The Promised Princess - Chapter 17 - deaddolphins - Shingeki no Kyojin (2024)

Chapter Text

“All hail the Son of Fire!”

—Melisandre, Davos I; A Clash of Kings.

XVI

The Phoenix Prince

Year 855

The Royal Keep, the Heir Tower

On the dawn of the day that marked the beginning of the Great Council’s deliberations, when the feverish political chatter reached an unbearable frenzy, the Black Phoenix’s council convened in the shadows of the Heir Tower.

In the rear of the chamber, the fireplace crackled with vitality, casting its warm, golden light over the gathered. The air was heavy, reminiscent of days past; humidity crept up like silent fingers. Yet amidst the relentless heat, there was a subtle chill in the air, hinting at an impending change in weather.

“If Prince Levi truly has a nephew on the way, then his ascension to the Phoenix Prince mantle should be a straightforward matter,” Lord Masahiro Toishiyi of Port Odiha remarked confidently. “Mark my words, this Grand Council affair will be nothing but a mere formality.”

Consort Kuchel replied with her soft contralto voice, “Let us not take anything for granted,” she said. “The Fritz will resort to underhanded tactics, my lord. There’s no time for showcasing power; we must proceed with caution.”

“Indeed. This is a delicate matter, one that ought not to be divulged,” concurred Lady Kiyomi, princess of Hizuru. “Should it be known that Princess Mikasa is afflicted with the princess’s ailment, I dread that dark machinations may stir in the shadows. We cannot afford to put her and her child in danger.”

“It is a wise notion, my esteemed princess,” Lord Hideki Azumakawa of Port Koi said. “Yet, with a proclamation, an announcement that the Ackerman-Azumabito union heralds a future thanks to the Yeager blood, coupled with Prince Levi’s favour among the common folk, we may expedite matters.”

Lord Erwin Smith wasted no time in delivering his remark. “And I wonder, my lord. Why must we expedite matters? There is seldom profit in hasty actions; that is known. I assure you, if we think clearly about our moves, no surprise shall await us in the upcoming days.”

Amidst the bustling exchanges, Second Prince Levi sought solace by the fireplace, where scorching flames danced before him. Their intense heat enveloped him, yet instead of discomfort, he found reassurance in their embrace. To him, the fire was not oppressive but rather a comforting sanctuary—within its flickering depths, a phoenix found its true solace.

But what of a phoenix prince? He mused, his eyes narrowing into two sharp lines. Can such a creature still find a home in the flames, or is his sole purpose to ignite them? It remained a question he could not yet answer, uncertain if the future held the key. Still, he clung to the hope that one day he might uncover the truth.

“My Prince?” Petra’s voice cut through the air, her presence materialising beside him. Weariness gleamed in her eyes, a kind of glow that he could only decipher as the weight of ceaseless politics, the burden of late nights, and the unfulfilled duties of a short, unfruitful life. Yet within her exhaustion, a shared burden weighed upon them both—the guilt for what they were about to inflict upon Mikasa.

Mikasa, please…

“Tell me,” he uttered, his body slightly turning to meet her gaze—a simple movement that proved arduous, for even the act of drawing breath had become a challenge of late.

Petra’s gaze met his as she raised a hand, her voice a mere whisper. “They are here for you. They expect some words from you.”

Levi steadied himself, casting a sweeping glance around the room. His mother, the Consort, Erwin Smith, Prince Furlan, the Princess of Hizuru, and the most influential representatives of the Islands stood together, their presence a pledge of solidarity for a better future. The early hour, edging towards the hour of the wolf, left no doubt about their intentions—Levi couldn’t afford to delay any further.

Straightening his posture, Levi lifted his gaze from the fire. His grey eyes, reminiscent of winter skies, met the imposing tapestry above the fireplace. Woven in a thousand golden threads was the figure of Helos, the conqueror and founder of House Ackerman. In the dim chamber light, Helos appeared to gaze down upon him, as if the weight of the entire House rested upon Levi’s shoulders—perhaps, indeed, it did.

Grant me your strength, Helos, he pleaded before approaching the large table in the centre of the room.

“My lords and my ladies,” he said to them. “As you know, I am more than willing to heed your counsel. Please enlighten me.”

Lord Hideki was the first to address him. “Your Highness, I deemed it wise to proclaim to the realm the bright prospects awaiting your family’s line. It shall sway the undecided lords to choose their allegiance swiftly.”

The prince nodded solemnly, acknowledging Lord Hideki’s counsel. “I comprehend your point, my lord. But I must say, announcing it abruptly may yield unforeseen consequences. We must consider the delicacy of this matter and its potential impact on my beloved sister’s safety.”

The gathered nodded silently, pondering the prince’s words.

It was Lord Masahiro who spoke moments later. “Your Highness, I also see the prudence in your caution,” he said. “Perhaps we could approach this matter with a degree of subtlety. We need not make a grand announcement immediately, but rather lay the groundwork discreetly, ensuring the safety of Princess Mikasa.”

“A measured approach, indeed,” he replied with a sombre tone, his voice carrying the weight of deliberation. “Let us concoct a strategy that treads the fine line between maintaining stability and ensuring the safety of my sister.” He exhaled heavily, feeling a tumultuous churn in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t merely the burden of responsibility or the gravity of decision-making weighing upon him; it was a more profound, personal discomfort—the agony of contemplating the betrayal of a beloved one.

Please, Mikasa…

With the ache of such betrayal gnawing at his hardened heart, the prince continued, “But know this, my lords, secrecy is not our eternal ally. On the contrary, we shall wait for the opportune moment to reveal the truth.” Locking eyes with his mother, he held her gaze unwaveringly. “And when the time is ripe, I shall be the one to proclaim it.”

A chorus of murmured agreements followed, voices blending softly as they resonated through the dark chamber. Amidst the flickering and crackling of the bonfire, the flames, too, seemed to dance in silent approval.

“May I ask, brother?” Prince Furlan spoke for the first time, drawing Levi’s attention. His posture was elusive, leaving Levi with a sense of unease. After years of knowing Furlan, this sudden unfamiliarity unsettled him, making him wonder if Furlan was assessing him. “When will the time be ripe for such an announcement? You may already know that you cannot hide something like this from the princess for long, much less deny the maesters access to her.” And with a harsh edge to his voice, he added, “The longer you keep this in the shadows, the greater the Winterlord’s wrath will grow.”

The prince’s gaze narrowed slightly as he pondered his brother’s words. Prince Furlan’s concerns held merit, and Levi could feel the tension in the room mounting, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Forgive me, little sister...

The Winterlord’s wrath was a force not to be trifled with, and Levi understood that all too well. Eren’s love for Mikasa burned with an intensity that threatened to unravel lots of carefully laid plans, a concern not unfounded considering the palpable nature of their bond. The faintest hint of suspicion, a flicker of doubt in the Lord’s mind regarding the well-being of his beloved wife, had the potential to shatter the very foundations of what Levi and Kuchel had toiled tirelessly to establish.

But despite the potential unravelling of their plans, he refused to allow it to happen. As a prince of the blood of the phoenix and, above all, the son of Kuchel, he was resolute in maintaining control. They had orchestrated a system ensuring that all whispers within the keep first passed through them, eliminating any chance of premature revelation of the pregnancy. Did he despise himself for deceiving his own sister and withholding from her the joy of her firstborn? Of course. But it was all for the sake of her safety, for there was nothing safer than the thick veil of ignorance draped over innocent eyes.

“Worry not, the wait shall not be long,” the Second Prince finally said, his tone mimicking a firm one. “I shall reveal it to the assembled lords. In the Great Council, of course. I will invoke the old laws that my forefathers left for me, and rest assured; that throne shall be mine.”

And as he spoke, in the recesses of his mind, a haunting chorus of words resounded like silent pleas.

Mikasa, please.

Please, Mikasa.

Forgive me, little sister.

Forgive me.

Mikasa…

Please.

The Royal Keep, the Phoenix Tower

Amidst her deep reveries, Mikasa’s senses caught murmurs that echoed like distant howls. As the haze of her mind cleared, those sounds transformed into something different, something more vibrant and palpable. They were not the lamentations or dark whispers she had heard in past dreams, but rather melodic and lively laughter, something that she could only describe as the joyful songs of childhood.

“Hurry up!” She heard a child’s voice shouting from beyond the bushes. Who was it? She could not tell—she had never heard such a tessiture before. “Ciri, hurry up, or I will beat you!”

The reply came so sweet and girlish—another bird’s song she had never heard. “Wait there, it’s not fair! Luke, you’re a cheater!”

Luke?

Ciri?

“I told you that the first one to reach the heart tree would win, silly,” the boy said, laughing. “You still have time, so hurry up, Cirilla!”

“Lucerys, stop!”

Lucerys, Cirilla... Those were the names of the conqueror’s children—the doomed children, Mikasa realised, a jolt of shock coursing through her veins. I have to... I need to see them.

Without stopping to think about the mud from the melting winter snow, she gingerly walked through the bushes. The air was filled with the crispness of spring, and far beyond, where the roots of ancient melded with the soil, everything was an explosion of colours—the result of thousands of flowers scattered under a lush canopy. It felt like home, indeed, but the melodies around her sounded out of place, as if they danced to a rhythm out of sync with time itself.

This looks like Shiganshina but...

Beneath the sprawling branches of a heart tree, she found the children—not merely any heart tree, but a weirwood of peculiar nature. Unlike the ones etched in her memory, this one stood apart. Its leaves, as crimson as spilled blood, were a familiar sight, yet its bark was of a deep black that set it apart from its brethren.

No, this is not Shiganshina, she ruminated, the heart tree there is white and red, thriving with life. This one, instead, is… A pang of unease gnawed at her heart. The tree, if it could still be deemed a weirwood, stood in majestic splendour, yet it wore the marks of desolation, as though some unspeakable sacrilege had befallen upon its sacred grove.

“I win!” The boy’s yell shattered the silence, jolting her out of her reverie.

“I told you, you’re a cheat! You started running before, leaving me and everyone else behind!”

The boy’s chuckle rang out. “The others are lagging behind. They run like old mules. They should put some hustle in their step.”

“You’re insufferable, Luke!” The girl exclaimed, frustrated, her foot meeting the ground with a thud. Yet, her protest only fueled the boy’s giggles, his mirth filling the air, carefree and wild.

Such a song in her ears sounded like a symphony of wolves’ howls and birds’ chirps. Mikasa ventured through the thick foliage, not caring what noise she made.

“Archer, is it you?” She heard the boy, Luke, say.

Archer? Her thoughts whispered, fueling the insatiable curiosity within her. She yearned to draw nearer to the children, to trace the contours of their faces with her fingertips. Yet, as she ran eagerly through the ambushes, striving to capture their elusive forms, the world around her dissolved into shadowy obscurity.

Luke… Ciri…

Her eyelids opened to meet the bright white marble ceiling of her chambers in the Phoenix Tower.

“If she does not wake up within the next few hours, I shall bring her back to the North with me,” a voice said, interrupting the gentle chirping of birds on her mind. Her husband’s voice.

“But, Lord Eren,” Septa Nanaba interrupted. “It shall be queer to depart with the Great Council on the brink of commencement. You are expected to be there as the Lord Warden of the North!”

“Cursed be my title, Septa Nanaba!” Eren’s voice rose, almost a growl, causing Mikasa to squeeze her eyelids tightly shut. She shouldn’t be wandering in her spring dreams but instead with Eren, who sounded utterly worried about her. Yet, the words didn’t come out of her throat. “What is truly queer is my lady wife’s three-day intermittent slumber and the idle inaction by all in this cursed place!”

“My lord, please, we should not speak so in the keep; it’s—”

“Enough of the platitudes. I’ve had my fill. You know what? We shan’t delay any further. I shall depart forthwith to make arrangements in the bay—we are returning to Shiganshina this very afternoon.”

“Eren!” Mikasa could finally yell, opening her eyes while the real world coalesced before her.

“Gods be good,” the muffled voices of the Septa and her husband mingled.

Soon enough, she sensed the mattress give way beside her, a familiar weight sinking into the bed. A strong hand, calloused and sure, cupped the warmth of her cheeks. “Are you fully awake, my love?” Eren’s voice was a low murmur, his verdant, preoccupied gaze travelling tentatively over the contours of her face, as if seeking reassurance in every line and curve.

“I see you clearly,” she said. “But what are you doing here? Where are you going? Wait—” She took her willowy finger to her temples. “Why were you with that wench, Eren?”

“Oh, Gods.” Her husband’s green eyes narrowed in disbelief while Septa Nanaba chuckled beside him.

“I can see that the princess is well, my lord,” the woman of the gods said, her laughter a light, tinkling sound that belied the gravity of her station. “Do you require anything of me?”

“Send word to the King and the Consort that the princess has awakened,” he instructed. “And fetch my wife some water.”

“Right now, my lord.” The septa glanced briefly at Mikasa and added, “And I shall bring her things for a bath; she needs a dress... Urgently.”

Mikasa stared at them both, bewilderment etched across her features. The words they exchanged were like a foreign tongue; their meaning lost to her. As she shifted beneath the blankets to sit up, now alone with her husband, she realised she was naked and slick with sweat, the cool silk clinging to her skin. Her body felt numb as if she had been motionless for an age. Dear Gods, her body felt so strange, every limb heavy and alien, and yet she could not fathom the cause.

Have I been sleeping a lot? Mikasa pondered, exhaling her sour breath. “Eren,” she said, calling out her husband’s name. “You need to tell me some things.”

With a heavy breath, he enfolded her within the circle of his arms, pulling her into the warmth of his embrace. “Indeed, my love,” he murmured, “but before we delve into the depths of such things, tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

She closed her eyes, piecing together the events in her mind. “I was at the tournament,” she began, “and you were at the joust, though you failed to inform me of your participation.” Eren chuckled, but the mirth quickly faded as she fixed her steel gaze upon him. “And then this Porco Galliard dismounted you, and I nearly lost my composure, Eren.”

“Oh, my love. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry—”

“Save your breath, my Lord.” She didn’t let him continue, pressing her temples with her fingers again. “I went to your pavilion, and what did I find? You were wenching!” she exclaimed, her tone laced with indignation. “I’m going to kill that Carly, or whoever she is, Eren.”

“My love, my love,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with an odd desperation. “Do you recall what happened next? What did I say to you?”

“Some excuse, that’s for sure,” she retorted.

“Mikasa, please,” he implored, leaning in to attempt kissing her face. “I told you I didn’t know her, and she came to me.” Silence met his explanation, and a sense of desperation crept into his voice. “I was about to send her back from where she came, Mikasa. I—”

The sound of her giggle interrupted him, causing him to arch an eyebrow in surprise. “I know, Eren,” she said, smiling coyly.

“Did you just play with me? Oh—” He sighed in pity.

“But still, I won’t forget this grievance, my lord. You are doomed.”

“I know you won’t. And I know I am... Gods.” It took him a couple of minutes to speak again. “Do you remember something else?”

Mikasa hummed softly, her gaze drifting towards the ceiling as she touched her lips. “You kissed me, of course,” she said with a small smile, touching her lips slightly. But then, realisation struck her like a sudden gust of wind. “Hannah…” Her voice trailed off, low and haunted. “Oh, Eren, my sister! I must see my sister!” She blinked rapidly, as if a wave of dizziness had engulfed her. “Eren, I must see her, please! Is she—”

“She is alright,” he interjected as he tried to ease her. “Hannah is truly alright; trust me.”

“But I heard she was bleeding.” Desperation rose in her throat as she found herself trembling under her husband’s touch. She remembered a scream—yes, a scream from Armin. The tournament had been cancelled because something had gone wrong, but after that, everything faded into darkness, and dreams of spring in a land far away from this one plagued her mind.

Luke… Ciri…

“Eren, please, I need to see her,” she whispered, her plea barely audible, escaping her lips with eagerness. “Eren…”

“Hannah is unharmed, Mikasa.” His eyes briefly skimmed her body before returning to meet hers. “It was a difficult birth, from what I understand, but she is safe.”

“Really?”

“I assure you. I knew you would be terribly worried, so I asked Gabi to bring me the news, and she assured me, along with the maids, that Hannah is now fine. Take it easy, alright?”

In the midst of her distress, Mikasa’s heart pounded like a drum, each beat echoing her desperate yearning to see her sister safe and sound. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over, yet she blinked them back. The agony coursing through her body and mind hindered her from acting with clarity or precision.

“She’s a mother now, brand new to the role, and she’ll need rest,” her husband continued, his voice gentle. “Don’t be sad; she must be feeling such joy right now.”

“I know.” Mikasa nodded, as if struggling to hold back her tears. “It’s just that... I don’t wish to lose anyone.”

Eren’s embrace tightened around her, a warm cocoon of solace and support enveloping her trembling form. “Why do you speak with such heavy words, my little bird?” He asked softly, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of her turmoil. “Have the shadows of bad dreams returned to haunt you? Fear not; you won’t lose anyone. Indeed, you’ve just gained a nephew, as I’ve heard.”

She lifted her gaze to him. “A boy?”

“Yes.” In a gesture of tenderness, he pressed a tender kiss on her forehead. “Your sister had a boy.”

As she let him soothe her with his kisses, a tumult of sentiment surged within her breast, recalling the tender confidences exchanged with her sister in strolls sent by ravens. “Hannah once said to me that she longed for a son, a companion for our own little first boy.” Her voice trailed off, dissolving into the hushed silence that enveloped them. “I mean, if we ever are blessed with a child, of course.”

Eren’s eyes softened with understanding. “We shall, in due time. Yet for now, as you regain your strength, we’ll resume our efforts later.”

She recoiled slightly. “Why later?”

“It’s time for you to rest, my wife,” he said with a soft smile gracing his lips. “After all, Hizuru healers advised that your recovery from the Spring Sickness requires lots and lots of rest.”

Mikasa couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “If they say so, then it shall be. But I’m strong, my Lord; this Spring Sickness is nothing to me.”

“I know you are strong,” he said, chuckling. “But now that you’re awake, I must attend the first meeting of the Great Council, which, incidentally, is convening as we speak.”

“What do you mean by the first meeting of the Great Council? Isn’t it supposed to be in a few days?”

He looked at her with odd eyes, and then, gravely, he said, “Mikasa, my love, you’ve been sleeping for three days. I was on the brink of losing my sanity.”

She blinked in surprise. Had she truly spent days wandering in those anachronistic spring lands? Gods be good.

As Mikasa stirred awake, offering assurances of her well-being to Eren as he prepared to depart, she remained ensconced in the embrace of the bed, her mind drifting into the labyrinth of her own thoughts. In the recesses of her mind’s eye, she could still see the children—little children of porcelain skin, as if they had been kissed by winter. Yet, beyond their pretty faces, she struggled to recall the details of their stature, the sparkle in their eyes, or the hue of their locks. What remained, however, were their names. Lucerys, like the young Phoenix Prince, and Cirilla, the forsaken princess. Names as fair as winter’s first snowfall, but their lives were steeped in tragedy. Yet, in her dreams, they seemed happy, so happy.

I wish to see them once more, she mused, her slender fingers tracing delicate patterns upon her belly. Yet amidst the familiar contours, a subtle alteration stirred, a softness where once there was firmness, as though her womb had swelled with unseen weight. What…

“I’ve heard Gabi say that coins were thrown and food was served for the birth of Hannah’s child,” Eren said, interrupting her reveries. He was wandering through the room, fetching his best clothes. “Is this some kind of tradition?”

“Oh… Oh yes, somewhat,” she replied, turning her head towards him. “Whenever a male child is born in the harem, there’s all this fuss. Male children are important.”

“And what about the girls? Aren’t they equally important?”

“Princes are more favoured. You know; they can reign, they can be kings, they can have the power. We princesses are born just belonging to the harem.” A bitter truth, for there were no phoenix eggs to hatch.

Eren scoffed lightly. “I must admit, of all the Ackerman’s fashions I’ve heard from you, this one strikes me as utterly absurd. A princess ought to have the same rightful claim to the throne as any prince. Especially when that princess possesses such remarkable skill and intelligence as you.”

“What are you even saying?” She chuckled.

“I mean to say that a queen’s crown would sit splendidly upon your head. But, ah, were you to ascend to the throne, Mikasa, you wouldn’t deign to cast a glance in my direction.”

“That’s pure folly, my lord. A queen requires a man, after all, and you’re perfect for it,” she said. “But I like the crown of being your wife.”

“Are you certain? For I still must attend the Great Council to choose the next king, and my vote could well be for us to have a queen: Mikasa, the first of her name.”

The melodious sound of her laughter echoed in the room, rousing the little creatures still slumbering in the shadows of the hour of the nightingale. The jest her husband shared was undeniably amusing, and Mikasa found herself unable to suppress her mirth.

“Will you be donning your new doublet, my lord?” She said this, looking at Eren’s clothes.

“My doublet, yes, my new doublet,” he grumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of full dressing for the ceremonial occasion.

“Or perhaps your new kaftan. The last one I embroidered for you. I believe it would be wise for you to wear Northern attire,” she suggested. “It may serve as motivation for other Northern lords to follow suit.” That seemed to mollify him, for he nodded and left the room in search of it, leaving the door slightly ajar.

As a gust of wind swept through, Mikasa drew in a sharp breath, her lungs swelling to welcome the salty tang that pirouetted upon the breeze, whispers from distant shores. With a gentle shift, she rolled onto her stomach, enfolding the feather pillow tightly against her chest, surrendering to the embrace of weariness. A curious sensation, indeed, considering the countless battles with sleep she had faced in recent days.

Then, the distant creak of the door opening reached her ears, prompting a flicker of anticipation. She half-expected Eren’s familiar footfalls to follow, but they did not. Instead, a strong smell engulfed her senses, unmistakably emanating from Greystorm’s furs, more pungent and pervasive than she had ever perceived before.

He needs a bath, she thought to herself, frowning. Ugh urgently. Never before had Mikasa complained about the scent of Greystorm, but that day, its pungency was unmistakable.

“Eren, you must bathe Greystorm,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the pillow. “Eren?” Yet silence greeted her.

I won’t allow him to share my bed if he reeks of Greystorm, she mused inwardly, gripping the feather pillow.

A deep yawn escaped her lips, rolling forth in an almost exaggerated purr of exhaustion. Slowly, she pried open her eyes, anticipating the cool sight of the marble floor. Yet, as her gaze traversed the chamber, it was not the smooth expanse that met her sight, but Greystorm, regally seated on his hindquarters. Amidst the opulence that surrounded them, he stood as a striking figure, his emerald eyes, like ancient forests, capturing her gaze.

“Greystorm?” She called him out with a sweet voice.

The wolf, a rugged presence amidst the gilded splendour, sniffed the air, his keen senses attuned to something unseen. With a plaintive cry, not a growl—for Greystorm would never growl at her—he expressed a distress that pierced Mikasa’s heart. Claws scraped against the floor in agitation, prompting her to sit up, concerned about him.

“Greystom,” she insisted, “There’s something wrong?”

The direwolf’s response came in the form of a muffled cry, a plaintive sound that echoed through the room, laced with raw desperation.

“What’s troubling you this morning?” Eren inquired, suddenly materialising near the wolf. He reached out a hand to pat Greystorm’s head, but the wolf responded with a shake, a clear signal of his unrest. Then, with an unexpected burst of energy, Greystorm bolted out of the room, his form disappearing swiftly towards the door.

“What was that?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps he is vexed; the pups have been slumbering on him. They’ve been so restless of late.” Mikasa sat up neatly, drawing the covers around herself, chuckling at the thought of the little wolves troubling old Greystom. Yet Eren seemed suddenly distant, his gaze wandering as a furrow creased his brow. “However,” he began, “this scenery feels familiar...”

“What?” She expected his words, but they didn’t come as if they slipped from his mind.

“Never mind, forget it.”

When Mikasa mustered the courage to stand up, the soft touch of a silky robe slid over her skin like a comforting embrace, shielding her nakedness.

“Where are you going?” Eren asked, failing to conceal his worries.

“I don’t yearn to be in bed all day; I want to go outside,” she said with an adorable pout. “I wish to see Hannah.

Her husband sighed tenderly, as if understanding that he wouldn’t be able to sway away the determination in her eyes and her desire to be with her sister. “Perhaps you should inquire if she feels well enough for visitors, don’t you agree?”

Oh, of course. A woman who had recently given birth would need privacy and rest, especially with the hectic days swarming around. “I shall send her a letter,” she offered as her last resort.

“A thoughtful gesture,” Eren remarked, his smile warm. “In the meantime, Mikasa, please, please stay here, alright? Don’t do anything reckless, at least not when I’m not near you watching for you.”

His words were gentle but carried a firmness that revealed his genuine worry for her well-being. Mikasa nodded reluctantly, sensing the sincerity of his request. She understood Eren’s concern, knowing that she had pushed herself too hard lately.

She turned to him, reaching up to place a chaste kiss on his jaw. “I’ll behave, and I’ll rest. Anything else, my lord?”

He held her waist gently, drawing her closer. “Yes, a real kiss for your husband before he leaves.”

The softness of his lips against hers was a comforting reminder of his love for and concern for her.

As Eren departed, promising his return for supper, Mikasa decided to indulge in a brief respite, seeking solace in a bath. Servants from the palace brought to her chambers a copper bathtub, which they filled with near-boiling water, recalling the princess’s lifelong preference. Yet Mikasa, wary of the scalding heat, requested it be tempered—her body was yearning for something colder.

“Your husband’s influence is evident, Princess,” remarked the Septa, arching an eyebrow as she supervised the maidens.

Mikasa merely offered a small smile and a shrug before sinking into the bathtub, eager to feel clean again. The maids groomed her, scrubbing away the grime on her skin, washing her long black hair, and finally dressing her in a snug burgundy silk gown, which she found stiff around her chest and waist.

Once she was ready, she found herself contemplating how to fill her daytime hours. She had promised Eren to avoid any rash actions that might unsettle him, so she considered what she could do without being reckless. Her options for activities were still limited, especially without her usual companions. Hannah was, as expected, confined to her bed and likely would be for days. Historia and Ymir were undoubtedly on their way to the Great Council. Visiting her father was not an option either, as he was preoccupied with political matters related to the meeting. As for Gabi, Mikasa had no idea where she was—perhaps she had been granted permission to wander around the keep. Maybe she could visit her mother and Petra to share some tea and discuss recent events.

And just as she decided to go see the Consort and the Princess, she was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. A maid entered and informed her that her mother was already there to pay her a visit.

“She is waiting for you,” the girl said. “In the parlour.”

A curious happenstance, she mused as she stepped from her chamber, has she somehow read my thoughts?

As Mikasa entered the parlour, she found her lady mother awaiting her, standing with quiet reverence in her customary white gown, her hands gracefully crossed over her stomach.

“My dear daughter,” Kuchel greeted, her voice soft. “The gods be merciful; you look so much better now.”

“Better now?” She arched an eyebrow in bemusem*nt. “Were you here before?”

“Ah, indeed, my dear.” Kuchel approached, one of her hands reaching out to tenderly cup her cheek. “Your health had us quite preoccupied. Your father has been fraught with concern, as has Hannah, and even the Lady of the Lakes herself inquired after you. It warms my heart to see you safe and sound; truly, it does.”

“Thank you, mother. I don’t know what to say.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” the woman gently interjected. “You needn’t say a word. Your task is simply to focus on your well-being, understood? And to maintain good health, you mustn’t deny yourself nourishment, hm? Let us break our fast together.” Kuchel’s slender finger delicately tucked a strand of Mikasa’s hair behind her ear. “I extend an invitation for you to accompany me to my department for the day. You may bring your husband’s sister if you so desire, and…” She glanced around with a faint smile. “The wolves, naturally, if they promise not to bite.”

Mikasa chuckled, her gaze drifting to Greystorm, who stood nearby, just at the threshold of the bedroom door. “Indeed, mother, they are quite gentle. My husband believes Greystorm has taken quite a liking to me and wouldn’t harm a soul unless they bother me.” Her laughter softened into a serene smile. “I would relish spending the morning in your company. Allow me to instruct my maids to inform Gabi of my whereabouts; she seems to be wandering the Keep today.”

“Gods, my dear, you mustn’t allow her to wander freely, especially considering the influx of unfamiliar faces drawn by the currents of politics. That’s precisely why I’m here to ensure your safety personally. I trust no one in these uncertain times.” Kuchel shook her head with concern. “Nevertheless, princess, you should be more assertive with the little girl. While she is your sister-in-law, consider her part of your training.”

Training? Mikasa pondered, momentarily puzzled by her mother’s words, but she replied confidently, “Fear not, mother. Gabi has Nightmare by her side, ready to shield her from any harm. Shall we depart now?”

As they stepped out of the cosy confines of the Phoenix Tower, a gust of salty air greeted them, carrying with it the promise of a new day.

“I’m suddenly craving some coffee,” Mikasa said with a hint of longing.

Kuchel stared at her. “Do you like coffee now?”

“Yes, I love it.” A fond smile graced her lips as she spoke. “Eren often teases me about my preference for sweetening it, a practice uncommon among northerners, or so he claims. He insists that it should be enjoyed in its purest form, untainted by the addition of sugar. But I find that the sweetness adds a certain depth to its flavour, balancing out its robustness.” She suddenly chuckled, covering her mouth with one of her slender hands. “I once dared to propose the notion that it would taste better with a sip of cow’s milk, and he recoiled in horror. Perhaps it’s the Southern sensibility in me.”

“Perhaps it would be prudent to abstain for a time, wouldn’t you agree?” Her mother said it with a straight face. “While it’s a tempting pleasure, it may not be the wisest companion since you are... I mean, since you are dealing with this peculiar affliction that plagues you. I believe it’s best to forgo it for now, Mikasa.”

Mikasa’s laughter danced softly. “Oh, mother, you must not forbid it. I recall reading about a Northern lord from a lesser house who incited revolt by restricting coffee, allowing only himself the privilege. Eren’s grandfather had to intervene in the affair. It was a rather grave situation, if the tales are to be believed. Coffee, it seems, is indeed a serious matter.”

“You have been delving into northern history now?” Kuchel asked, her curiosity evident in her tone.

“Sometimes I do, to kill time. Of course, that’s when I’m not aiding Eren with the accounting books.”

“He lets you assist him with that?” Her mother exclaimed, surprise colouring her voice.

“Yes, indeed. I lighten his burden considerably when I do. Eren trusts me; he knows I’m meticulous and precise. Besides, it provides him a little respite amidst the myriad of tasks he faces.”

“Well, I never thought he would be the one to surprise us, but I suppose it’s a welcome change. It seems you two have found a harmonious accord.”

“Yes, we have,” she affirmed, her eyes shimmering with a glint of nostalgia, recalling a cherished moment. “We’ve had our share of skirmishes, but they’ve been nothing but fleeting moments against our better days. We’ve worked on them, and now here we are, understanding each other more than yesterday but not as much as we will do on the morrow.”

“And he does not withhold his affections from you.”

A subtle blush graced Mikasa’s. “Indeed, he doesn’t restrain himself too much when it’s about me.” Her response was laden with implications that hung in the air like the scent of roses in bloom.

“I can see it,” Kuchel added. “The three days you were asleep, he never left the tower; he stayed with you the whole time. He nearly shouted at the healers of my household, which, truth be told, wasn’t pleasant. But I’ll chalk it up to the desperate actions of a desperate man who lost his temper.”

Mikasa’s heart swelled with warmth at her mother’s words. “Yes, that’s Eren,” she affirmed softly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Memories flooded her mind—moments when Eren’s fierce protectiveness had surfaced, like during the haunt, their journeys to Redwood Hall, or whenever he caught his soldiers casting lingering glances in her direction.

“He carries a perpetual air of melancholy, yet there’s depth to him beyond that,” she continued, her tone tinged with fondness. “He is stubborn, passionate, and fiercely loyal to those he cares about. Sometimes his actions may seem rash or impulsive, but they always come from a place of deep care. And trust me, he cares; he really does. He is a protector.”

Her mother sighed, a wistful expression softening the lines of her face as she spoke. “He reminds me of your father in a way.”

“My father?” Mikasa’s tone was incredulous. “I’ve never seen my father lose his temper. He’s just... a conciliator.”

“Yes, that much is true. Yet he had his moments in his youth, especially when we were betrothed. Believe me.”

Mikasa’s curiosity gnawed at her, a persistent itch demanding to be scratched. She longed to inquire about the things her mother had said, but the slippery nature of her curiosity eluded her grasp. Instead, she redirected her focus to a particular matter that had occupied her mind for some time.

“Did you ever anticipate he would be so tender with me?” The question left her lips as she gently tilted her head towards her mother. “Eren, I mean.”

The woman seemed to ponder her words, a thoughtful pause stretching between them before she finally spoke. “It’s difficult to ascertain such things when arranging a marriage,” she said. “But I conducted thorough research on him before allowing the king to summon Lord Yeager to the south. What I found seemed worthy of you.”

The princess couldn’t quite place the emotion that stirred within her—a delicate blend of disappointment and resignation—as she absorbed her mother's pragmatic response. Deep within her heart, she had nurtured a glimmer of hope, yearning for words that would echo her mother’s dreams of a brighter future. Yet reality, with its harsh edges, often veered from the realm of the ideal, and Kuchel had always been a steadfast realist. Mikasa’s marriage had been orchestrated to fortify Levi’s crown, an unavoidable truth that loomed over their conversations like a shadow.

But amidst it all, there exists love, abundant and tender, she said to herself, her heart quickening its pace. Yes, there’s an abundance of love and tender moments.

Suddenly, she cautiously ventured her unanswered questions. “What if he didn’t have a good reputation, Mother?” There was a pause as she swallowed her breath. “Would you still have married me to him if he weren’t a decent man?”

For a moment, silence enveloped them like a thick mist, each heartbeat echoing in the stillness as they awaited Kuchel’s response. And then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand burdens, Kuchel finally spoke. “Probably not,” she said. “Your safety and well-being are my priorities, Mikasa. I would not have consented to your marriage with someone who was not worthy of you, regardless of the political circ*mstances.”

She nodded, a sense of relief mingling with gratitude towards her mother.

“I am content with him,” she affirmed sincerely. “Truly, I am. Yet it pains me to have found this happiness apart from my family, but I am happy because I love him, and he loves me back. Besides, I hope to grant him a child one day; he says he would love a child from us.” Her hands instinctively rested on her stomach, the hint of tears threatening to surface. “Though such a thing has proven difficult for us lately—”

“You will have children.” Kuchel halted her steps and turned. Soon, her hands gently touched Mikasa’s shoulder. “You will have all the children you desire, for you were born on the first day of spring, and with you comes the fertility that such a season brings.”

Her mother’s words resonated within her heart, filling her with a comforting warmth.

There was always a mystical quality to the way Kuchel linked her birth to nature, as if Mikasa were intertwined with the very cycles of life. From the dawn of her memory, the princess remembered the stories her mother whispered in her ear, woven with threads of reverence for the arrival of spring. In these tales, her birth stood as an emblem of renewal, a harmonious blossoming that coincided with nature’s awakening from a winter slumber. Kuchel narrated with fervour about the robins singing their hymn and how the flowers, inspired by the breath of life, began their upward dance towards the light.

“Your arrival, my dear Mikasa, marked the beginning of spring, but most importantly for me, the spring in my heart. You were the promise of new beginnings, of dreams blossoming, and of the earth coming to life once again.” And, back in those days, as she strode her black hairs, she always added in silence, “You were the proof that I was not so barren.”

In the figure of Mikasa, Kuchel said that she had seen the embodiment of ephemeral beauty and constant renewal, a princess destined to be the muse of the eternal cycles of life and death. Whether from a sense of inadequacy or the naivety of youth, Mikasa had never regarded her own birth in such a light. Yet now, the idea that her very inception bore significance to the blooming fertility and boundless promise of spring ignited within her a glimmer of hope and anticipation for the journey ahead with her husband—a mellow future with Eren.

“Thank you, Mother,” Mikasa said, her voice brimming with excitement, though a lump formed in her throat. “Your words hold great significance for me.”

“Fret not, sweetling,” Kuchel said, her grip gentle upon her hand. “With each stride I make, it is solely for your safety and your flourishing. Do you understand? My heart yearns for nothing more than witnessing you conquer any trial.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “I understand.”

Kuchel enveloped her in a tight embrace, conveying all her love and support in that simple yet profound gesture. In that moment, Mikasa knew that no matter what trials lay ahead or the distance separating them, she would always have her mother by her side, guiding her with wisdom and love.

They remained there for a few moments until suddenly, a voice interrupted.

“Ah, a family gathering,” the voice said.

“Victoria,” Kuchel greeted, raising her chin somewhat haughtily. “You look well this morning.”

Mikasa was certain the comment was more out of politeness than genuine admiration. Her mother had never been one to fawn over the queen.

“Indeed, I seem and feel in fine fettle,” Queen Victoria replied, taking a few steps forward. “My son shall soon be thriving on the Council and in his negotiations. All is arranged for him to assume the mantle of the Phoenix Prince at the end of this affair. Why should I not radiate splendour on this particular morning?”

Behind the queen, Mikasa caught a glimpse of Hiana, too shy to be herself, but it was her, unmistakably. She exuded a tangible sense of discomfort, as though she were deeply mired in her own thoughts and terrified of something unseen. Her normally confident smile was now weighed down by doubt, and she appeared almost hidden beneath her clothes, as if she were fleeing from an invisible foe. It was, by all means, a disconcerting sight.

Poor thing, Mikasa thought, furrowing her browns in pity.

“Well, may your countenance retain its charm should circ*mstances ever go awry,” Kuchel said in the midst of Mikasa’s rumination. “For, as we are well aware, Prince Ramsay is hardly endeared to the common folk, and it would indeed be a dire state if a Prince Phoenix were to face disdain from his subjects. They would abhor him as heir and then as king, wouldn’t you agree?”

Victoria chuckled, her lustrous blonde locks cascading around her. “Ah, but it’s not the desires of the common folk that matter, Kuchel. They hold no sway in this matter; it’s the lords, the mighty lords, and their visions that shape our realm.”

“Then I trust the mighty lords, and their keen visions shall determine the suitable heir,” the Consort affirmed, assuredly.

“Indeed,” Victoria replied, her tone carrying a note of warning wrapped in a cloak of feigned benevolence. “One must harbour hope, for in these impending days, anything is possible. Merely bide your time and count your blessings.”

“We shall ascertain the outcome when the esteemed lords cast their votes, My Queen.” Kuchel’s demeanour was poised and graceful, never faltering in composure. “Considering, I presume, that if you have been attentive to the other tidings, the North stands resolutely with my prince and no one else.”

“Indeed, indeed, the North is at your side,” Queen Victoria remarked, her gaze alighting upon Mikasa. “You’ve executed quite the scheme to achieve such a thing, sending a maiden to captivate a man with a heart rent asunder. Excellent move, Consort; my respects.” Her azure eyes gleamed. “You’ve imparted your wisdom to your daughter quite adeptly, haven’t you? You know, drawing from your own experiences in bewitching men with such a Hizurian countenance.”

“Survival, my Queen, is the paramount lesson a mother can impart,” the other woman replied calmly, smiling. “As for matters of the heart, I had always told Mikasa that such a path is one that every woman must navigate on her own. Some of us possess that artistry effortlessly, while others... do not.”

Victoria Fritz’s regal façade remained unmoved, yet her eyes betrayed her with a subtle flicker of guardedness. A tension seemed to hang in the air, imperceptible to the untrained eye but keenly felt by those attuned to the subtle nuances of the old rivalry between the women.

“Ah, I see,” The queen said. Suddenly, her blue gaze landed on Mikasa, a sly smile lighting up her features. “You look splendid, Princess Royal,” she said. “I dare say your hair and skin glow, and it appears you are getting plump. Have you been indulging in feasts aplenty in the North lately? What do you think, Hiana?”

The girl behind her flinched, as though the mere mention of her name had struck her like a blow. Mikasa steeled herself against the scathing comment; she was too familiar with the queen’s strategies—a subtly pointed remark from the elder woman, followed by the eight princesses’ final, even more vicious remark. For years, it had been the same refrain—constant remarks about her appearance, her body, her purity... Mother and daughter, ever ready to make her existence a torment.

Yet, the barb seemed to fall flat with her sister, for Hiana remained strangely shy, hands clasped before her. Her gaze was fixed upon the ground, as though she were one of the garden statues, adorned with silk but devoid of life.

Poor thing, Mikasa mused silently, noting with a pang that it was the second time she had seen her sister look so lifeless.

Offering a serene smile despite the veiled insult, she said, “Thank you, Your Grace, for your gracious words. Indeed, Northern hospitality has been generous, but I assure you, I strive for balance in all things, even indulgence.”

“But truly, princess, I must insist,” Victoria pressed on. “I’ve never witnessed an ounce of fat upon you, and yet now your waist seems Thick. Pray tell, is there any news you wish to impart?”

“I…” Mikasa began to speak, but her mother cut her off.

“Nothing of the Sort. Mikasa is recovering from her illness, and she is looking effortlessly more radiant than previous days,” she said smoothly. “And thank the gods, she looks healthy again; it’s something paramount for the king’s favourite daughter.”

Those words made Hiana twitch momentarily, but still, she remained silent.

“Well, I sincerely hope for your speedy recovery. We do not wish to repeat Hannah’s unfortunate accidents,” The Queen said. Then she gave a slight ironic nod before departing. “Goodbye, dears; have a nice day.”

Hiana lingered for a moment, meeting Mikasa’s gaze. In years past, she would have met her with a smile and a biting retort, for she had a knack for squandering her breath on such exchanges. But not on that day. Without a word, the Eighth Princess gathered the skirts of her blue dress and departed.

“Do you know what happened to her?” Mikasa inquired, her gaze drifting towards the spot where her sister had walked by, her mind a tumult of thoughts as she sought understanding in the chaos. “There’s an air of secrecy about her, as if she’s concealing something.”

Kuchel’s response was eerie. “Hiana has come to know the truth about her mother,” she said.

The Mitras’ Hippodrome, the forum.

The hippodrome rose grandly, its splendour undiminished, yet its stands were not teeming with the raucous throngs of the past jousting tournament. Instead, life pulsed fervently in the nearby forum, where noble lords and ladies were gathering for the first day of the Great Council’s deliberations.

Under the fierce gaze of the mid-morning sun—also known as the Hour of the Fox—Eren arrived in his mare. The racetrack had been transformed into a makeshift stable, prompting him to navigate the winding dirt paths to house Roach within, sheltered from the sun’s harsh rays.

“Stableboy,” he called out to a tow-headed lad lingering by the gate. “I’ll require my mare to be seen, her coat smoothed, and oats fetched. She’s partial to oats. Can you do it?”

The lad met his gaze with a hint of hesitation. “I can, my Lord, but…”

“But?” Eren arched an inquisitive brow.

“I fear my skill may not match the task. I’ve not been tutored much in such matters.”

“You’ve only got to groom Roach’s mane, lad. I’ll reward you handsomely with a pair of golden coins. Is that enough?”

“No need for such, my Lord, I promise.”

Growing weary, Eren extracted two gold coins from his purse and tossed them towards the lad, who deftly caught them mid-air. A grin spread across the lad’s face, one born of accomplishment. It stirred memories of Ares within Eren.

“What is your name?” He found himself inquiring. “You seem near the age of my own son.”

“I have fifteen name days, my Lord,” the lad replied. “My nameday fell in the second month of the year.”

“Ah, intriguing; Mikasa—” He corrected himself with a cough. “—My lady wife’s nameday falls on the tenth day of that month too.”

“Indeed, mine does too, my Lord.”

“Jester.”

“I speak true, my Lord; I swear it!”

“Well, now, that’s quite intriguing, lad. And pray tell, to which household do you belong?”

The lad’s blue eyes widened as if caught in a ruse. Eren’s grin widened in response.

“I’m not of any…”

“None of that, lad; don’t be a jester. If you’re masquerading as a stableboy, your attire wouldn’t be of such fine silk, nor would you be saying my Lord instead of m’lord, wouldn’t you?” Eren interjected, his head co*cked to the side. “I saw you in the joust, and let me tell you, I am not one for names but faces; ah, I remember faces. I have seen yours before, pretending to be my squire in place of my usual one. So tell me, what drove you to such an audacious charade, hmm? Were you merely toying with my fate, or did that Porco Galliard pay you for that?”

“No!”

“No?”

The boy’s cheeks blazed scarlet, crimson creeping to the very tips of his ears. “My lord, I swear by the Seven Gods that I am innocent of such treachery,” he said. “As for Galliard, well, any fool can see he is as witless as they come. Associating with him would be sheer folly. My family may be associated with his family, but not me at all.”

Eren stifled a laugh. Indeed, Galliard’s dim-wittedness was as apparent as the high sun at midday, a fact he had uncovered in the jousting arena. Of course, this realisation had dawned upon him only after the heat of their confrontation had ebbed away—at the moment of their hand-to-hand combat, he only wanted to spill Galliard’s guts in the sand for calling him old man and speaking names of Mikasa. A mind devoid of brain coupled with a dirty c*nt mouth—that was all the blond meant to Eren.

“Well, you still have to clarify to me some things,” Eren insisted, unwavering in his posture.

The boy reddened again, glancing around him with sudden shyness.

“I greatly admire you, my Lord,” he finally said, scratching his head sheepishly. “I have heard the stories of your exploits—the hero who resisted the king’s attacker while facing his own brother’s direwolf. I merely wished to meet you.” Eren couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. This was, somehow, amusing. “The blonde man mentioned I could fill in as your squire, and I took the role. It seemed like my sole opportunity to meet you.”

“Curious,” Eren remarked, a hint of intrigue colouring his tone, “but do you understand the consequence? By your actions, you’ve left me no choice but to discipline my warden.”

“No, my lord, please!” The boy interjected desperately. “Spare him and chastise me instead. I was the one who came up with the plan; the burdens of such actions shall rest on my shoulders.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, if I am permitted, I shall do it.”

This bravery, Eren mused inwardly. He’s akin to Ares himself. Not merely the fair locks, but the fire in his gaze...

The Lord let out a weary sigh. “Let us lay the matter to rest. I shall overlook it.” He felt a twinge of foolishness, as if he could ever chastise Armin for such a trifling matter. Armin, in the end, always found a loophole to pursue his desires anyway. “But you, lad, have yet to divulge your name to me.”

“I am Falco Grice,” he said. “I hail from the Marley triarchy, as you can see. Yet, believe me, my lord, my allegiance lies wherever my heart finds resonance.”

Ah, like the words of their House, Eren mused, recalling the phrase he had heard some time ago in Liberio. Where my heart belongs, there lies my loyalty. He offered a fleeting smile before withdrawing. “Until we meet again, Falco.”

Inside the forum, the hallways thrummed with the murmur of politics. The walls, clad in alabaster and marble, gleamed under the caress of sunlight, casting golden reflections that guided Eren’s steps. He strode with measured grace, passing between the imposing statues that flanked the entrance to the main circular chamber. Though he knew he was late, he did not hasten his pace. He was a lord, the warden of the North—that much was certain—but politics was a realm that still vexed him. Far preferable it would be to resolve the conflicts of his lands than to grapple with the discord of six other kingdoms. Yet duty called, and he was bound to answer.

Gods be good, I am ill-suited for this, he grumbled inwardly.

He longed to be with Mikasa in that moment, a desire that surely surprised no one. But some comprehension should be extended to him, truly. His wife had spent the past few days in slumber, a fact that had shattered Eren’s heart in ways beyond reckoning. Even when the healers had told him that there was nothing amiss with a sick person indulging in extended slumber, he really was pondering that there had to be something wrong.

A person succumbing to excessive slumber due to illness wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but due to spring sickness? Eren sought insight from his most trusted confidant—Armin—who assured him that while such an illness befell travellers, it typically afflicted those journeying from beyond the Seven Kingdoms—travellers from the Free Cities.

“Moreover, Eren,” Armin had added, “do you recall any of our men falling prey to spring sickness when we ventured south a few months prior?”

Indeed, Armin had a valid point. Eren harboured no inclination to suspect deceit, for he acknowledged the prowess of Hizuru’s healers, even deeming them superior to the maesters. Yet he chose to remain vigilant, ever watchful for any eventuality that might befall his wife. Sadly, he had to navigate these concerns amidst the ongoing process of selecting an heir.

Approaching the forum’s entrance, a palpable sense of gravity and authority enveloped him upon seeing the banners representing noble houses from across the Seven Kingdoms, proudly showcasing their unique emblems. On the left side, there was Marley’s eagle, with its three golden stars on an azure field; Liberio’s orange rampant deer on a green field; and Hammerhall’s silver hammer with two green serpents on a sable field. On the right side, there stood Hizuru’s faceless weirwood on a field of snow; The Lakes’ golden sun, cradled by two silver hands on an azure field; and the North’s sable wolf running on a field of gules. Crowning them all in the centre, as the representation of the Crownlands, was the burning Ackerman phoenix flying on a golden field. These symbols seamlessly merged with the marble and plaster of their surroundings, as well as with the inevitable symbols of the Faith of the Seven. In a Great Council, it was not only the judging of men’s worth but also the judging of the gods.

Here, in this perfect fusion of grandeur and antiquity, it seemed inevitable that history would unfurl its tapestry once again, weaving together the threads of fate and fortune in a dance as old as time itself.

Eren passed by rows of assembled lords and ladies, their faces marked with anticipation and determination. Some whispered among themselves, while others exchanged knowing glances, their true intentions veiled behind masks of diplomacy and intrigue.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Armin’s voice broke through the murmurs. “It’s not your fashion to be late.”

“You know, Mikasa—” Eren began, but Armin cut him off with a smirk.

“We know.” He chuckled, his smirk widening. “Your worrying will be the end of you. Ah, look! Are those new wrinkles gracing your face?”

Eren remained silent, rolling his eyes and pursing his lips into a firm line. Fighting the urge to pose a counterattack toward Armin, he fixed his gaze straight ahead, preparing himself for the discussions ahead. He deemed it better to save his sharpness for more important matters.

“Well, you haven’t missed much,” the blond continued in his quiet tone. “The High Septon has bestowed blessings upon us all, so that the gods may clear our minds, and the Hand has given a brief speech in the name of the king.”

“Prince Kenny?”

“The very same. He mentioned that although the king has shown signs of improvement lately, he’s advised not to leave the keep. Hence, he hasn’t been able to join us here.” The man moved in his seat, drawing closer to him to whisper. “This must be Prince Kenny Ackerman’s only means of participation, but I daresay it doesn’t sit well with him.”

Eren understood exactly what Armin was alluding to. Kenny Ackerman, despite bearing the title of a prince, couldn’t partake in this gathering for one simple reason: he wasn’t a porphyrogenetic prince. Such a title was reserved solely for the sons of the reigning king, and in their absence, the male grandsons of the king were deemed second-line porphyrogenetic princes. Yet, this was not a Grand Council convened to discuss succession among grandchildren but rather among the king’s own children. Six porphyrogenetic princes King Gilbert IV had, and only one would ultimately claim the crown.

As Eren blinked, momentarily disturbed by the glare of the sun illuminating the marble, the brilliance of the room surged as six princes entered, their attire resplendent in royal gold.

At the head of the group strode the first prince, Ramsay, his ego casting a shadow that seemed to know no bounds. Following closely was the second prince, Levi, whose posture was as straight and serene as ever. Behind him trailed the third prince, Kian, his countenance veiled in mystery, though a hint of discomfort creased his brow. Furlan, the fourth prince, sported a carefree smile and attire more extravagant than his companions’. Kallias, the fifth prince, appeared burdened by insecurity, as if he felt misplaced amidst his brethren, a stark contrast to the sixth prince, Roan, whose confidence exuded a natural ease, though tinged with an air that could be construed as emulation of his elder siblings.

The princes stood on the platform in front of the forum, their gazes directed at the lords. There was a contrast among them, ranging from selfishness to security, fear, and resignation. Yet, there was something familiar in each of their eyes, something unmistakably of the royal family itself—proudness.

Even Mikasa possesses it, Eren thought.

“Honoured lords,” intoned the High Septon, the paramount figure of faith and impartial arbiter of the council. “Behold the porphyrogenetic princes, the heirs of fire! Each one of them, a prince in their own right. All of them were born of the phoenix’s blood and the lineage of Helos the conqueror. These royal scions came into the world during the reign of Gilbert IV, all equally poised to claim the throne. Peer into their eyes, delve into their very souls, judge them as the men they are, and commence the task of choosing who shall reign over you in the days ahead.”

The hushed whispers swirled through the hall, a symphony of conversations that weaved a tapestry of anticipation. Each murmur, from the subtlest to the most discreet, filled the air, wrapping around those gathered like a cloak of shared secrets. A thousand eyes, like stars in the night sky, fixated on the princes, scrutinising their every move for hints of their true nature.

“Prince Furlan cuts a fine figure,” someone murmured. “But does he not seem too lavish? A prince’s duty is to his image, but one such as he would empty the crown’s coffers, wouldn’t you say?”

“Prince Kian exudes strength and determination,” another voice observed. “He may be fit for a king.”

“Prince Kallias appears frightened,” another noted. “He wears the look of a man on the verge of tears.”

And so the commentary flowed, a river of opinions where a thousand minds served as judges in a silent court, weighing each word and action in a delicate dance of judgement and perception.

Amidst the cacophony, Eren caught the voice of the Lady of the Lakes.

“I’ll judge one thing only: that fat High Septon greeting the lords and ignoring the ladies,” she was saying, her tone dripping with indignation. “They seek our judgement, yet in the end, it’s the men who hold the power. Our words may fall on deaf ears.”

Curious, the lord glanced back, searching for Historia. He spotted her one row further back, to the right. She wore a blue dress with the characteristic cut of the lakes, and she was engaged in conversation with someone, a blonde Eren recognised.

“Isn’t that Annie Leondhardt?” He queried Armin, yanking him away from his discourse with a northern lord.

“It’s her,” the blonde affirmed. “She is here on behalf of her father, so the whispers say.”

Eren was taken aback. Annie Leonhardt, the sole daughter of Lord Leonhardt of Stohess, was not, to his knowledge, the heir to her house. Stoic and aloof, she was known, but Eren remembered her fondness for long-distance horseback riding. It had led her to Shiganshina once, where she defied convention by joining in a feast with northern folk. Despite her reserved nature, she had shown enough kindness on that occasion, expressing her intention to return someday and claiming that, unburdened by heirship duties, she could afford such luxuries.

“In the south, women are far from inheriting lordship,” Annie had remarked to him. “So, with no expectations upon me, I prefer to roam while my father seeks an heir through another marriage. You may know, Lord Eren, that I am not fond of stepmothers throwing to my face the fact that I cannot be the head of my house.”

That conversation had offered Eren a glimpse into southern customs, and he found it repugnant that gender could bar one from their birthright. It had also been one of the moments he swore that if he ever encountered someone from the warm lands, understanding might elude him; they were kind of weird. Yet now, his words lay chewed on his stomach, served up by his beloved southern wife’s hands.

“Is her father sick?” Eren inquired; it was the only plausible explanation for the woman’s presence.

“Stricken with gout, he can barely move,” Armin disclosed. “What has piqued your interest?”

“Because, if you see carefully, Armin, we’re not only determining our next king but also the fate of successions and the demise of several ancient customs,” Eren remarked. For him, the words that encapsulated all this were: the birth of a new dynasty.

As the princes withdrew to their designated places, it fell upon the lords to step forward onto the stage and advocate for the candidates they deemed most worthy. The Princess of Hizuru, Kiyomi Azumabito, was the first to address the assembly.

“Noble lords and ladies, esteemed members of the Grand Council,” Kiyomi began. “We stand at the precipice of a new era. The mantle of leadership lies vacant, awaiting a ruler of unparalleled strength and virtue. In this time of uncertainty, there emerges a beacon of hope, a man whose very name embodies the essence of kingship: Levi.”

Amidst the echo of the prince’s name, tensions surfaced. It was evident that Hizuru would align with the second prince; it was hardly surprising. Yet Eren couldn’t ignore the absence of animosity, particularly from Marley and a portion of Hammerhall.

The discussions in Hammerhall must be quite intriguing, he mused, shifting in his seat. On one hand, Tybur seems to be aligning with the Fritzes, while Lord Ral is siding with the second prince. His gaze fell on Willy Tybur. He’s nervous. He knows that if Levi becomes king and Princess Petra is his queen, House Tybur will lose power. House Ral will surpass them, and he can’t tolerate such a thing.

“Levi is not merely a man; he is the embodiment of everything we hold dear as a realm,” continued the princess as her gaze fell upon every corner of the room. “I implore you to cast your votes not out of obligation but out of conviction. Choose the leader who will guide us into a new era of prosperity and unity. Choose Levi, for in him resides the hope and promise of a bright tomorrow.”

With her final words, Princess Kiyomi bowed gracefully, her conviction evident in every line of her elegant form. The forum chamber echoed with the weight of her proclamation.

“Tell me you have something equally clever to say,” Armin whispered as the applause began to fade.

Eren raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I wasted time contemplating smart things for politics while my wife lay asleep for three days? I almost lost my sanity!”

Armin snorted. “The gods save us.”

Soon, it was the turn of Hizuru’s counterpart: Marley. Theo Magath, the head of the triarchy, was the one to step forward in his imposing form. He was adorned in a naval uniform, a garb seldom witnessed, whispered to be reserved solely for the crucible of battle.

“My esteemed lords,” he began, a rough tone lacing his voice. “In the pursuit of a leader, we must consider the essence of strength and resilience. These virtues, embodied in the blood of the south, are the true markers of greatness. Let us not be blinded by the illusions of promises and hopes. Let us instead embrace the strength of the south, for it is there that the true heart of leadership resides. As we look to the future, let us remember that greatness knows no bounds. And it is time for us to recognise that the blood of the south is not just worthy, but superior, to reign.”

His words elicited resounding applause from those whom Eren suspected to be supporters of Prince Ramsay. Conversely, the remainder of the assembly remained largely unmoved and dissatisfied by such a showcase.

“A remarkably southern speech, don’t you think, my Lord?” Lord Kirchstein remarked to Eren from the side. “How can we expect a fair vote when centralism permeates every facet of this argument? Now more than ever, we must stand behind Prince Levi; don’t you think so?”

Eren sighed heavily before responding; he could feel the beginning of a headache gnawing at him. “Without a doubt, Lord Kirchstein. Centrism will only perpetuate inequality and oppression,” he responded. “I concur that Prince Levi is our best option to ensure a more equitable and just government.”

“Say his name in your speech, my lord,” urged the Lord of Dauper, noticeably without his usual cough. “Let the southern centralists know that the north will not tolerate such a thing. We may be several kingdoms, but one sun shines for all.”

The winterlord nodded in agreement and began to ponder his speech while Theo Magath continued with his unfriendly tirade. By the time Magath finished, Eren knew exactly what he would say, and it would be after The Lady of the Lakes’ speech.

Historia ascended the platform with the grace inherent to the women of the marshes, her chin held aloft with unwavering poise, refusing to allow the antiquated murmurs of the lords to diminish her resolve. It was a display worthy of admiration, indeed.

“Many might think that I am here to persuade a change in some traditions, and perhaps they are right, or perhaps they are not right at all.” Her voice resonated with unexpected authority, an authority forged in the lessons of history and past struggles. “However, that discussion would get us nowhere, since some minds here are still clinging to the past, to the time of our parents, who were excessively conservative, yet pigs in their private matters.” She sighed with a hint of malice in her eyes and finally said: “As the many prissy faces before me in this moment.”

Her statement caused an uneasy murmur among those present, but Lady Reiss silenced it with a gesture and raised her voice. “I will not say names, nor will I make my alliances known publicly; that’s something that my lords can discern by themselves. The only thing I wish to remind the lords, and especially the royal family, is that winter fever has ravaged The Lakes once and could do so again at any time.”

Oh, Historia’s in a bad mood today, Eren thought, picking up on the growing tension in the room. Suddenly, he found himself paying closer attention with renewed interest as the blonde continued with her speech.

“In those dark times, help was denied to us even when we were one of the pillars of these so-called seven kingdoms,” Historia continued. “Thousands of people died, and many more were left with consequences that were never attended to by our monarch. Despite this, we remain loyal to the phoenix and will be so as long as this negligence is not repeated. We, The Lakes, want a king who sees us all as equals and who understands our importance and our loyalty. We need a leader who not only rules but also guides with wisdom and fairness—someone who is willing to leave behind the limitations of Eldia’s customs and moves towards the future, not a king afraid of the winds of change.”

Among the applause that suddenly erupted, Eren nodded, feeling a new spark of hope ignited by Historia’s words. It was clear that her determination was unwavering, and her vision for the future of her kingdom was inspiring.

When summoned to the stand, he swallowed hard, his nerves twisting within him like serpents. His role in the matter was plain to all, yet he was compelled to endure it, to navigate through the murky waters of testimony with all the dignity he could muster. As he made his way forward, he shared a glance with Willy Tybur, who tilted his head in a gesture dripping with sarcasm.

Damn fool, Eren muttered under his breath as he took his place on the stage. It remained utterly preposterous to him that they were ever related in any capacity, still bound somehow by the blood of Ares. Yet my son is more Yeager than Tybur, and I would battle anyone who dares challenge that, was his final thought before he found thousands of eyes fixed upon him with eager anticipation.

He swallowed again, courage and force settling on him. He glanced at Levi, and a thought emerged in the recess of his mind, Don’t fail me; don’t fail Mikasa.

“Hear me out, lords and ladies of Eldia,” he began, his voice sounding grave. “For too long, we have been divided by petty differences, fueling resentments and mistrust between us. But today, in this room, we have the opportunity to change that. We have the opportunity to rise together as brothers and sisters, regardless of our lineage or kingdom.”

The eyes of the audience fell on him, some with curiosity, others with scepticism. Eren continued, his speech infused with a deep sense of purpose and conviction.

“Unity, on the other hand, is our greatest strength. When we unite, we are invincible. But true unity is not just about being together in times of prosperity but also supporting each other in times of adversity. It means putting aside our differences and working together for the common good. Therefore, in this important election, I want to express my support and that of the north for the Second Prince, Levi.” Against all odds, he heard the hustle and bustle that it caused. “He represents the wisdom, courage, and dedication we need in these uncertain times. His commitment to equality and justice, along with his military experience, ensures a safe and equitable future.

The room erupted in a mix of reactions—some clapped in agreement, others murmured in argument. But Eren remained unfazed, ending his speech and leaving the stage at a slow pace.

At the foot of the stairs, he found himself face-to-face with Tybur.

“Fine speech,” Willy remarked, “but we can all talk that way when a princess is dangled before us.”

“I dare you to speak louder,” Eren hissed, already weary of the man. By the gods, he wished he could strike him then and there; that’s what he was itching for. Emblazon his foolish visage with the imprint of his own knuckles’ folly.

Yet, Tybur merely nodded at him and passed in silence; it was his turn.

“What did Willy say to you?” Armin inquired as soon as Eren returned to his seat.

“He’s begging for my sword in his neck,” came his curt reply, leaving no room for further response from Armin.

To everyone’s surprise, Willy Tybur began his speech with the very issue many had forgotten—the heirs after the chosen king.

“Dear nobles, today we gather to choose our next ruler, but we must not overlook the significance of this election for the future of our realm,” he began, his eloquence sending shivers down Eren’s spine. “It is not merely about who will wear the crown now, but who will lead for generations to come. The stability and grandeur of the kingdom of Eldia depend on the continuation of our royal line. We cannot permit weakness to seep into our foundations.”

The direction of his speech was unmistakable, hanging heavy in the chamber.

“Therefore, I, Willy Tybur, ask you to consider this when selecting our next king,” he continued. “Look beyond immediate desires and contemplate the future of our realm. That is why my endorsem*nt lies with Ramsay, the first prince. He lacks neither virility nor strength, having proven himself as a man with the birth of two male heirs. He will be the finest king to uphold the greatness of our lands and ensure a prosperous future for us all.”

From that point on, there was a palpable shift. It was clear that Willy Tybur aimed to sway the election of the next king by stressing the importance of the royal bloodline and backing Ramsay, who, indeed, had heirs. The political manoeuvring of Tybur, using the First Prince’s heirs as leverage for his suitability for the throne, was a clever tactic, yet kind of underhanded.

He knows that some lords here are old-fashioned, Eren thought, watching the hesitant lords’ expressions morph. Tybur knows they’re aware that Levi has only one daughter who cannot inherit, and the Lords know his line stands at a crossroads. This was measured.

Unconsciously, his emerald eyes drifted towards his brother-in-law. Positioned at the front, where the princes sat side by side, he saw the façade of stoicism masking Levi’s expression, as if those evil words couldn’t penetrate him. It seemed as though Prince Levi had already internalised them, accepting them as an unbreakable truth within his being. It was admirable, truly admirable, especially in an era when a man’s virility was frequently measured by how many others he could conjure up from his own flesh and blood to bear his name for generations.

However, that facade of strength clearly cracked for everyone when Tybur said something unexpected.

“In addition,” he began. “Prince Ramsay will truly maintain the traditions that have forged our kingdoms, unlike others who want to come to power and want to dismantle the harem as we know it!”

The words hung heavy in the air, shattering the calm of the assembly like glass. A murmur rippled through the assembly, disbelief etched on every face. Voices clamoured, questions flew, and the air crackled with tension. It was as if the very foundation of their beliefs had been shaken, leaving uncertainty in its wake. Dismantling the harem? The notion was met with incredulity, especially among the southern lords. It was unacceptable, akin to the death knell of cherished traditions that had long brought benefits to the privileged few.

“This is sacrilege!” Someone else cried out. “Unacceptable, unimaginable! The harem is the garden of the realm!”

“It’s Prince Levi, isn’t it?” A lord dared to shout, his voice bold. “If his lady wife had not given him a son, he could well have asked the king to establish his harem to secure an heir, but he didn’t do so! Why do you think he didn’t do so?”

The forum, once a bastion of decorum and order, converged into a pandemonium—the perfect setting for a bloody battle.

“Did you know it?” Armin asked in a murmur. “Did the prince tell you about this, Eren?”

The blonde’s insistence made him blink. “Not at all. He didn’t confide any of this to me,” he replied. Yet he didn’t need to ask much, for Levi, the epitome of stoicism, visibly flinched at the unexpected proclamation. Eren watched perfectly when the confident mask slipped from the prince’s face, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability beneath.

“This here won’t sway the Northern decision, that’s certain,” Armin pointed out amid the tumult unfurling around them. “Northern lords have no liking for the notion of a harem, but southern lords instead...”

“I’m well aware,” Eren acknowledged, observing the stark shift in expressions and perhaps... allegiances. This didn’t bode well for the Second Prince at all.

“How does the Second Prince plan to manoeuvre such an act without inciting revolt? He has it well concealed.”

“Yes, and now all eyes bear witness.”

Armin bit his lips, his cerulean gaze sweeping the chaos that enveloped the room. “Gods have mercy upon us, for the days ahead shall not be nice to anyone.”

Eren held his silence, yet within the labyrinthine corridors of his thoughts, a question gnawed incessantly: How does Levi plan to extricate himself from this? For such a thing, there wasn’t a clear answer.

As swiftly as Tybur took the stage and stirred the meeting to a boil, he departed, leaving it evident that all present should vote to uphold tradition and proclaim ‘the strongest blood.’ Then conversations carried on unabated. The Crownlands and Liberio did not engage in discussion, as they had princes vying for the throne and thus were excluded. The mothers, influential political figures for each prince, were also barred from attendance. Each minor lord found his place, and the indecision that gripped the southern lands became apparent.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the land, the events of the day unfolded with unmistakable clarity. Among the common folk, Prince Levi was hailed as a hero without reservation, and his deeds and virtues were celebrated with fervour. Yet, within the corridors of power and privilege, whispers of concern echoed among the nobility. Their concerns were centred on the apparent lack of a descendant from him to take the throne and were further intensified by disturbing whispers about the harem’s disintegration. At that point, it was evident to everyone that the odds were stacked in favour of Prince Ramsay and his supporters.

The queen’s guests feasted lavishly that night, their merriment echoing through the golden halls.

The Royal Keep, the Heir Tower

With his fingers tightly gripped on the edge of the table, Levi felt the jagged edges of his broken nails scrape against his skin. Anger, pain, frustration—all of it had surged within him since his return from the first deliberations. He had held himself back, more to restrain his emotions than to grant satisfaction to the Greens, who would undoubtedly relish in his stumble. Yet as he watched the sands of time trickle slowly through curved glass, he felt his sanity slip away. The pressure, the expectations, the betrayals—everything consumed him from within.

He had been meticulous; he had executed the most intricate of plans, so how had his most cherished designs been laid bare in such a manner? Every detail he had painstakingly arranged had been exposed, as if someone had bared his most intimate thoughts and thrust them into the light of day. The sting of betrayal was unbearable. How had so much disloyalty infiltrated his closest circles?

Levi felt ensnared in a labyrinth of deceit and falsehoods, unable to trust anyone around him. Had he been negligent, or had he simply underestimated the cunning of his adversaries? Uncertainty gnawed at him, eroding his confidence in himself and those he had sworn allegiance to.

“If you must let your rage come out, do it, Your Highness,” Erwin Smith, his faith advisor in such a hard time, said beside him. “Better to lose your wits here than before everyone in the deliberations.”

It was a valid point; the Lord of Karanese was often right. But the words of Levi’s mother echoed through the storm of his thoughts, reminding him of the lessons she had instilled in him since childhood. “You are a prince; maintain your composure, Levi,” she had always insisted. “Do not lose yourself, for it will be the death of your reason. You are of the blood of the phoenix; remember that.”

Yes, the prince agreed silently. I am of the blood of the phoenix, and the phoenix does not falter. But why did his phoenix yearn to ignite and consume everything in its path?

“They’ve uncovered your reform plan for the harem; your anger is justified,” Erwin spoke as if he had read his mind, pacing the chamber, his figure barely illuminated by the candles flickering in the Hour of Ghosts. “Do not be your own enemy, my prince. Remember who the true enemies are.”

The man’s words hung in the air like whispers in the shadows, bearing a wisdom Levi could not ignore. Amidst his fury and desperation, it was easy to forget who the true adversaries were. “Who are they?” The prince asked in a low voice, yet loud enough for the Lord to hear.

“Those who seek your ruin, those who conspire against you in darkness.” Erwin halted nearby, and in a shed tone, he said: “Those who pray for the downfall of your family.”

Such words made Levi open his eyes as he exhaled deeply. I am of the blood of the phoenix, he repeated in his mind, his breath growing heavy. I am of the blood of the phoenix. I am of the blood of the phoenix.

“Do not let anger blind you easily, My Prince,” Lord Smith continued. “Keep your mind clear and your goals steadfast. That is the only path to victory.”

I am of the blood of the phoenix. I am of the blood of the phoenix.

“Vent your anger now and face your enemies with a clear mind tomorrow.”

I am of the blood of the phoenix. I am of the blood of the phoenix.

“They will show no mercy; they are orchestrating everything for your downfall.”

I am of the blood of the phoenix. I am of the blood of the phoenix.

“Levi, let your fire blaze forth.”

And then, louder than the chirping of a bird, a lion’s roar erupted from Levi’s chest, tearing through his vocal cords until they felt raw, pressing against his temples. The sound reverberated through the room, vibrating in the charged air like a challenge. Every fibre of his being seemed to resonate with the long-suppressed fury, an explosion of emotions unleashed in an unbridled torrent.

“f*cking c*nts!” He bellowed, the roar surging from his chest to his throat in a matter of heartbeats. “f*cking c*nts!”

His fist crashed down onto the desk before him, the wood trembling under the force once, twice, and three times as he punched it.

“How could they have known, Erwin!? How!? HOW!?” He demanded, his voice strained. “The blasted dismantling of the harem was a hidden reform, yet they are aware! They know, Erwin! They know!”

Erwin stood by, a steady presence amidst Levi’s tempestuous outburst. His expression remained composed, though concern flickered in his eyes as he watched his prince grapple with the storm raging within him.

“Only the gods know what else they’ve uncovered!” The prince persisted. “Only the gods know what their next movement shall be!”

He paused, hiccupping loudly—a sound he hadn’t made since childhood, when tantrums over trivial matters were common. “At this very moment, the Greens scheme and connive. What will they say on the morrow? Will they announce Mikasa’s pregnancy? Will they throw her into the fire as they did me? Will they tarnish Petra’s noble name or besmirch the innocence of my daughter? Will they desecrate my mother’s image?” He turned to Erwin, his eyes burning with anguish. “What will they do!?”

His hiccup morphed into a piercing moan, and soon Levi found himself recoiling in his seat, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a stone.

At the council, he endured the glances directed his way as Willy Tybur spoke of the heir issue; he maintained his composure as they looked at him with pity for lacking his own offspring. However, when Lord Tybur proclaimed the closely guarded secret of dismantling the harem to make way for a new dynasty, he nearly lost his composure. If they knew that, they might as well know about Mikasa’s condition, and just the thought made Levi’s insides twist in fear at the possibility of harm. Gods, he was truly afraid that his sister might suffer just because he was pursuing a crown he couldn’t pass on to his children but hers—for, indeed, all of this was not merely an act of self-coronation but an eternal consecration of Mikasa’s bloodline. She alone stood as the righteous one to carry on their royal legacy through the ages.

“Here, my prince,” Lord Smith said again, offering a cup in front of him. Levi reluctantly took it and drank, not spilling a drop.

“Now what, Erwin?” He asked the only man left in the room, everyone else in the Black Council sent to their chambers, all of them acknowledging the faction’s leaks. “They already have this information; they could surprise us with more.”

“I doubt it,” Erwin said. “This move by the Greens, though surprising, has been rushed. There are days and days of deliberation left, Your Highness; this was just a display of the queen’s desperation.” He exhaled forcefully before speaking. “Moreover, the Greens may be rejoicing now, my prince, but there are dissenters among them. They are uncertain whether to pledge full allegiance to Prince Ramsay or Prince Kian. I have heard whispers that the Grices of the Triarchy harbour some discontent with the first prince; they find him somewhat... repugnant.”

“Are you sure?”

“Overconfident, Your Highness. It’s no coincidence that the third prince has appeared rather gloomy lately. My scouts claim that the queen only includes him in her schemes to serve as a pawn for Ramsay’s coronation.”

At the core of the Ackerman identity, pride was an ancestral trait that ran like an undercurrent, permeating every fibre of their being. To be reduced to a mere medium, a pawn in the power play, must be a devastating blow for Prince Kian. The sensation of having his humanity stripped away, reduced to a mere tool, surely scorched his soul. However, it was perfect for the seed of discontent to take root within the green faction. After all, there was no better way to dismantle something than from within, striking at its very foundation.

Levi allowed himself to chuckle, a dry sound escaping his wine-soaked lips. If Lord Smith’s words hold true, then the Greens will find themselves embroiled in internal strife.

After sighing, he spoke to the man, “You are eloquent,” he said.

“That’s the purpose of my presence, isn’t it?” Erwin Smith, standing tall at his six-foot height, leaned against the prince’s desk, casting a scrutinising gaze upon him. “I do not disregard the charms of your mother; indeed, she possesses great intelligence and determination. It’s just that—”

“She lacks the eloquence to gather so many people; I understand,” Levi interrupted, finally adjusting his position to face Erwin directly.

Although it was undeniable that a prince’s mother constituted the strongest pillar in the life of one born and raised in the confines of the harem, father figures were equally important, carving the man that only another man could sculpt from the most intricate marble.

Prince Levi held his father in deep reverence, his devotion unwavering. Nonetheless, he was aware of the king’s vulnerability—a weakness wrought by uncertainty and insecurity—as was evident to everyone. Thus, he sought in others the embodiment of qualities he aspired to, a figure to admire, one who could guide him through the complexities of a kingdom under his reign. Erwin Smith, the lord of Karanese, perfectly embodied that type of man.

Eloquent, serious, formal, and pragmatic, there was no doubt that Lord Smith attributes would be of immense value in an environment as complex as the vicious court. Levi did not hesitate to approach him and cultivate a mutually beneficial friendship, for it was wiser to have him aligned before others recognised his considerable potential. It only took a tempting invitation to a hunt and some fervent discussions about falconry, and here they were—Lord Smith as something of a confidant to him and foremost, one of his orchestrators of his ascension to the throne.

“And she doesn’t have my scouts,” Erwin said, a sideways smile playing at his lips with amusem*nt. “Which, let me tell you, are demanding payment for the information they’ve brought in over the last few months.”

“Name the price in gold,” the prince declared, regaining his composure.

“My scouts care not for gold, Your Highness,” Erwin countered.

“What do they desire, then? A seat at court? Lands? Titles? I cannot simply grant such things.”

“True, you cannot.” Erwin paused, his words hanging in the air. “But the king can, and they believe that you will be king. She believes that you will be king, and she is willing to see you right now if you desire.”

Levi blinked, taken aback. It must be someone desperate indeed to request an audience at such an hour, especially if she was a woman, as he presumed.

“Very well, bring her in,” he said after a moment. “But let this affair be expedited.”

With that, Lord Smith departed the room, not through the door like any ordinary person, but through the hidden passages between the walls of the tower, passages Levi had been frequenting lately.

What if Ramsay and the queen have also discovered these passages, gathering information about me? Levi wondered, feeling the heat from the fireplace fill the room, making it feel suffocating.

Alone in the room, he rose from his chair by the desk and approached the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle, a habit he had developed as of late. Though he couldn’t discern anything concrete within them, it was the only thing that seemed to soothe him lately, aside from the touch of his wife.

In the shadows of his own mind, Levi sought clarity within the dancing flames, hoping to unearth meaning or omens to guide his path. Yet what he discovered were fleeting images, devoid of any lasting significance beyond their brief illumination. He was unlike Mikasa, who spoke of visions and prophecies in her dreams, or Helos, the legendary conqueror who forged unity among the seven kingdoms. And certainly not like his father, who maintained peace throughout the realm for years.

Prince Levi was akin to a phoenix born of black fire, embracing his flames that neither sparkled nor gleamed but consumed the light around him.

“My lord prince,” came the call from Erwin Smith, resonating through the chamber.

Levi turned, his gaze settling on the man standing behind the wooden desk. Yet, it wasn’t Erwin who held his attention for long; it was the young woman a few paces behind. Ah, he recognised her. There was a certain quality in her eyes, in her stance, and most notably, in the curve of her nose. Many noble houses bore distinct features, and he recalled only one with such a downward slope.

“Leonhardt,” Levi said, his brow furrowing. “You are the sole daughter of Lionel Leondhardt of Stohess. Am I mistaken?”

“No, my prince.” The girl brushed away blonde strands of hair from her face as she spoke. “I am Annie Leonhardt, the only daughter of Lionel Leonhardt, hence his sole heir.”

Such a response elicited a slight nod from Levi. He already had a sense of where this conversation was headed.

“I’ve heard of your father’s affliction with gout,” Levi continued. “I wish him a swift recovery.”

“A recovery that won’t come,” the girl interjected, stepping closer. She possessed a boldness that was hard to ignore. “The maesters and their leeches know my father’s days are numbered. He is so swollen he can barely move, and the stench... the stench is unbearable. Nevertheless, in his incapacitation, he has named me as the only one who can represent him in the Grand Council and vote on his behalf for the Phoenix Prince.”

“He must have instructed or guided you in selecting a prince who aligns with his beliefs.”

The girl snorted at that.

“No. You are mistaken there. My father has taught me enough to think independently and to choose whoever I deem fit after weighing each candidate's merits.”

“Then I presume your opinions on the matter are taking shape.” And as a Southerner, you know well that I do not adhere to the old traditions.

“Yes, my opinions are forming and—” Annie Leondhardt moved closer, her hands resting firmly on the desk, “—I know it is in my best interest for you to be the next king of the Seven Kingdoms. You can secure my birthright over my uncle, who eagerly awaits my father’s demise to marry me and seize my inheritance, even though my father has already forbidden it.”

Levi contemplated the girl’s words. Desperation clung to her like a shroud, evident in the depths of her eyes and the quiver in her voice. Once proud, she now seemed burdened by the gravity of her choice.

“This is not the North, where daughters hold precedence over uncles, nor is it the Lakes, where women inherit by right,” Levi said cautiously, scrutinising her expression. “We are in the South, where the very notion of a woman ruling sends men’s hairs standing on end. That’s why I can only dream of championing my only daughter’s birthright to be queen after me.”

“It’s true; everything you say is true,” Annie acknowledged. “But you are forging a new reign, seeking to ascend the throne, only to have it pass to a son of your sister afterward. If a northerner is to enter the equation at some point, it seems only fair that the rules of lordship within our houses might also evolve. And it shall start with me and Stohess. If you promise to me that you will do so, then I shall vote for you, and my allegiances shall be with you from now on.”

Levi nodded, a gesture of acknowledgment and a silent acceptance of the task before him. As he mulled over the girl’s plight, he found himself enveloped in a newfound clarity, a clarity that Erwin’s earlier urging to release his pent-up anger had paved the way for.

And so, a new alliance was formed.

The next day, the council sessions resumed, the vicissitudes of the previous night seemingly leaving no trace. Levi encountered his brother Furlan in the halls of the racecourse, amidst the constant stream of arriving lords, like raindrops on an autumn day. But Furlan’s expression held no joy; he bore news that weighed heavily on him.

“Tell me,” Levi prompted as soon as Furlan approached him.

“There hasn’t been much commotion over it, but I’ve overheard the maids whispering, Levi... They say Mikasa has been rather dizzy of late,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. “All of this plays into your hands simply because her symptoms remain ambiguous and she has yet to show signs of her pregnancy. However, at any moment, her pregnancy could begin to manifest itself.” The fourth Prince furrowed his brow and said, “Brother, I don’t doubt your judgement, I will trust you with my life. But still… you can’t keep hiding this from her. Why not tell her now?”

Levi’s lips pressed tightly together, his gaze piercing as he locked eyes with his brothers. “Do you truly believe Hannah was ready for childbirth when it happened?” He didn’t pause for their response, urgency driving his words. “Hannah was poisoned. There was some insidious toxin, cunningly disguised on a wine glass, resting on the very table alongside where Mikasa was seated in the royal box.”

The Fourth Prince was taken aback. “Oh, that’s not—”

“Mother has enlisted the aid of Hizuru healers to discern its nature,” Levi continued. “But whatever it is, it triggered Hannah’s labour.”

“But it’s unheard of!” Furlan exclaimed, his frustration evident, though he quickly regained his composure. With his tone laced with fear, he asked, “Why would anyone want to poison Hannah?”

“Because Hannah wasn’t the intended target, Mikasa was,” Levi said, a shiver running down his spine. “There was no indication Mikasa was pregnant at that time, but they know the power she holds for my ascension. Now that she’s truly carrying a child, they could try again, and I cannot permit such a fate to befall on her, Furlan.” The prince cleared his throat when he felt it closing. “The weight I shall lay upon her shoulders is staggering; let her bask in her joy for now, and let her slit my throat later, if need be.”

Yet, even as he reflected, memories flooded his mind. He couldn’t help but recall that day when he had entrusted the weight of an entire kingdom to Mikasa’s shoulders many months ago. It was when he escorted her north and led her beneath the arch to say her vows and be wed to the Winterlord.

In his memories, the northern winds whispered ancient secrets as the witness trees bowed in reverence. With her eyes glowing like stars in the night sky, Mikasa walked steadily towards her destiny. She had not complained, nor had she opposed, even when given the chance by the lord himself—because Levi knew that Eren had the decency to offer her such a thing. Mikasa had carried herself like the princess she was—obedient and resolute—never resigning herself to anything less than serving her family. And selfishly, he expected her to continue doing so, regardless of whatever happened.

“Very well,” Furlan replied. “I shall not fight your decision, but mark my words—falsehoods are feeble creatures. When she uncovers the truth, your shield may become the blade that severs your bond.”

Levi nodded, his thoughts echoing inwardly. If this is how it must be, then so be it.

“It looks as though everyone is assembled already. Let us proceed,” he declared shortly thereafter. The haze of guilt, his constant companion, dissipated slowly from his mind, leaving behind a blend of relief tinged with melancholy.

On the appointed day, all awaited the presence of the princes, each to make their case in succession, attempting to sway the lords to their respective political camps. It would be an exercise where cunning, eloquence, and charisma would engage in a subtle dance of power and diplomacy. By the luck of the draw, their rhetorical prowess and political charm would be put to the test.

But this day also marked the moment when Furlan would renounce his claim to the throne, a public gesture meant to solidify his support for Levi. A calculated manoeuvre in the hope of rallying Furlan’s followers to Levi’s cause.

“At least have the decency to shed a tear for me when I relinquish my right to the throne,” Furlan muttered with a touch of irony, aware that this act of sacrifice would not go unnoticed, nor would the complex emotions it stirred.

“Furlan,” Levi called out in a calm voice, brimming with a blend of admiration and resignation. “You would make a finer king than I.”

The fourth prince, taken aback by the honesty of his brother’s words, barely managed to conceal his surprise. “Enough of your jesting,” he retorted with a forced lightness. “If you continue, I might just take you seriously and challenge you for the throne.”

Levi’s lips twitched slightly, a subtle prelude to the storm that loomed. The atmosphere in the room was thick, like an electric charge crackling through the air, laden with barely contained expectations and rivalries. It felt as though they stood on the precipice of a great chasm. The chasm became manifest as all the lords took their seats, and the High Septon, watcher of impartiality, proceeded to draw lots to determine the order of the princes. The designation, followed by a name, rang out clearly: the third prince, Kian.

“I pray he unveils the cause of his recent distress in his address,” Furlan murmured. Levi had no recourse but to nudge him sharply with his elbow to draw his attention.

On the same stage where the lords had convened the day prior, Prince Kian stood, his countenance grave.

“I, Prince Kian,” he began, “Third Prince and third heir to the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby publicly and irrevocably renounce my claim to the throne.” With a resigned gesture, he gestured towards his kin, unable to conceal his smirk. “Cast your support to my brother Ramsay, the first of his name.”

The prince shouldn’t have been as caught off guard by the manoeuvre as he was. Once more, the Greens had outpaced him.

The Royal Keep, the Phoenix Tower

“They’re acting strange,” Eren said to her, shattering the morning silence that had settled over them.

Mikasa’s silver gaze flitted from the puppies nestled against her side to her husband, perched on the edge of the bed. His brown hair, tousled and unruly, bore silent witness to his night’s vigil, the shadows under his eyes telling tales of restless hours.

“The pups?” She asked in a low voice.

“Yes, the pups.”

She arched her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

For a long moment, her husband said nothing, his eyes darting through the curves of her body as if the answers he sought lay hidden within her lines. At length, he sighed. “No, nothing. It’s... it’s just tiredness, I venture.” He ran a hand through his hair with impatience, and the sigh that followed was deep and weary. He leaned back, finding a place to rest his head on Mikasa’s belly. “I need this to end soon, but ah, things are complicated.”

With delicate fingers, Mikasa did not hesitate to massage his scalp. Eren’s tension was palpable, every muscle taut beneath her touch, his entire body a testament to the strain he bore.

Mikasa needed no inquiry into the burgeoning tension suffusing her husband; the circulating news of the past days spoke as clearly as crystal—Prince Ramsay had emerged as the foremost contender for the throne.

This revelation surprised no one; the queen had allowed such information to spread far and wide. Ramsay’s name has been echoing incessantly through the keep’s halls, dancing in the courtiers’ conversations, and servants’ whispers in the shadows. His unstoppable ascent had rattled the very foundations of the court, sowing uncertainty and fear in every corner of the court, particularly among supporters of the second prince, Levi.

Yet, how could one fear kin? How could fear arise for a brother? The truth lay bare—this brother was more Fritz than an Ackerman, bearing the lineage of a dynasty steeped in darkness and boundless ambition. The queen’s disdain for anyone devoid of Fritz’s blood was palpable, an insurmountable barrier dividing those not privileged to be born under the deer’s coat of arms. To her, loyalty was a realm reserved solely for those whose veins coursed with verdant blood, while others were mere pawns in her power game.

And Ramsay, good Gods, Ramsay! His name carried a malevolence that permeated the very air. Ramsay was not just a man but a vessel of unyielding cruelty, a beast who savoured others’ suffering as sweet nectar. His smile, sharp as a dagger, concealed an abyss of depravity and sadism, while his eyes, cold as permafrost, mirrored the darkness of his corrupted soul.

Though Mikasa could not claim profound interactions with most of her siblings, fleeting exchanges were enough for her instincts to sound alarm bells about the first prince’s true essence. She knew beneath the veneer of brotherhood lurked a ruthless predator, an unscrupulous being poised to crush any obstacle between him and dominion. So, this was no distant political affair; it was a looming shadow threatening to shatter the fragile peace they had painstakingly forged. Mikasa understood their family’s position teetered on a precipice, with every move and every utterance holding unforeseeable consequences.

“I cannot fathom how this happened,” she murmured, her gaze distant. “For as long as I can recall, Levi has been unparalleled in every aspect, the most distinguished of the princes. He mastered the art of combat before his peers, his Old Eldian is unmatched, and he consistently surpasses all endeavours he undertakes. He embodies the epitome of kingship; why then would the lords not choose him first?”

Eren sighed, pivoting until his nose touched Mikasa’s stomach, clad in a silky nightgown. “Because many of these lords still cling to notions of blood rather than the qualities requisite for kingship,” he said. “Overturning mentalities entrenched over centuries of tradition is no trifling matter, and whatever your brother intends, it unsettles the interests of certain lords.”

The dismantling of the harem, Mikasa immediately realised. Eren had broached the topic before, whispers had swirled within the fortress, and most significantly, Levi himself had confided this to her on her wedding day.

“He mentioned his plans to me,” Mikasa confessed, her hands tracing persistent circles over her husband’s scalp. “But truthfully, I took it as jest, for... for it seemed inconceivable, didn’t it? Abolishing the harem would undoubtedly yield consequences.”

The harem wasn’t just about opulence or concubines; it was a political force entrenched in society and power. Behind the lavish façade, there was a web of alliances and commitments where the lines of intimacy and politics blurred. For lords and nobles, having a concubine inside wasn’t just a privilege; it was a status symbol, a clear sign of royal favour. It granted them direct access to the king or a prince, creating a tether and facilitating influence over political decisions. Also, with the rule allowing any heir to inherit the throne regardless of birth order, it sparked rivalries and conflicts among factions with competing interests.

Abolishing the harem meant more than ending tradition; it marked a seismic shift in power dynamics. It challenged established structures, forcing lords to find new ways to curry royal favour. It was a bold gambit poised to reshape the kingdom’s social and political landscape, yet it would unleash a cascade of unpredictable repercussions, confronting a realm unprepared for such seismic shifts.

“He ought to have known better,” Mikasa said, sighing ruefully. “He’s given Ramsay free rein, and with the crown upon his head, Ramsay can do as he pleases. I’m afraid of him, Eren. He has been monstrous; he—”

“Peace, Mikasa,” her husband interjected softly, placing a soothing hand on hers. “I understand your fears,” he said, his voice steady but reassuring. “Ramsay is indeed a menace. Yet, I believe Levi has a plan. He must have one.”

“A plan, you say?”

“Indeed. Your brother’s troubles arise from the matter of succession, and with Prince Furlan renouncing his claim to Gilbert’s crown, he might be named heir presumptive to Levi. There are no precedents for such a move, but if my memory of history serves, there is a title known as the Prince of the Ashes, created by King Helos himself during the Titan War, is there not?”

Mikasa remembered the story well; it was one of the most basic and fundamental lessons taught about conquest.

The tale began with King Helos, who, upon venturing north, was forced to burn his only son on a funeral pyre, the flames lit by the phoenix of Prince Lucerys himself. Bereft of heirs, as Cirilla and Lucerys were his only children, Helos feared that his own death, perhaps in the maw of a titan, would leave the throne without a successor. Thus, he created the title of Prince of the Ashes, an heir presumptive to the seven kingdoms, intended for the male children of Princess Cirilla, with the plan to marry her off to strengthen alliances.

However, after the conquest’s completion and the triumphant return of the conquering king to the city burgeoning as the realm’s capital, a new crisis arose. His daughter, Cirilla, became pregnant by a northerner whose name she never revealed, staining her honour and the credibility of her lineage. This disgrace forced Helos to take drastic measures—he established the foundations of the harem to sire new successors to the throne and, at the same time, confine Cirilla and her only daughter to a secluded place.

“An heir presumptive is all Levi can secure,” Mikasa said. “It’s clear he wishes to dismantle the harem, indicating he desires no other wives. He must sway the lords to his cause.”

“He can do it,” Eren assured her. “He has a silver-tongued ally to craft his speeches, and he himself is no fool.” He pressed a gentle kiss on her stomach. “That sharp mind runs in your bloodline, my love.”

Mikasa hid her worry behind a smile, a delicate mask for her restless thoughts. Gods, please. May Levi win the Great Council and be our king, please, please.

She stayed there, eyes closed, almost dozing, letting her mind wander along the uncertain paths of hope and supplication. The stillness of the moment enveloped her, offering a temporary respite from the storm of emotions that besieged her.

Suddenly, a gentle nuzzling on her stomach tickled her, breaking her out of her reverie.

“What are you doing, Eren?” She asked with a soft laugh as she opened her eyes to look at him.

Eren looked at her as he continued to nuzzle her stomach, his nose brushing against her skin in a way that made her giggle. “You have a smell here,” he murmured, his voice filled with seriousness that bordered on childlike curiosity.

Mikasa raised an eyebrow, her smile growing. “A smell? And what exactly does it smell like?”

“It’s... warm and comforting,” he replied, his tone turning softer and more earnest. “I don’t know what this exactly is, but it’s like... home.”

“Home?” She murmured, her words a mere whisper in the dimness. Yet Eren remained silent, his gaze like deep pools of enigma, fixed steadfastly upon his task.

With a furrowed brow, he persisted in his task with almost reverent concentration, deeply inhaling her, leaving behind a trail of warm exhalations along the silk expanse of her gown, trailing down to the delicate hem.

“Eren,” Mikasa called out, her voice trembling. She could feel the weight of his devotion enveloping her, drawing her inexorably into a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her resolve. “You must go in an hour.”

“I am aware,” he rasped in response, his voice thick and husky. “I’m not doing anything that will slow down my departure.”

Her heart squeezed with a blend of love and desperation. Squeezing her fingers, she sought his gaze, yearning to have a glimpse of his actions. “Is this what you deem ‘anything’?”

“Yes.”

And then, like a promise whispered in the breeze, he descended between her thighs, his warm breath caressing her skin with a delicate touch that sent shivers down her spine. But this time, he did not yield to the sacred altar where the flower of her passion awaited its adoration; instead, he ascended through her mound, tracing paths of kisses that mapped constellations of pleasure on her flesh.

“So sweet.” He breathed against her skin, his lips leaving trails of fire upon her stomach. With each kiss and each gentle caress, he seemed intent on consuming her, as though her skin were the most delectable delicacy he had ever tasted. “Have you changed your perfume?”

“No?”

“Your soaps, perhaps? You use rose soap; this one doesn’t smell like roses.”

“Eren, I don’t know what you mean,” she said, feeling the tight coil of fire in her belly, a sensation only Eren had the power to soothe. “You’re acting a little bit odd.”

“You don’t understand me, Mikasa.” He paused to leave a loud hickey in the centre of her core. Gods, it was so pitifully sweet that Mikasa couldn’t help but close her eyes and let out a loud moan. She needed him. She needed him so much. “You smell so good, my little wife,” he continued, his words punctuated by another tender kiss against her skin. “You smell and taste as sweet as never before, and it’s driving me crazy. So f*cking crazy.”

“Stop this now,” she implored, striving to maintain her composure amidst the rising tide of pleasure threatening to engulf them both. “You truly risk tardiness, Eren.”

“I am aware.”

“This is the final day of deliberations.”

“I am well aware.”

“Eren…”

“Mikasa.”

“Eren, stop—”

“Hush now,” he interjected, his voice firm yet tender. “I need a moment to contemplate this situation.”

“What do you mean by ‘this situation’?”

Yet he didn’t offer an answer. His lips instead, once ablaze with fervour, hung in silence, as if the very essence of his words had transformed into elusive ghosts, hesitant to escape. Mikasa regarded him from her perch, nestled between her thighs, as he traced the contours of her swollen belly with a blend of reverence and confusion. Normally, Mikasa might have recoiled at her swollen condition, yet in that fleeting moment, she embraced the sensation of completeness he bestowed upon her. It felt like a fitting thing to be entwined thusly with him.

“What are you pondering?” She inquired, taken aback by the sudden stillness of her husband, a man always driven by the impetus of action.

Eren’s verdant eyes shifted slowly from the sleepy pups at the bedside to her. “I was reflecting on how I see you now, and…” he murmured with a strange solemnity. “Your body has changed.”

“What are you implying?” Discomfort was beginning to weave through her words as her husband seemed to slide into unknown territory. He was truly acting so odd.

Eren blinked, shaking his head as if a sudden realisation had dawned on his mind. “Mikasa,” he began tentatively, “I may be mistaken and truly sorry if I am, but it seems to me that you... perhaps you—”

A sharp rap on the door cut through their moment, dispersing the enchantment that had drawn them into a closeness they had almost forgotten. Eren sighed, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow.

“What is it?” he asked, irritation lacing his tone.

“The northern lords have departed, my lord,” a servant’s voice said through the door, slightly muffled. “You requested to be informed upon their leaving.”

“Seven hells.”

“Anything else, my lord?”

“See that Roach is prepared for mounting.”

“Yes, my lord. Is that all?”

“That’s all. Just... you can leave.” Eren huffed before he directed his gaze towards her.

“I warned you, did I not?” Mikasa’s voice carried a playful lilt, her giggle soft as the rustle of leaves in the godswood. The exasperation in her husband’s face, only deepened her amusem*nt. Her fingers delicately traced the smooth silk of the coverlet, seeking the small, slumbering forms entangled in dreams. A gentle caress to the grey wolf’s fur beside her elicited a contented rumble. “Now, what was it you were about to say?”

“It’s of no consequence now. We’ll discuss it later, alright?” Eren exhaled heavily, his tense posture easing slightly.

Her reply came in the form of a simple nod. On the final day of deliberation preceding the voting day, trivial matters held no sway. Conversations could wait for a more opportune moment.

As they emerged from the embrace of the warm sheets, they were ensnared in a delicate choreography, a well-rehearsed routine of preparations for the day ahead.

“What ventures do you have for this day?” He inquired, his movements fluid as he adjusted his attire, a black kaftan adorned with red accents, another of the garments that Mikasa had meticulously embroidered for him.

“I am to meet Hannah at last. The king has summoned a gathering in her honour. Her son shall at last be bestowed a name today,” she responded, her voice a symphony of soft notes as she slipped into a gown of resplendent gold, the silk fabric casting a beguiling gleam under the sunlight.

“And has the child remained unnamed until now?”

“Indeed. The Ackermans hold fast to the tradition of withholding names for a fortnight, and now the king shall officiate the ceremony. He will say the child’s name thrice: in homage to the heavens, the earth, and finally, in his own name.”

“Ah, Ackerman’s custom.” He adjusted the sleeves of his assembly, culminating his preparation. “So, my dear wife, may your day be filled with splendour. Though I must say, your choice of gown seems ill-suited for such an occasion.”

Uncertainty gripped Mikasa. “Pardon?” She cast a fleeting glance at her reflection in the mirror, memories of Eren’s words flickering briefly in her mind—your body has changed. “Does it not befit me?”

He chuckled as he enveloped her in his embrace from behind. “Quite the contrary, it befits you splendidly, and I fear you shall outshine all at the gathering,” he teased, planting a playful kiss upon her neck, adorned with the delicate bird necklace he gave her after the hunt. “You are poised to eclipse your nephew’s day. Truly, you are a mischievous aunt.”

She surrendered to laughter, her hands finding solace in the comforting embrace of her husband’s arms. “Would you help me with my crown, my love?”

“Of course.”

He glided towards the small table adorned with jewels, selecting a crown of delicate golden blossoms and pearls, its radiance promising a perfect harmony with Mikasa’s gown.

“Allow me.” He placed the crown on her dark locks with gentle hands. “There it is, Your Grace.”

Mikasa closed her eyes, smiling. “Thank you, my love.”

“Now you are prepared to enamour all within the palace,” he declared, admiration evident in his gaze as he beheld the transformative effect of the crown upon her countenance, bestowing upon her natural allure and otherworldly radiance. “Soar high, little bird, but not too far, hmm? Come back to me. Else, you shall shatter my heart.”

She turned to encircle her husband’s neck with her arms. “Those are my sentiments to you, Eren. It is you who must find your way back to me. I will always wait for you, eternally.”

They sealed their parting with a lingering kiss, each departing to pursue the tasks that awaited them throughout the day.

“Mikasa, you’re radiant!” Exclaimed Gabi at the entrance to the tower, her smile perhaps a touch too wide for the early hour.

“What brings you here at this hour?” Mikasa inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of bewilderment. The dawn had barely broken, and Gabi’s unexpected presence outside the tower stirred suspicions in her mind.

“Oh, I... I’ve been busy with many things.”

“Things that Eren would disapprove of, judging by the look on your face. He has already gone. Tell me; I won’t tell him.”

Gabi’s eyes widened. “But really, really, reaaaaaally, promise me you won’t tell him anything. If he finds out that I sneaked out so early in the morning, he’ll send me back to the north in the first galley available, and I don’t want that, Mikasa. I wish to be here when the king crowns the Phoenix Prince.”

Mikasa understood her desire; she hoped for the same. “I swear I won’t say anything to him. Now, tell me then.”

The girl hesitated, but she began her tale regardless. “I explored the Keep like I told you I wanted to.”

Gabi recounted how she had traversed the Royal Keep from top to bottom—from the throne rooms to the royal gardens, from the courtyard to the harem. She described how she had raced through the rose gardens, past the stables, down the stairs to the Sun Gate on the Phoenix Bay, past the kitchens, pigsties, and the barracks of the royal guard, along the foot of the wall overlooking the Phoenix Bay, slipping in and out of unknown buildings until she became completely disoriented and some guards questioned her presence near the King’s Holdfast, a heavily guarded area.

In order to avoid being brought before Eren and spare herself from a big scolding, she had snuck through a high and narrow window in a wall, only slightly more than a loophole. She jumped, grasped the sill, and pulled herself up, holding her breath as she twisted to squeeze through.

By this point, Mikasa was already horrified, yet Gabi continued with her tale. She said she had tumbled to the other side of the wall, startling a mop, then quickly picked herself up, shook off her clothes, and dashed away. Hurrying out the door into a long hallway, down some stairs, across a hidden courtyard, around a corner, and finally, she had collided with a boy.

“Gods be good!” Mikasa exclaimed, unable to contain herself. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything even more foolish after that.”

“I told him to go away, that it wasn’t his matter,” Gabi insisted. “But a couple of guards spotted us, so he ran with me, and we kept running until we found a hiding spot.”

“Oh, Gabi, Gods! If anyone saw you, they’d report it to Eren, and Eren would have the boy’s head.”

“But nothing happened! Really! Besides, he seemed too dazed, like the heat was getting to him or something. I even asked if he was feeling ill because his cheeks were so red.”

“What was his name again?” Mikasa asked, cracking her neck. She didn’t know everyone there, but some names carried certain reputations.

“Falco Grice or something like that. What a stupid name!”

At least not a Galliard, Mikasa pondered. Yet the name stirred something in her memory. Grice, akin to the Grice family of the Triarchy, whose coat of arms was an azure falcon emblazoned on a field of silver, with a sable star hovering above its head. ‘Where my heart belongs, there lies my loyalty’ were their words.

The whispers that the Triarchy didn’t see Hizurians with welcoming eyes were not baseless; they were as evident as the crystal waters of Phoenix Bay. It was not unheard of for them to avoid interactions with people from Hizuru or those associated with it. If the boy had approached Gabi, then he must have been mistaken, for it was common knowledge by now that Lady Gabi Yeager was the sister-in-law of the Princess Royal.

“Very well, but what did you do with this boy, Gabi?” Mikasa sighed wearily.

“I told you that nothing happened! He merely wished to accompany me back to the Phoenix Tower, but I informed him that he could kindly go to hell. Nevertheless, he persisted, insisting he could accompany me to where I truly wished to go.”

“Not the dungeons.”

“The dungeons!” Gabi exclaimed, her voice rising with excitement. “A very dark place, and not well-guarded, you know, Mikasa? I believe the soldiers there are incompetent compared to the Yeager soldiers. They didn’t even notice a couple of sneaky children slipping past them. Quite disgraceful, really. Who is in charge?”

“Darious Zackley, the war commander.”

“Ah! Yet for a man of war, he seems lacking in responsibility when it comes to the dungeons. Aren’t there dangerous criminals held there? What if they were to escape? But perhaps they’ll never escape, for I hear the war commander has terrorised them. They say he’s quite adept at torture, pulling fingernails, administering Catay burns, or using the chair that turns you upside down and...”

“Gabi!” Mikasa’s voice rang out, sharp and decisive, slicing through her charade. The unspeakable acts that Darius Zackley indulged in were known to all within the Keep, casting a shadow of disgust over every inhabitant. “I must depart for the King’s holdfast with my family,” she said. “Your current gown is unsuitable. Bathe and join me later with the wolves, understood? And be cautious with Greystorm, he seems restless once more. I believe he is getting tired of Mitras, but I can’t tell.”

Gabi’s smile remained unaffected, as if oblivious to the situation. “Of course, Mikasa,” she acquiesced. “Farewell.” And as Mikasa made her departure, Gabi’s voice echoed from behind, a teasing lilt carrying her words, “And you sounded like a mother, Mikasa!”

The princess shook her head ruefully. Taking care of this girl feels like a trial run for motherhood, she mused to herself.

When Mikasa arrived at the king’s ceremony hall, the guests had already gathered. As expected, most were the princesses—resplendent clad in gold, some escorted by their mothers, and the older ones with their children in tow. On the sides of the chamber, in separate corners, were the Consort and the Queen, overseeing the event with regal poise.

The King was the first to greet her when he caught a glimpse of her, his eyes lighting up with recognition as he moved through the gathering, leaning on his cane. “Ne güzel sabah! Prūmirosā pryhatit!” What a beautiful morning! My princess has arrived!

“Ne güzel sabah, Valshemekh pryhatit vishni!” The morning is beautiful when the king arrives! Was Mikasa’s response.

King Gilbert smiled, extending one of his hands. “Moi mahqamar yo shemarzohar Prūmirosā.” My Moon and Sun Princess. “You look splendid today.”

“You as well, my king. May the Seven bestow upon you continued health and prosperity.”

“The Seven show mercy upon me, my dear,” he said softly. “Yet in recent days, I beseeched them not for my own well-being, but for yours.”

“I appreciate your prayers, Father. Yet I am feeling better.”

“Seasonal ailments can be most vexing.” He paused, his gaze appraising her with a knowing glint. “But I venture that yours is no mere Spring Sickness. Kuchel suffered that one, and it was quite different; more joyful, she says.”

Joyful? What does he mean? Mikasa shook her head and offered a smile. “Let us set that matter aside for now, Father. Come, let us go and greet my sister.”

She found Hannah seated in an armchair, arranged specifically for her, clad in a modestly tailored gown of gold hue, her hair intricately styled in a pin-up fashion, and her features lightly touched with makeup. Despite her outward appearance of grace, Mikasa sensed a frailty lurking beneath the surface, evident in her pallor and gauntness. Mikasa couldn’t fathom the extent of Hanna’s ordeal during childbirth, but her delicate form spoke volumes.

“It gladdens my heart to see you, sister,” Mikasa conveyed, lowering herself before Hannah to embrace her. “I deeply regret not being able to visit you. They informed me of your need for rest; hence, I settled for correspondence instead.”

“Oh, my dear Mikasa, I understand. You were unwell; my thoughts were with you,” Hannah reciprocated the embrace, her touch tender and maternal, exuding a comforting warmth. “Your letters brought joy to me, sister. I am grateful for your affection.”

“What happened?” She asked in a low voice, her gaze locked with Hannah's brown eyes, brimming with concern.

Hannah sighed heavily. “I am still uncertain. It was all so bewildering. After your departure, I desired some wine, and so I requested it. Yet, upon drinking it, I was seized by a sharp pain in my belly, and I began to bleed.” She swallowed hard, her eyelids fluttering. “It was a harrowing ordeal, truly. Never before had I endured such agony and despair, Mikasa, but... but he arrived, did he not?”

Mikasa sought solace in her sister’s faint smile, yet found herself unable to do so. Instead, a chill crept over her. How could imbibing wine lead to such a dire consequence? While it was true that Hannah had wed while carrying, anticipating a swift labour, the pieces of the puzzle did not align quite right.

“Do you wish to see him?” Hannah interjected, snapping Mikasa out of her reverie. “You must meet him; I have already declared you his cherished aunt.”

Leaving a gentle touch on Hannah’s shoulder, Mikasa rose from the floor and approached the cradle beside her. There lay the newborn, swathed in soft linens. Mikasa advanced cautiously, her heart torn between anticipation and apprehension. As she drew nearer, she beheld his serene countenance, peacefully nestled in slumber. Yet his features bore no resemblance to Hannah—he was a reflection of his father in every delicate feature.

“Meet him, Mikasa,” Hannah whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “My precious son.”

With trembling fingers, she brushed against the infant’s soft cheek. “He is beautiful,” she murmured. “A true blessing.”

“He is, indeed, and I have a name chosen for him,” Hannah began, her voice tremulous, “but I seek your blessing, sister.”

“Blessing? Why would you need my blessing?”

The fifth princess drew a deep breath, her fingers tightening around her sleeve. “I have decided to name him like our beloved father. His name shall be Gilbert.”

“Gilbert,” she repeated softly. “It’s a perfect name.”

“I thought that you would want such a name for a child of yours, given the affection that you have for our father—”

“Sister,” Mikasa interjected. “I need no persuasion to grant my blessing. Choosing our father’s name for your son is a decision filled with honour and reverence. Gilbert Kefka will carry forth a legacy of integrity and strength, just as our father does.”

Hannah’s eyes glistened with tears of gratitude as she squeezed Mikasa’s hand. “Thank you, little sister. I know all of your children will be as beautiful and compassionate as you.”

Mikasa’s words were swallowed by the lump forming in her throat, threatening to drown her in a torrent of raw emotion. A subtle nod and a smile, though veiled by the shimmer of teary eyes, conveyed her response.

“So, it is time to commence,” declared the king, his voice resonating throughout the chamber with an authoritative air, the echo of his staff striking the ground reverberating like a solemn prelude to the forthcoming ritual. “Let us bestow a name upon this child, a name to bind him to our lineage.”

And thus began the Ackerman Trinitarian naming ceremony, a moment steeped in significance and ancestral lore. The women, custodians of maternal wisdom, encircled Hannah, their voices rising in unison to chant a hymn in the ancient Oldian tongue. Their fervent tones soared like supplications to the heavens, weaving blessings of health and prosperity for both mother and newborn son.

The patriarch approached, and with reverence befitting his lineage, he lifted the child from his cradle. With measured intonation and a voice echoing with the strength of generations past, he spoke the child’s name thrice: “Your name is Gilbert. Your name is Gilbert. Your name is Gilbert.”

Hannah stepped forth, holding a vase adorned with ornaments steeped in the ancient magic of the Ackerman lineage. She delicately poured its contents over her son’s head. It was phoenix water, water crafted from the depths of the Phoenix Bay’s flowing currents, encased within vases forged from the scales of phoenix eggs that had never hatched.

This was a symbolic baptism intended to stir the ancestral essence that pulsed within each one bearing the Ackerman bloodline. The Phoenix water sought to seep into the pores, course through the veins of the child, and ignite the dormant flame that epitomised his lineage. It was the birth of the fire that burned within all who bore the name Ackerman, even in the slightest touch.

In the ancient tongue of Old Eldian, the king repeated his earlier words. “Ty İsim Gilbert. Ty İsim Gilbert. Ty İsim Gilbert.”

Then the king fell silent, the women watching him expectantly. He leaned close to young Gilbert’s ear, and in a barely audible voice, the king whispered a few prayers in Old Eldian, invoking the protection and strength of the old gods and the news.

Once the prayers were over, he gently and carefully returned little Gilbert to the arms of his mother, Hannah. “A little lord with Ackerman blood,” he declared. “Let us feast and celebrate, for our family gets bigger and bigger with the years!”

And with those words, he signalled the conclusion of the ceremony, ushering in the next chapter of the day’s festivities.

Servants entered the chamber, carrying with them the unmistakable scent of the sea, which filled the air with its tantalising aroma. True to tradition, the spread before them showcased the bounty of the southern shores, featuring platters adorned with fresh seafood. Circles of squid and crustaceans, their shells glistening with the dew of the ocean, nestled on beds of vibrant algae and lush lettuce. On silver plates, gleaming oysters with glossy shells, succulent crimson shrimp, and crispy crab legs beckoned. Amidst this oceanic feast, bowls of tangy seaweed salad and buttery scallops added variety to the selection, while delicate mussels, steamed to perfection, offered a briny taste of the deep.

The aroma hung thick in the air, weaving an intoxicating spell promising delight—a spell that Mikasa’s sisters eagerly succumbed to as they hurried to the table to sample the dishes. Yet Mikasa wrinkled her nose at the scent, opting to stay back. It wasn’t that she lacked hunger; on the contrary, she longed for something specific—northern quail, stuffed with rice, butter, and vegetables. Why such longing? She couldn’t tell.

As noon approached and the meal concluded, servants presented cakes, and the princesses bestowed their gifts upon Hannah, tokens of prosperity for her and her son. Among the offerings were garments, dolls, lucky charms, and gold. However, a shift in the atmosphere became palpable, particularly evident in the consort and queen, who ended up leaving the assembly at last. According to murmurs among the sisters, they were anxiously awaiting news regarding the final speeches of the princes at the forum.

“They await their messengers,” confided Caelia, the seventh princess. “These forum speeches could prove decisive for tomorrow’s votes.”

“It’s been quite a bustling day,” added Valeska, the fourth princess, drawing near. “But the silver lining is that soon everything will conclude, and everyone will return to their respective homes." She regarded Mikasa with a hint of tenderness. “You’ll be heading back north, dear sister.” There was a touch of nostalgia in her voice, prompting Mikasa to raise an eyebrow in curiosity. “Isn’t it cold up there?”

“I’ve grown accustomed to the northern chill,” Mikasa replied with a faint smile. “In fact, I miss it a lot; it’s my home now.”

Valeska nodded in understanding. “Each of us has our own place we call home, little sister. I’m glad that you found yours.”

Mikasa watched her sisters with a newfound appreciation, her heart softening as she considered their words. Never before had she experienced such a peaceful evening with them, always harbouring the fear that they might judge her for being her father’s favourite. She realised, however, that her presumptions had been incorrect as she observed their sincere warmth and kindness. These women were not adversaries, but allies, linked by blood and shared experiences. As they laughed and talked, Mikasa allowed herself to fully embrace the warmth of their friendship, grateful for the opportunity to truly connect with her sisters—Verena, Azara, Alamea, Valeska, Hannah, Serafina, Caelia, and...

Hiana, she suddenly thought.

Her eyes darted into the room, and she found the eighth princess on the periphery, a mere spectator to the festivities at which she once excelled. She seemed detached from all of the family, detached from all the princesses—detached from herself.

Many moons ago, Hiana had been the very heart of such feasts. It had been her perennial role, endowed with an innate gift for drawing people near and ensnaring them in the web of her charm and mirth. Yet now, as she lingered by the window, clad in a deep blue gown, she seemed like a spectre of those vibrant days, a silent witness to the echoes of her former self.

Mikasa yearned to uncover what troubled her sister, not out of mere curiosity nor with any intent to mock, but driven by the profound sadness she glimpsed in her eyes. It was a sadness so deep and poignant that it seemed to emanate from her very soul, wrapping itself around her like a heavy cloak.

Yet if she dared to tread the path towards her sister, would Hiana’s reaction be a storm of fury or an unanticipated embrace? She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye—blue eyes flashing with anger, her words sharp and cutting, driving an even deeper wedge between them. But then, there was the other possibility—a faint, flickering hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Hiana might respond with nothing but peace.

Fearing the worst, Mikasa walked through her sister.

“I haven’t noticed you indulging,” she said, her tone tinged with a hint of nervousness she hoped to conceal. “Lemon cakes weren’t your favourites?”

Hiana’s gaze flickered with a blend of surprise and suspicion as she regarded her. The tension between them crackled like static electricity.

“Lemon cakes,” the eighth princess echoed, her tone guarded. “No, they were never my favourites.”

Mikasa’s heart sank at the coolness in her sister’s response, but she refused to let her disappointment show.

She remembered vividly the scenes from the harem, the sepia-toned memories of a time when their world was confined, yet somehow simpler. When their septas granted them the rare indulgence of sweets, Hiana’s voice would pierce the stillness, an exclamation demanding lemon cakes, while Mikasa, with quiet determination, would request blueberry cakes.

The ninth princess, as she was in those times, had always interpreted Hiana’s fervent preference for lemon cakes as a sign of genuine delight, a simple pleasure that brought her sister joy. But now, as she reflected on those moments through the lens of their fractured relationship, a seed of doubt took root in her mind. Perhaps, she mused, it had all been another one of Hiana’s subtle machinations—a deliberate attempt to assert her dominance, to contradict her in even the smallest of ways. Another way of sparkling fights.

Yet, the Hiana who battles relentlessly to be heard—that’s the true Hiana, Mikasa ruminated. Not this wounded version before me.

As Mikasa retreated, her steps hesitant and heavy with disappointment, she realised that her hopes of reaching out to her sister had been doomed from the start. It was a realisation that cut to the core—a stark acknowledgment of the irreconcilable distance that had always existed between them.

In that moment of clarity, Mikasa understood with a painful certainty that she and Hiana had never truly shared a closeness. Their bond, if it could even be called that, was fragile and fleeting—a mere illusion of connection that crumbled beneath the weight of their differences. They were as disparate as the sea and the land, as the sun and the darkness—two entities bound by the same universe yet forever divided by the vast expanse that lay between them. Their existence had never intertwined, and it seemed increasingly unlikely that they would ever find common ground.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that their attempts at small talk would falter and fail. The deep wounds that were etched into the very fabric of their sisterhood could not be healed by simple words or actions. It would be best to let them lie dormant, buried beneath the surface where they could no longer inflict harm, shrouded in the darkness of forgotten grievances.

Perhaps the conflicts between us are fated to remain unresolved, Mikasa mused, her thoughts a tempest of resignation and regret. Perhaps we shouldn’t force resolutions; doing so may only inflict more pain.

As Mikasa turned to depart, her sister’s voice pierced the silence. “When Mother remarked on your appearance in the yard... she wasn’t being entirely truthful,” Hiana disclosed. “She was merely probing the waters.”

“Probing the waters?” Mikasa echoed, her brow furrowing as she pivoted back to face her sister. “What do you mean?”

Hiana released a weary sigh, her hands instinctively finding their place on her stomach as she surveyed her surroundings. Despite the burden of sadness she now carried, she remained poised and refined, though the blue hue of her attire didn’t suit her—it was so sorrowful.

“I hold a secret,” the blonde began after a moment’s hesitation. “A revelation that could alter the course of our current predicament. And believe me, Mikasa, I understand the difficulty of trusting me, but I swear, I have divulged it to no one else.” She met her gaze with earnestness in her watery blue eyes. “I reveal this to you because I seek reconciliation within myself, and because I yearn for my freedom. If this hurts you, we know that I did the worst things to you, didn’t I?”

And so, Hiana spoke.

The Mitras Hippodrome, the forum.

“It’s happening now,” Levi stated firmly to Erwin. “This is my final speech.” And my final opportunity. “After this, there’s nothing left but the voting.”

Erwin Smith nodded gravely in understanding. “Indeed, Your Highness, there shall be no further proceedings. Yet, heed this—you, my prince, shall be the final to grace this dais with words, and those words shall remain in the minds of the assembled lords long into the night, and when they come to cast their votes upon the morrow. Fate has seen fit to place you last in this scenery, a fortuitous position for your speech.”

Levi inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I am inclined to trust in your words, Lord Smith, though my heart yearns for reassurance.”

After a fortnight of solemn deliberations, wherein the lords parsed the assertions of each princeling who defended their rights to the throne, the final day of reckoning dawned. Beyond it lay the casting of votes and the ascension of the chosen one to the mantle of the Phoenix Prince.

These days had not unfolded as Levi had envisioned from the outset; instead, they proved to be the most arduous. Once deemed the mightiest contender, his strength waned as the days passed, dwindling to the feeblest claim, obscured by the absence of progeny. Such an outcome he had anticipated and, indeed, harboured a profound dread of, but he had not foreseen the emergence of certain alliances amidst the deliberations, alliances that favoured none other than the Greens.

It was Willy Tybur who wielded the first strike, shattering the very bedrock upon which Prince Levi’s ambitions rested as he unfurled the covert strategy to dismantle the harem. Such a gambit proved to be a seismic consequence, for the eradication of such an institution promised the forfeiture of countless privileges. This proclamation elicited disapproving glances from several lords of the Crownlands, prompting a subtle shift in their focus towards avenues where they might glean advantage.

Following Tybur’s discourse, it was Kian’s turn to take the hammer and give another strike.

At one juncture, Levi had regarded Kian as a formidable contender, possessing more shrewdness than Ramsay and, perchance, a greater sense of honour. Levi had entertained the notion that he might sway the lords to his side independently, fomenting discord among the Greens. Yet, the queen, though absent in the forum, held sway over every strand of the web, and it became abundantly clear that she had orchestrated Kian’s resignation, bolstering the first prince’s claim.

The final strike had arrived as a bolt from the blue, its impact as unforeseen as it was decisive.

On the tenth day of deliberations, Prince Kallias had strode forth, shedding the cloak of uncertainty that had shrouded him since the outset. With unwavering confidence, he seized the stage and declared his stance on the matter of succession.

“I lay no claim to the loftiest of titles nor the grandest of virtues,” he began. “Thus, recognising the presence of more worthy contenders for the throne, I choose to step aside and relinquish my claim, following in the footsteps of my brothers, the Third Prince Kian and the Fourth Prince Furlan.” Then, with a strike that left the assembly reeling, he delivered his final proclamation. “I pledge my allegiance to my brother, the first Prince Ramsay, for I believe him to be the epitome of kingship. My support rests with him, and through him, I await a prosperous future for our realm.”

The astonishment amidst the tumult stemmed from Kallias’s pervasive air of insecurity, rendering his resignation from the throne a foreseeable event. Yet neither Levi nor any other had anticipated his alignment with the Greens, tipping the scales with three princes—three claims—unified under one banner that ultimately cascaded onto Ramsay Ackerman.

Such strikes had reverberated through the following days, igniting loads of challenges. They had sown seeds of certainty among the Greens while uprooting the once-stalwart confidence of the Blacks. Even when Furlan, in a premeditated gesture, relinquished his claim to the throne before the assembled multitude and pledged his allegiance to the Second Prince Levi’s banner, his efforts yielded nothing. Levi ought to have recognised that a prince who whiled away his days on whimsical pursuits, chasing after phoenix eggs and lavishing coins on exquisite doublets, hardly aligned with the interests of the realm. Furlan may have served as Levi’s steadfast ally, bolstering his morale in the face of adversity, but he was not the prince the realm sought. The second prince, in truth, should have been more astute in his understanding.

Yet if Levi delved too much into thoughts of what could have been, he would squander precious moments. There was no room for dwelling on past missteps; the hour called for action. The cards were on the table, exposed for all to see; that much was certain. But still, Levi held one final card—a move once fraught with uncertainty but now assuredly safe. Now, he was merely awaiting the opportune moment to reveal it, a moment that loomed just ahead, poised to unfold with the resumption of proceedings after the midday hiatus.

“We ought to make our way,” Erwin interjected, drawing Levi’s focus.

He responded with a curt nod, and together they exited one of the adjoining chambers, stepping into the forum hallway adjacent to the hippodrome. There, they found a throng of lords engaged in hushed conversations, their voices mingling amidst the clinking of wine goblets as they sought respite for their parched throats.

Near one of the tables adorned with drinks, a small cluster of figures caught Levi’s attention. As he approached, a hum of animated voices reached his ears. Among them, he glimpsed the towering form of the winter lord engaged in conversation with a figure of shorter stature, her voice ringing with a familiar cadence—the lady of the lakes.

“It appears our deliberations will conclude sooner than expected; perhaps we should convene for dinner. I’ve been remiss in spending time with Mikasa, and Mar longs for her presence,” Levi overheard her remark.

“You’re referring to my wife, Historia,” Eren interjected, his tone with a subtle edge.

“Eren, darling, she’s our wife,” the woman retorted with a playful glint in her voice, eliciting a snort from the lord. “Oh, I jest, you fool. She’s your wife, indeed, and she adores you endlessly. Her heart belongs solely to you. Why so insecure?”

Eren’s reply came with a hint of mock seriousness, “She’s a beauty; I must keep my watch. She could still have her pick of younger suitors. ”

The Lady of the Lakes couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. “As if that would ever happen.”

Levi decided to draw nearer, traversing the assembly of lords until he stood before the group. The blonde was the first to acknowledge his approach.

“Your Highness,” she greeted him warmly. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

“Lady Historia Reiss,” Levi returned the greeting, before turning his attention to his brother-in-law. “Lord Yeager.”

“Your Highness,” Eren responded with a nod.

“May I inquire about the well-being of my dear friend?” Historia inquired, her gaze earnest. “My friend here divulges little to me regarding her health.”

“I am informed only through my mother and my wife, both of whom have been in her company,” Levi answered. “As far as I understand, she is in perfect health.”

“Ah, that is a relief,” Historia remarked. “A remarkable, sweet young woman; our princess. I never anticipated forging such a close friendship with her, but here we are. And from what she has shared about her experiences within the harem, I am in complete support of its abolition.”

Levi regarded her with a measured gaze, a hint of caution in his voice. “Be cautious, Lady Historia,” he said. “While the deliberations may draw to a close, there are still risks in openly declaring our allegiances.”

Historia Reiss chuckled. “My vote is no secret; it has already been proclaimed. Firstly, due to the longstanding friendship between the North and the Lakes, where the North’s allegiances are, so will the Lakes’. And secondly, because I have expressed my desire for competence in our future ruler, Mikasa has convinced me that her faction embodies the most capable leadership.”

“Indeed, your support is invaluable,” Prince Levi acknowledged with a nod. “Let us hope that tomorrow heralds the dawn of a new era.”

“An era where women need not fear,” Historia added with a wry smile, her expression tinged with a curious glint. “And where absurd tales of princesses miraculously birthing children after imbibing wine are put to rest.” Both Levi and Eren regarded Historia, though their reactions differed. While Eren seemed puzzled, Levi grasped the implication of her words.

“I refrained from mentioning it because I trust Lord Yeager’s care for his wife, and his people’s vigilance over his wife. But Princess Hannah’s sudden birth was suspicious, and as a mother myself, I can sense when something is amiss,” Historia explained, her gaze fixed on Levi. “Isn’t that so, Your Highness?”

Feeling Eren’s penetrating gaze upon him, Levi knew he had to respond promptly. “Indeed, we suspect such incidents have occurred before, but this is the first time we possess evidence,” he confirmed. “Traces of a substance were discovered in the glass Hannah had been drinking from, and rest assured, we are conducting a thorough investigation.”

Historia’s demeanour softened, a smile playing upon her lips. “Good. Truth be told, I wouldn’t want to see my dear Mikasa suffer, hm?” With a reassuring touch on Eren’s shoulder, she added, “I shall talk to you later, alright? ”

With that, the lady of The Lakes departed, leaving Levi and Eren alone.

Levi raised a cautionary hand, urging silence from Eren. “I’ve made it clear before, and I’ll reiterate now: we tread on precarious ground. Accusations of such gravity cannot be made lightly, especially when dealing with entities of political influence. Investigations of what happened with my sister, the fight princess, are underway in the shadows, and our verdict will come when the evidence is unearthed.”

But Eren remained unconvinced, his anger unabated, burning in his eyes like the fierce gleam of a freshly honed blade. “Mikasa’s life has been endangered, and you kept me in the dark.”

“The Lady of the Lakes withheld the same information from you.”

“If Historia refrained from divulging it, it’s because she likely lacked certainty and awaited concrete evidence to support her suspicions,” Eren retorted, his tone tinged with impatience. “She understands the gravity of pregnancy and childbirth. She would not have spoken unless she was absolutely certain.”

“You place great trust in her,” Levi remarked with a hint of resignation, bowing his head.

“She has earned it. Our kingdoms have been allies since the era of the titans, and we have been companions since childhood.”

Prince Levi lifted his head, his thoughts swirling. He should have felt slighted that Eren didn’t blindly trust him as he did with Historia. Yet, soliciting trust in moments like these only to betray it later would be the height of hypocrisy.

Sighing with tiredness, he did his best to wave carefully.

“If we had been certain of the peril, I assure you, Eren, Mikasa would not have ventured there, nor would Princess Hannah, who bore the brunt of it all.” His words resonated with a resolute tone, stirring a momentary discomfort in the Winterlord's demeanour, Levi noted. Mikasa had indeed faced danger, but it was Hannah who suffered the consequences, an undeniable truth. “Believe me, every effort is being made to intertwine this with other incidents. When we gather concrete evidence, justice will be swift for those who dared to menace a princess.” And a potential prince in Mikasa’s belly.

Eren held Prince Levi’s gaze for a fleeting moment, defiant and unwavering. A daunting sight. “What you say holds truth,” he conceded. “But I also warned you: cease these games and riddle talks. I shall be reaching my limit soon.”

With that declaration, he abruptly turned, departing from their exchange.

“He must recall who is the true enemy,” Erwin remarked, taking position beside the prince as they observed Lord Yeager’s departure. “Love may hold virtues, yet its consequences often lead us astray, to madness and unspeakable deeds.”

And love is precisely the bane that is weighing in my soul, Levi pondered to himself, Petra’s face haunting his thoughts.

The recess came to an end, and in an orderly procession, the lords returned to the circular forum that had borne witness to a fortnight of deliberations. Murmuring amongst themselves, they took their seats in their designated places, forming a sea of furs, doublets, silks, and glittering jewellery that caught the light. Ramsay and the Sixth Prince Roan—the only princes left aside Levi himself—had already given long-winded speeches earlier that morning, speeches that had been difficult to follow, if not outright soporific. Now, all eyes were turned towards the only one left to speak—the Second Prince.

Levi stood with a composed air, awaiting the settling of the assembly, his arms resting behind his back. Unlike the preceding days, where he adorned himself in the resplendent gilded insignia of his lineage, symbols of authority, and renown, Levi today opted for a stark departure. Clad entirely in black, a hue that had become his hallmark, he exuded an austere and imposing presence. Black, typically reserved for mourning, lent him an air of gravity and power. The sombre fabric seemed to swallow the light, starkly contrasting the radiance and opulence of his fellow lords' attire. It was as distinctive as the verdant doublet Prince Ramsay had boldly sported since the second day, tacitly denoting that the gilded ostentation of the inaugural day was but a facade.

As the moment ripened for the second prince to ascend, the High Septon preempted his advance with solemnity.

“The Sixth Prince Roan begs for a moment,” the High Septon proclaimed, his voice resonating with authority throughout the chamber. “He deems it necessary to address the assembly, something concerning his claim to the throne.”

A ripple of surprise and intrigue traversed the forum, all eyes converging upon Prince Roan. Yet Levi remained unperturbed, his gaze unwavering upon the septon, prepared to receive the impending revelation. The tension palpably escalated, with each noble and lord keenly cognizant that Prince Roan’s pronouncements could reshape the trajectory of weeks’ worth of deliberation.

What does he intend? Levi pondered, apprehension coiling within him like a serpent poised to strike, yet he remained outwardly composed, patiently awaiting his brother’s revelation.

With measured resolve, Prince Roan advanced, his countenance composed yet resolute. Upon reaching the forum’s epicentre, he paused, casting a discerning gaze upon the assembly before proceeding to address them.

“In the morning, I dared to voice my desire for my claim to the throne to be heard, harbouring a flicker of hope,” Prince Roan commenced, his tone measured yet tinged with resignation. “Yet, the matter is far more complex than I had envisioned, and I must confront reality with honesty. In a direct contest against my elder brothers, victory eludes me. Hence, I elect to step aside, relinquishing my claim to the throne.”

A weighty silence descended upon the chamber, each soul grappling with the gravity of Prince Roan’s proclamation and foreseeing the ripples it would unleash. Lords exchanged glances, their expressions a mosaic of astonishment and contemplation, mingled with nods of deference to the prince’s candour and humility.

Undeterred, Prince Roan pressed on. “As for my allegiance, it is not a commodity to be bartered amidst the court’s machinations. I stand steadfast beside my father, King Gilbert, and pledge my fealty to whomever he deems worthy of succession following this council.”

His words reverberated through the hushed hall, resonating with resolve and conviction. It was evident that his decision had been wrought with deliberation, his loyalty unswayed by the intrigues of the court.

As the assembly digested his declaration, Levi watched keenly, cognizant of the seismic impact it would wield. With only two princes remaining—Ramsay and himself—the scenery was set. The consort’s sole son and the queen’s eldest one, or the Blacks and the Greens for the throne.

For a moment, it was as if all eyes turned to Levi and Ramsay, the fate of the realm teetering precariously between the two remaining heirs. The tension crackled, an electric current permeating the air, infusing every soul with a sense of imminent reckoning.

Levi remained composed, his mind a whirring cogwheel of strategy and consequence. This was the crucible, the juncture that would not only shape his own destiny but chart the course of the realm itself. He knew the moment had arrived—the pivotal juncture where persuasion would be paramount. It was now or never. There could be no faltering, no room for doubt, for this might well be his final opportunity.

Locking eyes with Lord Smith amidst the gathered nobility—a silent exchange of resolve passed between them—Levi ascended the dais.

These lords… All of them ensnared by the shackles of antiquated traditions that bind us to the past. They clamour for traditions? Then tradition they shall have. I shall remind them of the sacred laws and customs bequeathed to us by our forebears—King Helos.

“These days,” his voice resounded, “there were whispers of a damning accusation—that I harbour intentions to dismantle our age-old traditions. Give me room to dispel the fog of such accusations. I have no desire to lay waste to the bedrock upon which our kingdom stands. Such an endeavour would be reckless and irresponsible, particularly in the face of our current uncertainties. No, that is not what I aim for as king.”

As the Prince’s words reverberated, the murmurs of the assembly ebbed, each syllable weighted with purpose and clarity.

“Yet, it is true that I seek to dismantle an institution that has wrought more anguish than advantage. The harem, with its veneer of opulence and its shroud of oppression, finds no sanctuary in my reign.” A ripple of surprise and bewilderment coursed through the audience, but the Prince pressed on unwaveringly. “Shall we permit our women to be reduced to mere chattels, consigned to fulfil the caprices of a privileged few? Is this the legacy to which we aspire?”

The prince’s eyes blazed with fervent conviction as he confronted the assembly with his unwavering gaze.

“No, it is not,” he declared fervently. “Henceforth, before all of you, I pledge to abolish the harem as an institution. Not as an act of obliteration, but as a testament to justice and dignity for all our women. The hour has come to stride towards a future where equity and reverence form the bedrock of our realm.”

For a fleeting moment, Levi sensed uncertainty lurking in the shadows of his mind, yet he clung steadfastly to his resolve. I am the blood of the phoenix, he reminded himself resolutely, and the blood of the phoenix knows no vacillation. The blood of the phoenix is strong and resilient. It does not falter, and I won’t falter.

“Indeed, what I have witnessed may not mirror the plight endured by the women nearest to me. Yet, hear me, my lords, it is intolerable that our women are treated as chattel, their voices stifled and their liberty plundered in the name of an old, evil institution,” he declared fervently. “Just as the abhorrent practice of Ackerman fratricide was once eradicated, so too must the harem be abolished. The horrors inflicted upon our women within its confines drive them to desperate measures, imperilling their very lives. Or shall I remind you all of a woman whom we all should have revered? Our queen mother, who never was, the concubine Lunisol, who nurtured our king from infancy out of sheer benevolence, yet met her demise before witnessing his ascension to the throne, for she chose to end her own life.”

The chamber hung in a deep silence, each soul immobile. Perhaps it was an illusion woven by the dense warp of a fragile hope, but he could perceive, with almost tangible clarity, that something was beginning to shift. It was empathy, perhaps, or just nostalgia. Whatever the reason, he could discern it in each of the lords’ mottled eyes, their ethereal faces now blurring, revealing the vulnerability inherent in being mere mortals under the guise of nobility.

The blood of the phoenix is resilient, he said to himself, a mantra of determination echoing within him as he braced to utter the next phase of his design. Ashes I have become, but my phoenix blood shall rise anew, and so shall my lineage.

“You undoubtedly may be pondering how a prince lacking male progeny can ensure the crown’s succession,” he began, his voice steady yet resolute. “Allow me to elucidate. While I am blessed with a daughter,” he declared with palpable pride, “she is not destined to ascend the throne. Yet the princess of Hizuru, in concert with the Shogun, has deemed my daughter heir to the islands, where the imperative for an heir is equally pressing.”

Surprise and comprehension coursed through the assembly as the Prince continued, his demeanour exuding confidence and persuasion.

“However,” he pressed on, his tone imbued with unwavering resolve, “permit me to unveil my vision for the crown’s future.”

An anticipatory hush descended upon the audience as the Prince prepared to divulge his strategy. His gaze flickered momentarily at Eren before returning to the gathered assembly. He implored the gods to temper his ire or, failing that, to avert any catastrophic outburst. Yet Levi was keenly aware that he had a myriad of hopes dispersed, and not all could be fulfilled.

“During the time of the conquest,” he resumed, his hands clenching upon the lectern, “King Helos journeyed northward to bring an end to the Titans, unaware that tragedy would soon beset his own household, snatching away his sole heir. King Helos, consumed by grief and the spectre of a failing dynasty, crafted a decree that has remained dormant ever since it was created. Yet I, as the blood of the phoenix, can invoke.”

The audience’s attention sharpened, eager to glean the intricacies of this forgotten edict.

“This decree, known as the Law of the Prince of the Ashes,” he pointed out, “mandates that in the absence of a direct male successor, the king retains the prerogative to designate an heir of his choosing, provided said choice bears his lineage."

A wave of astonishment and anticipation swept through the chamber as he prepared to unveil his decision.

“Hence, as a child of the phoenix’s bloodline, in front of all of you, I invoke this decree to appoint a successor to the throne—a successor who shall bear the crown after me with honour and sagacity, thus safeguarding the realm’s continuity and eminence. And who better to assume this mantle than a son born to my esteemed sister, the Princess Royal, who, joyously, is now with child?”

With these words, Prince Levi sealed the kingdom’s fate, heralding the advent of a new heir, a harbinger of hope and rejuvenation for a realm poised on the cusp of transformation. A promised prince of Mikasa’s blood.

“Should you name me your heir,” he proclaimed, his voice echoing through the chamber like a clarion call, “I shall unfurl the banners of a new age, where a nascent dynasty shall ascend, bathed in the blood of old feuds. And from the ashes of the old order, a princeling of both ice and fire blood shall be destined to inherit the crown after me. Let it be known, I come not to uphold the vestiges of yore, but to herald the birth of a fresh dawn!”

And thus, with shivers through his very being, Prince Levi brought his discourse to its resolute close. So too came the culmination of the deliberations of the fourth Great Council.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, infused with renewed optimism and faith in the realm’s future. Levi surrendered to the surge of emotions, allowing their embrace to wash over him completely. He closed his eyes, letting the sensation of renewal, the promise of a fresh dawn for his realm, enfold him with a comforting warmth akin to that of a rebirth. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes of adversity, he too felt the resurgence of hope coursing through his veins—a potent force invigorating his spirit. One of the many seeds he had sown seemed to be on the verge of blooming, infusing him with newfound fortitude and readying him to confront the trials ahead.

Yet, when he opened his eyes, it was not the tumultuous panorama of the chamber that met his gaze, but rather the steely green eyes of Lord Eren, flecked with glacial hues of gold. He seemed poised to confront him, and why wouldn’t he? Levi had, after all, proclaimed a betrayal of the gravest magnitude.

“Gods, forgive me,” he murmured softly, his voice laden with remorse.

The Mitras Hippodrome, the forum.

Mikasa is with a child.

The prince’s words permeated Eren’s mind, taking root deeply. It wasn’t that he doubted them; he knew with certainty they were true. But, like a fool, he had not paused to reflect on them beforehand.

Mikasa is with a child.

Eren should have perceived the signs with greater subtlety—his wife’s mood swings, her fatigue, her intolerance to the accursed southern climate, and, of course, the pups in the desolate wasteland that came to him in the middle of nowhere. All these details were a thousand and one signs screaming that Mikasa had, indeed, been carrying his child for who knows how long.

My child, she is with my child... Our child.

It was not the first time that a woman pregnant with a wolf child failed to show clear signs of her condition; it was a peculiar coincidence that ran in the family. Lady Carla herself had only discovered she was carrying Gabi after four months, a revelation that caught everyone by surprise when her belly seemed to blossom overnight. The blood of the wolf had always been elusive and restless, manifesting without certainty. Once again, it acted freely, giving room for other interpretations and distractions—things that now, a prince in search of a crown, was seizing upon.

“You didn’t know that, did you?” The voice came from someone beside him—Historia. Unlike the other lords, who were either flushed with excitement or brimming with anger, she appeared worried—deeply worried for her friends. “Oh, Eren, they didn’t tell you, did they?”

Indeed, they had kept it veiled from him, shrouded in secrecy, a revelation withheld from both her and him, ensnaring that knowledge in the most nefarious of webs. Eren ought to have discerned the ruse, yet his trust had blinded him to their treachery. How could he not have trusted them? It was Mikasa’s own flesh and blood, an extension of her lineage, why would he question their motives? But alas, he faltered, forgetting the bitter sting of deceit his own blood had once inflicted upon him.

“Not even she knows, Historia. She just thought she had... I was about to tell her, but…” Eren was unsure whether he should feel joy or despair. He had noticed something different in her that morning—something in the glow of her skin and in the slight curve of her belly that not even the septa had discerned. It was a subtle change, one that only he could recognise because only he had touched her so intimately to know the exact feel of her skin beneath his fingers and hands. It was something that was even impregnated in her essence.

“I was on the brink of telling her, but I hesitated, fearing it might only exacerbate her distress,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “Right now, as we speak, she is just convinced it’s just a sickness. That’s what the healers assured us, after all.”

Historia opened her mouth, realising the implications. “They hid it from both of you, Eren. Why?”

Because Levi bears no sons, and his line can only be succeeded by presumptive heirs, he was about to say, yet, before he could muster a response, he heard the prince’s declaration: “And from the ashes of the old order, a princeling of both ice and fire blood shall be destined to inherit the crown after me.”

And then, everything clicked for Eren in the most twisted way imaginable. His mind conjured a vision of his son being torn from his grasp and Mikasa’s ensuing grief.

All Eren could perceive was a family torn apart and vulnerable—a betrayal of the unwritten laws of the pack. Had he been used as a mere stallion? Yes, but such matters hold little significance to him now. His sole concern rested with Mikasa and the child blossoming within her womb and the pressing need to return them to the safety of the north. In the face of chaos and treachery, his foremost responsibility was to protect his kin, ensure their welfare, and secure their future.

The decision was etched in his heart, forged with the resolve of a wolf defending his offspring.

With urgency coursing through his veins, Eren rose from his seat as tumult erupted around him at the conclusion of the deliberations. The southern and island lords seemed transformed from their initial demeanour, while those from Marley and Liberio maintained their stoic composure. In stark contrast, the northern lords exuded jubilant celebration and elation—how could they not, when promised a future king bearing the blood of the north? It was an unprecedented moment, a reality unfolding before their eyes.

Yet, amidst the effervescence of the crowd, Eren’s focus remained alienated. As he traversed through the throng, he was greeted with cheers and congratulations, heralding him as the architect of the north’s resurgence. But he paid no heed to such acclaim; his sole desire was for Mikasa—he needed her.

“Eren!” Armin’s voice came. “Where are you going?"

Turning to face the jubilant chaos behind him, where Prince Levi received accolades and shook hands as if he had accomplished the greatest of feats, Eren furrowed his brow.

“I’m going to fetch my wife,” he said. “We’re leaving this place.”

The Royal Keep, the Consort’s department.

Eyes clouded with anguish, Mikasa traversed the harem’s corridors, the cadence of her steps reverberating on the floor. With resolute determination, she flung open the doors to the consort’s chambers, the sound of their impact slicing through the silence like a keen-edged blade.

“Mikasa?” The consort regarded her with uncertainty from her perch on the balcony. Petra and Isabel stood nearby, their expressions betraying shock at Mikasa’s abrupt entrance.

In her silence, Kuchel rose from her seat and approached, but Mikasa instinctively recoiled. “What is the meaning of this commotion?” She inquired, arching an eyebrow. “What is amiss?”

Mikasa swallowed hard, wiping at her nose. She was the blood of the phoenix, and the blood of the phoenix didn’t waver; she could not afford to waver.

“Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. “Am I with child?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Petra’s involuntary flinch—the young woman seeking solace in Isabel, an innocent soul untouched by the machinations of courtly intrigue. Yet Mikasa couldn’t help but feel a pang of betrayal at such a reaction.

She knows it; she knows about it. All of them knew!

Kuchel remained steadfast under the weight of her inquiry. “Perhaps we should take a moment, Mikasa,” she murmured with her characteristic ethereal calm. “Let us have a talk…”

“I have no patience for trivialities,” she interjected, her composure faltering like morning mist. “I do not seek discussions or counsel; I simply yearn for answers.” Stepping back, she felt the gravity of her words, repeating with a hint of despair, “Mother, were you aware all this time that I was with a child?”

The Consort regarded her with eyes that seemed to harbour an ocean of unspoken sentiments. Her silence spoke volumes, echoing the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

Finally, with the serenity of one who has weathered the fiercest storms, she spoke in a barely audible voice. “I was aware,” she confessed softly.

Tears welled in Mikasa’s eyes, a blend of pain, confusion, and a flicker of hope. “Since when, and why have I been kept in the dark?” She managed to ask, her words feeling like lead in her mouth. “How long have you known of my condition, and why did you conceal it from me?”

“I suspected it prior to the joust, and when you fainted, Hizuru’s healers confirmed it to me upon assessing your pulse.” Kuchel exhaled deeply. “A pregnant woman’s pulse differs, and Hizuru’s healers are adept at discerning its rhythms. Only they could confirm it, and given your other symptoms, the truth of your pregnancy became undeniable.” Her mother looked at her with warm eyes, and slowly, she said, “You are with a child, Mikasa.”

The air grew heavy with the weight of the revelation, as though the universe held its breath in anticipation of what would unfold next. Mikasa found herself engulfed in a tempest of emotions, her mind whirling as she grappled with the truth that had been concealed in darkness for so long.

A child, their child—a living embodiment of Mikasa and Eren’s shared dreams. Ever since they realised how perfectly their souls aligned and how perfectly their souls vibrated at the same melodies, they couldn’t wait for this moment—a child born from their love. A little one who wasn’t just a result of their union but the living representation of their biggest hopes and aspirations.

Mikasa had beseeched the heavens night after night for the blessing of a child. Each morning, however, she was greeted by the harsh reality of crimson-stained sheets, a cruel reminder of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers. She had resigned herself to the belief that their journey to parenthood would be arduous, perhaps spanning months or even years. But fate had other plans.

Their child was a reality within her, a fragile yet miraculous creation. There in her womb, it was blooming timidly, barely making itself noticed. Dependent on her for sustenance, for growth, and for life itself.

Yet, the cherished dream they had nurtured with such longing now seemed to dissolve like a soap bubble upon contact with willowy fingers. Mikasa had envisioned that moment shared with Eren—an intimate and sacred moment that would have sealed their love for eternity. Now, however, that vision was clouded by the ambitions of the person before her—the very same person she called mother.

“Who told this to you?” Kuchel inquired, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

“It matters not who divulged it to me,” Mikasa retorted, her tone as icy as steel. “What matters is that you withheld it from me, that you deceived me all this time.” Her voice dripped with disdain as she continued, "But then again, considering all you’ve done for my brother’s throne, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your actions.”

Her mother’s expression hardened, a mask of determination amidst the emotional turmoil. “You have no idea of the sacrifices I’ve made for you, for your brother, or for our family. You have no right to pass judgement on me.”

“I am well aware of the sacrifices you’ve made, as I am one of them, am I not? You arranged my betrothal and wedded me without so much as consulting me. And now you hide my own pregnancy from me!”

Kuchel recoiled as if struck by a physical blow, her eyes betraying a mixture of pain and surprise at her daughter's accusations. “I did what I thought was best for you, Mikasa. I believed it was necessary to protect you from the dangers that lurked around us,” she murmured, her voice trembling and her hands clutching the edge of the table as if seeking solace that slipped through her fingers. “Do you think Hannah’s birth was merely an unfortunate incident? No, my dear. Someone spiked her drink, and they would have done the same to you had word gotten out.”

“Someone spiked her drink?” She echoed, her voice barely a whisper amidst the tumult of emotions swirling around her. “And why did you not disclose this sooner? Why keep this from me as well?”

“I feared for your safety. I knew that if anyone learned the truth about your pregnancy, both you and the child you carried would be in grave danger.”

Mikasa was overwhelmed by the gravity of the revelation and the realisation that her life and the life of her child were jeopardised. “But a second child poses no threat to anyone,” she uttered desperately, her hands instinctively moving to cradle her stomach. “Eren already has an heir. Why would anyone wish us harm?”

The silence that followed her question was suffocating. Her eyes pleaded for any semblance of a response from her mother, any indication that could illuminate the murky depths of the mystery shrouding them.

“Mother,” she pressed, her voice trembling with fear. “Who would want to harm us, and why?” Yet, once again, silence greeted her inquiry, an impenetrable barrier that withheld the truth from the shadows of uncertainty.

Just as despair threatened to engulf the chamber entirely, a voice pierced through the silence from the background, rupturing the oppressive stillness with an unexpected revelation. It was Petra, her words tinged with remorse as she unravelled the veil of secrecy that enshrouded Mikasa and her mother.

“It’s because of Levi, Mikasa,” Petra confessed, her voice wavering yet resolute. Though Kuchel attempted to intercede, Petra refused to be silenced. Rising from her seat, she approached them, anguish etched in the lines of her face like shadows cast upon freshly turned earth. “He aims to invoke the law of the Prince of the Ashes and proclaim a son of yours as his heir.”

“A son of mine as his heir,” she echoed.

“But just as I cannot bear a son, I am not able to shake off this notion from your mother or Levi either,” the princess consort confessed with a resigned breath, her gaze adrift in the abyss of her own thoughts. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. I’m really sorry.”

Before Mikasa could respond, Kuchel’s sharp rebuke sliced through the air, dispelling the sombre atmosphere with its authoritative tone. “Petra, enough!” She exclaimed with a voice laced with command, her gaze piercing the young woman who had brought uncomfortable truths to light. “You two act as though this is the end of the world, but it’s merely a matter of our lineage, our bloodline, surviving!” She drew a sharp breath. “What do you think will happen if Victoria and Fritz take the throne? Do you think they’d simply strip us of our titles? It’s the least they can do; it’s not in their best interest to keep us alive!”

Mikasa’s cheeks had began to stream with tears, as if they were silent witnesses to the pain and turmoil she was experiencing. It was not the fear of what might happen that overwhelmed her; it was the bitter disappointment of discovering that the family in which she had put her trust was being torn apart by secret conflicts and ambitions.

Every tear she shed was a silent materialisation of the betrayal she felt deep inside her being; it was a wound that words and meaningless consolation could not heal. Mikasa was confident in her family’s love and devotion, and she believed they could overcome any adversity as a unit. But now, in the midst of the emotional storm, Mikasa was forced to confront the harsh reality that ambition and betrayal could sever even the strongest bonds.

“Tell me, Mother,” she choked out. “If I give birth to a boy, will you come and rip him from my arms?”

Kuchel hesitated, her eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. For Mikasa, that hesitation was all the answer she needed.

The decision was made. It was time to leave her mother’s chambers, which had served as her sanctuary throughout her childhood, where she had felt safe and loved. However, that same space no longer felt as warm as it used to.

For years, those chambers had been the backdrop to countless cherished memories. From childhood games in the gardens to family meals on the cosy balcony, every corner was infused with affection and security. However, in light of recent revelations, Mikasa’s perception of her sanctuary shifted. What was once a haven now felt like a cage, confining her and restricting her freedom.

Mikasa knew she needed to leave, to take her unborn child, her little wolf bud, and depart.

And so, ignoring Petra, her mother, and even Isabel, she placed her hands protectively over her belly, as if that simple gesture could shield her baby from harm. She departed, eager to spread her wings and return to the North, leaving behind a place that could no longer be deemed home.

But it is no longer since I’ve been stripped of my maiden cloak, she thought, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Ever since I crossed the moat and ventured north, it is no longer my home.

“Prumirosa,” came her father’s voice. She turned to see him approaching, leaning heavily on his cane, each step a testament to the man he once was. His face, though lined with age and hardship, still bore the resolute strength of his younger days.

“Father, you... what are you doing here?” She asked, glancing at the guards flanking her. The hand, the one who tended to him more than the consort, was nowhere to be seen. “You should be resting,” she admonished, wiping away her tears.

The king smiled wistfully. “I just figured my moon and sun princess needed me,” he said. “So I answered the call.” He stretched out his hand to her. “Come here.”

Mikasa did not hesitate and went to him, and this time, it was she who leaned on him rather than the other way around. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly.

“I warned you that the malaise gripping you was no ordinary ailment of the passing seasons,” he said. “My intention was to summon my own maesters to tend to your condition following our meeting, yet you departed before I could set my plans in motion. It appears you have uncovered the truth regardless.”

“My mother knew,” she murmured, “as she knows most things here.”

The king sighed wearily. “Yes, Kuchel has always been... perceptive. She has endured much. Yet, many of the burdens she shoulders stem from my own decisions,” he pressed on, his tone laced with a hint of remorse. “I cannot envision at all the turmoil between you and your mother, Mikasa. Yet, I implore you to not be too severe in your judgement. Half the deeds she commits are but a reflection of my own frailty upon the throne.”

Was her father seeking to defend the Consort’s honour and rationalise her actions? It seemed so. “What frailty are you talking about, father?” She asked, weeping out her tears.

“The fragility of mortal flesh, bereft of divine immunity,” lamented the king, his voice weighted with profound remorse. “The fragility of realising that perchance this entire circ*mstance would not have unfolded thusly had I not borne the weight of this crown upon my brow. Or, at least, had the mind to make decisions. Yet... Ah, I fear this is the path ordained by fate.”

Mikasa stifled a bitter laugh, incredulous at the notion that fate had decreed their current predicament. How could such a destiny be preordained? Still, she understood the rest. She grasped that half of what transpired was due to her father's lack of resolve in naming an heir among his children and his failure to lift a finger and make a decisive choice. But even if he had been more decisive, it might not have altered much. Levi still had no heir, and she remained the only one who could provide the crown with one.

“Levi wishes to invoke the law of the Prince of the Ashes,” she said, her voice steady, “he—”

“He won’t take any son from you, Mikasa. Neither he nor your mother can. They cannot because I have ensured it,” the king interrupted, his tone resolute. Amidst her turmoil, he took her hands and continued. “Be angry with me if you must, but I foresaw this. Your brother desires no other wife; he is as enamoured with his wife as you are with your husband. So, seeing this and foreseeing what might unfold, I bestowed upon you the title of Royal Princess, ensuring your dealings with them are equitable.” He paused. “You see, Mikasa, your title is no mere pleasantry but puts you on equal footing with your mother. When I pass, if Levi ascends as king and she becomes the queen mother, its influence remains the same. You are no longer the ninth princess, Mikasa. You are the Princess Royal. You have the power to decide your own fate, and all the children born of you are yours.”

So this is it, Mikasa thought, blinking to release the tears she had held back for so long. In the days of her betrothal, she had not grasped why her father had granted her the title of Princess Royal, a designation seldom bestowed within the royal family. This rare title afforded a daughter a measure of autonomy, a shield against the constraints of the harem, placing her alongside her mother as an equal. Now, she saw it clearly—it was her father’s first move to ensure that Kuchel would no longer dictate the course of Mikasa’s life. Yet she had not seen it then, nor had anyone explained it to her.

“If I, or your next king, bestow titles upon your children,” the king continued, his voice a blend of authority and gentleness, “you shall have the power to accept or deny them as you see fit, including the title of heir apparent.”

A wave of relief washed over Mikasa, halting her tears and stirring a newfound resolve within her. “Father…” She murmured, her voice imbued with gratitude and a burgeoning strength. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

The king's smile faded, leaving behind a pained expression. “Yet, my dear daughter,” he began, his tone grave, “I implore you to consider the welfare of our family above all else. Remember, the machinations of your mother and brother are but echoes of my own actions.”

Mikasa fixed her gaze on him, hanging onto his every word.

“The choices I made in my reign,” the king continued, his voice heavy with regret. “Kuchel and Levi act with the intent to safeguard what we’ve built, even if their methods are questionable. We are all entangled in this tapestry of power and duty, and I need you to understand their motives. Mayhaps not today or not on the morrow. But you will eventually.”

She nodded slowly, digesting her father’s counsel. The weight of responsibility settled upon her shoulders, yet she found a newfound clarity in her role within this intricate dance of politics and loyalty.

“And though I am loath to say it, I believe it is imperative that you return to the North with haste," the king added. “The winds will soon turn cold, and each passing day renders the road more perilous. Mitras will swiftly become an icy fortress.”

“I do not wish to leave you,” she said, feeling a pang of sorrow wrenching her heart. She could feel the bitter farewell in the air.

The king regarded her with a gaze softened by a blend of fondness and acceptance. “Nor do I desire your departure, my daughter,” he murmured tenderly. “Your path lies ahead, and your son's safety is paramount. It is your charge, your ordained purpose.” He paused, a melancholic sigh escaping him. “In the meantime, know that I shall be in your heart, woven into the melodies that you left unsung for me.”

As the hush of the moment hung heavy, a distant echo of footsteps intruded upon the silence, drawing Mikasa’s attention like a beacon in the night. Soon, Eren materialised in the hallway, his countenance etched with a palpable unease that mirrored her own.

“He rides forth, bound for you,” the king said, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the hall.

Mikasa quickened her pace, yearning to find solace in her husband’s arms. But before she could voice her fears, he enfolded her, his arms a sanctuary against the looming shadows.

“I know, Mikasa,” he whispered, his words a tender caress tinged with sorrow. “Gods, I know it.”

No further words were needed; all was conveyed in the timbre of his voice, in the depths of his concern, and in the tender way he put his hands around her waist.

“Wolf boy,” the king interjected, drawing their shared gaze. “Though you must go, remember the voting. Your voice must be heard, despite the distasteful means.”

“I know, my king,” he replied, his face etched with resolve. “It is my duty.”

A solemn nod from the king followed. “And swear to me, wolf boy, that you will safeguard them, each and every one.”

Eren’s affirmation rang out steadfastly: “With my life.”

The Great Sept

In the Great Sept, a bastion of ivory and marble rising in the northern reaches of the city, the tolling of bells resounded. The main chamber was a marvellous dome, with towering columns supporting parabolic ceilings decorated with intricate golden vines. Light filtered through the stained glass windows, painting the space in a tapestry of colours that danced across the polished floor. The air hung heavy with the fragrance of incense, its tendrils weaving a cloak of sanctity and devotion around the gathered faithful. Yet, amidst the hallowed peace, there was a discordant note—a display of wealth and excess that seemed out of place in this.

Jewels glimmered and gold gleamed, adorning the assembled congregation in a display of opulence. It was as if the lords who had yet to stay in Mitras were engaged in a silent contest of sartorial splendour that day. The crystal crown adorning the head of the High Septon refracted a dazzling array of hues with each subtle movement. Meanwhile, the women of the harem were draped in finery spun from threads of gold, their princess-daughters echoing their regal elegance. Even the princes, who had relinquished their claims, stood adorned in attire befitting both courtly grandeur and the rigours of battle, their armour gleaming with precious jewels yet poised for war. And above them all loomed the ailing king, his weakened frame strained beneath the weight of ruby-studded armour and the heavy crown upon his weary brow.

After days fraught with toil and the tense deliberation of a closely contested vote, the king departed the Golden Keep in his litter, bound for the sept. There, in the solemn presence of the gods, he would unveil the chosen heir for all to behold. And when he read the paper with the name on it, he whispered it to the High Septon, who proceeded to intone the name of the chosen heir, his voice resounding with the weight of destiny.

“Prince Levi Ackerman, Second Prince of the Seven Kingdoms!” He proclaimed, his voice echoing and stirring the assembled crowd, which erupted into cheers. “Now, Prince Levi Ackerman, the Phoenix Prince!”

“All hail the Phoenix Prince!” Another voice boomed, and the cry was picked up by others in a resounding chorus. “All hail the Phoenix Prince, heir to the golden throne!”

“Prince Levi, Prince Levi!” The common folk, without a doubt, were the ones who shouted the loudest.

Without a doubt, it was the voices of the common people that rose the loudest, resounding with an intensity that surpassed any other.

A fanfare of trumpets announced the imminent arrival of the climactic moment—the coronation of the heir. The mantle of the Phoenix Prince was bestowed upon him, and with it, the attributes of an heir. Two swords of House Ackerman, Firesoul and Sunfire, intended for the heir, rested in his hands, granting him an aura of solemnity and responsibility. At long last, a crown was placed upon his brow—a modest circlet wrought of simple elegance, adorned with two wings that curled gracefully around his temples. The heir’s crown was a symbol of the burdens and aspirations that awaited him.

Already dressed in the mantle of the Phoenix Prince, Prince Levi advanced with serene dignity and visible determination towards the centre of the dais. He bowed his head reverently to his king, and once the rite was completed, he turned and raised his swords towards the audience. A new clamour, a wave of shouts and applause, erupted from the crowd, enveloping him in a torrent of fervour and admiration.

For all in attendance, it marked the beginning of a new era. Yet, for the queen, watching from the periphery, the occasion bore a flavour of poignant sweetness tinged with a measure of inevitability.

Rejoice, she mused, in your celebrations, but soon all of you shall know that a single victory doesn’t make you conquerors.

If there was one trait that defined the queen, it was her unmistakable disdain. When she disapproved of something, pretence eluded her grasp—she simply could not feign it. Confronted with the ostentatious revelry of the courtiers, she found herself utterly incapable of even mustering a counterfeit smile. f*ck Kuchel and her son! f*ck the Blacks! f*ck them all! And above all, f*ck King Gilbert! She could scarcely endure another moment in their wretched company. So, as the grand spectacle approached its conclusion, the queen retrieved deftly through the throng, seeking out sanctuary in the shadows.

And so she traversed the echoing corridors until the clamour faded into silence, finding herself amidst the smaller domes of the sept—each one enveloping a sanctum dedicated to a different face of the seven.

She left the shrine of the Mother in her wake, departing the confines of the Maiden’s sanctum, and without casting a backward glance, she left the Crone’s abode behind as well. None among them embodied her essence; none of them echoed with the truth of her prayers. There was only one facet of the gods that could understand her, and that was the one that few dared pray to—the Stranger.

The Stranger was the embodiment of the divine that stirred deep apprehensions and solemn reflections. He stood as the representation of death, warden of the thresholds beyond, whose presence was in the whispers of night’s breeze and the lengthening shadows of twilight’s end. To some, the Stranger was the harbinger of the unknown, the inevitable passage into the realm ethereal. Yet for Victoria, he was the weaver of destinies, the one who marked closure of one cycle and the inception of another. In other words, what she was intending to do.

The Ackermans shall meet their demise, and it falls upon me to deliver it unto them, she ruminated, not quite praying but rather waiting, anticipating the arrival of someone who approached in silence.

“I reckoned you wouldn’t be in the mood for revelry,” the voice, masculine and intimate, whispered nearby, almost clandestinely brushing against his neck. “Disappointed, Victoria? You laid out your schemes, but in the end, they outplayed you.”

The queen suppressed a grimace. “From the outset, I knew that if we were drawn into this Grand Council, victory was never within our grasp,” she said. “Yet, I must confess, unveiling the prince’s schemes brought a certain satisfaction.”

Indeed, it had. All the painstaking gathering of information—days, weeks, and months spent—had proven its worth. How she yearned to relive the moment when she set in motion the prince’s and Kuchel’s strategies, to revel in witnessing his utter defeat. But alas, they had played a stronger hand.

“You should have struck down the girl when you had the chance,” the man said. “Considering how many of Kuchel’s kin meet their demise in your hands, I’m frankly surprised you spared the girl. I must inquire; why, Victoria?”

“It’s not as though I didn’t make the attempt. By the gods, I did try.” She remembered all too well the extent of his schemes. Substances slipped into her meals, her tea tainted, and more recently, a wine that mysteriously never reached her lips. She had even resorted to manipulating her own daughter, coaxing her out on a spring morning to play with that wretched princess in the forest, where dangers surely lurked in the form of wolves. Yet, despite the Queen’s efforts, nothing befell her; she remained unscathed. “It has forever been thus. Nothing touches her; nothing alters her course. It’s as though she is shrouded in a benevolent aura, shielded from the storms that buffet the rest of us.”

“The Northerners dub it Kissed by Winter, they say it’s a blessing, a mark of fortune that endures through life,” the man beside remarked with a hint of scepticism. “My brother, ever enamoured with Northern lore since his days in Liberio, swears by it. But tales and superstitions are as fleeting as the wind.”

“Merely tales and superstitions,” Victoria muttered with a disdainful grimace. “No one is that fortunate in life. It must meet its end at some inevitable juncture.” Her gaze hardened with a steely resolve. “The credit belongs to Kuchel; her daughter inherits the same resilience and tenacity. Naturally, she proved to be a thorn in our side.”

“And that thorn is pregnant now,” the man said. “A fire wolf, they say.”

The queen’s laughter lacked any semblance of grace. “If fortune finally eludes her, she shall die in childbirth. But alas, the gods know my transgressions all too well; they shall not smile upon me like that. Of course not. I shall do what I was meant to do from the very beginning.”

Silence descended, thick and oppressive, shrouding the chamber in an impenetrable veil. The only disturbance amidst the stillness was the sinuous dance of tendrils of incense smoke, curling languidly towards the lofty ceiling like ethereal spectres in the night.

In the dimness of the chamber, the man’s shadowy figure drew nearer, his hand encircling the queen’s waist with a boldness that bordered on audacity. With parched lips and a hunger that burned in his grey eyes, he grazed the exposed flesh of her neck, his touch a caress both lascivious and forbidden, igniting a tempest of conflicting desires within her.

“What is your plan, Victoria?” He inquired, his voice strained. The queen didn’t need to ponder why such proximity affected him so much. Immoral and debased, the simple act of her being near rendered him undone, something she had taken advantage of.

“I have devised a plan, one that demands your aid,” she purred, her voice a seductive melody, her fingers weaving through his dark locks like silken threads. “A war looms on the horizon, one I intend to wage with fire and blood.”

The man chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Sounds splendid indeed. To war, then!”

“Are you certain?” She inquired, her tone laced with a dangerous edge. “For I shall not hesitate to extinguish the lives of your nephews—your kin. The blood of your own brother.”

“Ah, Victoria,” he breathed, drawing nearer, his voice a low murmur laced with bitterness. “You understand that if I truly cared for my brother, I would not have f*cked you while he lay in the embrace of that Hizurian woman.” His gaze bore into hers, unyielding. “And you know, if I truly cared for him, I would not be plotting to place the crown upon your head.”

As the winds of winter howled outside, intensifying the fervour within, the queen whispered his name like a sultry incantation. “Kenny…”