulder, catching Ezekian's piercing golden eyes from across the balcony. He stood frozen, his expression a storm of betrayal and pain. It was a look that had haunted me for years, one that always seemed to pull me back into the tangled web of our shared history.

But not tonight. Tonight, I looked away, refusing to let his gaze unravel me.

Rheon broke the hug, his hands lingering on my shoulders as he gave me a reassuring smile. "Ready to go?" he asked, his tone light but firm. I nodded, steeling myself. There was no time for grief, no luxury for weakness. 

I turned on my heel, my chin lifted, and my expression was cold. The whispers of the nobility followed me like a shadow as I descended the grand staircase, Rheon's steady presence at my back. His silent support was a promise—one that had held strong through years of friendship and shared battles.

Together, we approached my father, who stood at the center of the banquet hall, his emerald-green eyes gleaming with a strange mix of pride and calculation.

"Your Grace," Rheon began, his voice carrying the formal cadence of high society. "I am honored to greet you on behalf of the House of Zenreva. May our houses continue to thrive in friendship and mutual respect. I offer my deepest regards and well wishes for your enduring legacy."

My father's lips curled into a polite smile, though his eyes flickered with interest. "I am glad that, as always, the Young Duke is taking such good care of my daughter," he said, his tone smooth but laced with implication. I could almost see the gears turning in his mind—Rheon and my friendship were a valuable asset, one that could tip the scales in Nyxveil's favor.

"She is my childhood best friend," Rheon replied, his smile never wavering. "Of course, I have a duty to fulfill toward her, especially when her partner chooses to humiliate her so openly." His words were sharp, though his tone remained light, a skill honed he learned from his father.

My father nodded, his expression thoughtful but distant. To him, the emotional fallout of Ezekian's actions was secondary to the political implications. But I wasn't about to let him dismiss this so easily.

"Your Grace," I interjected, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "The fact that the Young Duke of Nordwyn chose to escort Alancia instead of me—do you not see how this undermines our house? Will you allow Nyxveil to become a laughingstock in high society?"

My father's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composed facade. I pressed on, my tone icy. "Do you think the other houses won't whisper about how easily the Young Duke dismissed the elder daughter of Nyxveil? How he chose my younger sister, as if her value surpassed mine? This isn't just about me—it's about the reputation of our entire house."

Rheon stepped in smoothly, his voice carrying just the right note of concern. "I've already heard murmurs among the guests, Your Grace. Some are beginning to question whether Nyxveil holds the same standing as Nordwyn. It's a dangerous narrative, one that could weaken our position in the court."

I glanced at Rheon, catching the subtle wink he sent my way. He understood the game we were playing, and he played his part flawlessly. Together, we were weaving a narrative that would force my father's hand—one that would shift the engagement from me to Alancia without costing Nyxveil its pride.

My father's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he absorbed our words. "You're right," he said at last, his voice low but firm. "For the sake of Nyxveil, it would be best for Ezekian and Alancia to marry. This... indiscretion cannot go unanswered."

I allowed myself a small, calculated smile. The plan was falling into place. With the Imperial Family's envoys already present, my father would have no trouble securing the Emperor's approval for the new arrangement. And Ezekian's father, the Archduke of Nordwyn, would have no choice but to accept—his son's actions had left him with no ground to stand on.

As my father strode off to speak with the envoys, I let out a long, shaky breath. Rheon appeared at my side, two glasses of champagne in hand. He offered one to me, and I raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sixteen, Rheon" said dryly.

He grinned, unrepentant. "As if I don't know you've been sneaking drinks with the knights since you turned fifteen."

I couldn't argue with that. Taking the glass, I sipped the champagne, only to grimace at its bitterness. "Ugh, this is awful."

"Zero Dosage," Rheon said with a shrug, downing his glass in one go. "Not to everyone's taste."

I handed my glass back to him, shaking my head. "You'd drink anything, wouldn't you?"

"Only the finest," he replied with mock solemnity, earning an eye roll from me. Despite the tension of the evening, his presence was a comfort—a reminder that not everything in my life was a calculated move or a political game.

As we stood there, trading barbs and stealing moments of levity, I felt the weight of the past and the future pressing in on me.

"Rheon," I said quietly, my gaze fixed on the glittering crowd. "Do you think I'm a bad person for what I'm doing?"

He turned to me, his expression softening. "You're not innocent, Tia," he said, his voice steady. "But you're not cruel, either. You do what you must to protect what matters. And that's why I'll always stand by you."

His words echoed through me, a balm to the wounds I carried from a lifetime of love and loss. Had that incident never happened, had I never built up such an unbreakable wall around me after that, would life be more bearable with people who wanted to reach out to me? 

Maybe. I don't know.

As the music swelled and the night deepened, I raised an imaginary glass to the stars.

*Ezekian*, I thought, *This is where I let you go. After thirty-two years of loving you and letting your words cut deeper than any blade, I'm finally free.*

And for the first time, I believed it. We can never walk on the same path.