Chapter 830: The Weight of Choice ( 830 )
Garius’s expression hardened, the faint smirk gone, replaced by a calm yet unyielding severity. His gaze lingered first on the royal advisor, then on General Gilmon.
"You two," he said, voice low but commanding.
"Y....yes, Count Garius?" Gilmon stammered, the memory of past failures heavy in his tone.
The advisor inclined his head in silence, unease plain in his eyes.
Garius gave them nothing more than a glance, his silence sharper than any rebuke. His eyes cut past them, fixing on Kliatana instead.
The weight of the room shifted.
"Kliatana," he said, stripping her of title, voice like stone against iron. "Answer me plainly. Will you submit to become that bloated duke’s wife? Will you take his hand, wear his crown, and bind yourself to him only to appease the law?"
The question hung like a blade above her neck.
Kliatana froze, her hands tightening in her lap, fingers fidgeting against each other. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Garius leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, voice steady and merciless.
"You are still young," he said quietly, each word a stone laid on the table. "And if you believe that agreeing to be his wife will settle this for the people, you are mistaken."
"A marriage to Duke Kimar would bind you to him in name, but it will not bind him to you in power. A crown placed upon your head as consort will be little more than decoration unless the man who stands beside you chooses otherwise. He keeps the seals. He speaks for the realm. He holds the command of armies and the ear of the council. In practice, the crown would sit on your brow while the reins remain in his hand."
Garius let the sentence hang, letting the reality he described sink in.
"Do you think law alone will grant you authority? Do you think a ring will grant you a voice the council must obey? No. Marry him, and you may find yourself queen in title and powerless in deed, an ornament judged by etiquette and expected to smile while decisions that shape lives are made without your consent. They will call it stability; you will call it silence. Years from now you may wake and ask who gave your life away, and the answer will be: you did."
"I tell you this not to frighten you into defiance, but to make plain the choice before you. If you submit, understand what you surrender. If you refuse, understand what I will ask of you in return."
His gaze did not leave her face. "Decide with your eyes open, Princess."
Garius’s voice cut sharper.
"And if you think bearing his child will secure your line... you are mistaken."
His gaze held hers, unflinching.
"Do you not see? That man already has wives. He already has sons. Do you truly believe he will sweep aside the blood he has raised for years, the heirs he has groomed, to grant your child the throne? No, Princess. He will take your youth, your name, your crown, and he will smile as your child grows into nothing more than another pawn beneath his shadow."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but carrying the full weight of reality.
"At best, your son would become one rival among many, forced to claw for recognition in a house already thick with heirs. At worst, he will be smothered before he learns to walk, for the game of succession is played with daggers, not lullabies."
Garius let the silence press for a moment before finishing, each word crisp.
"If you think marriage to him is sacrifice for the kingdom, think again. It is not sacrifice. It is surrender. And surrender leaves you with nothing."
Kliatana’s shoulders shook faintly as she struggled to compose herself, her hands twisting tightly in her lap. Her voice, small but desperate, barely rose above a whisper.
"...But... if I choose to fight... for the crown... through war... what will happen... to the people...?"
Garius regarded her in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his tone was low and unyielding, each word sharp as a blade.
"So you would rather sacrifice yourself, your freedom, your happiness, just to grant him a victory he does not deserve? To let him parade you as a prize, a token queen, while he holds all the power?"
His eyes narrowed, voice turning colder.
"Do you think that will bring peace? That a man like Kimar would ever let you rule, or grant you any voice? No, Princess. You would be little more than a decoration, locked in a cage made of gold. You’d live every day as a reminder of his triumph, and your own silence."
Kliatana’s voice faltered, breaking as she pressed on.
"Is... is there no other way...? No path without bloodshed...?"
Garius’s gaze flicked, hard and cold to the royal advisor and General Gilmon behind her.
"You can ask your advisor. And your general. Let them explain the options left to you. But do not ask me to lie, there is no easy road from here. Whatever path you choose, there will be a price. The only question is whose freedom you’re willing to give up for it."
He stepped back, turning toward the door with a slow, measured movement.
"I will take my leave, Princess," he said, his voice dry and steady.
He paused, casting a final glance over his shoulder, his tone cutting through the air.
"Do not misunderstand. Whatever decision you choose, I will back you. If you say yes, then you will be queen, bound by law, chained by ambition. If you say no, and demand my sword instead, then I will invoke the Right of Arms and tear down every banner raised against you. The council, the nobles, the law itself, none of it will stand in your way."
His voice dropped lower, heavier.
"But know this. War is not ceremony. It is not the clash of words in a chamber. It is blood, graves, and ruin. I will see it done if you command it. But do not pretend the cost will vanish once the crown rests on your head. Whatever you decide, wherever your path leads, you will not face it alone. So long as you choose with your own will, I, Count Garius De Armand, will stand behind you."
After Count Garius left the room, followed closely by Alf, Erinnette, and Javier, the heavy wooden door shut behind them with a deep finality. Silence lingered.
Kliatana sat frozen on her chair, her posture hunched, shoulders trembling. Her hands remained clenched tightly in her lap as her breath came in uneven shudders. Gilmon and the royal advisor remained standing respectfully to the side, silent.
The silence in the chamber weighed on all of them, broken only by her faint sobs.
"I... I don’t want to become my uncle’s wife..." Her voice trembled, half-choked, as she curled her fingers tight in her lap.
Gilmon and the royal advisor exchanged a brief, worried glance, but neither dared interrupt. For a while, they simply waited, letting her have the space to cry, to let out everything that had been bottled up inside.
Then, after a long, tense pause, Kliatana’s voice broke the quiet again, soft but desperate:
"Is... is there any other way...?" she whispered. "Something... that doesn’t need war... doesn’t need bloodshed... I... I don’t care about the crown anymore..."
( End Of Chapter )