CHAPTER 174: CHAPTER 169: FULL RIGHTS (2)

"Effective immediately, Gabriel von Jaunez, of noble House von Jaunez, shall hold full authority and recognition as the Consort-Designate of the Empire, with ceremonial, social, and administrative rights equal to those of a reigning consort, under direct imperial approval."

Several nobles shifted uncomfortably. The phrase "full authority" wasn’t decorative. It meant Gabriel could summon ministers. Intervene in court. Be addressed as Imperial Consort even before the crown formally touched his head.

"Until the coronation, all protocols shall reflect this designation. Any challenge to this order shall be considered a direct offense against the throne."

A pointed pause.

Gabriel felt it like a second heartbeat.

Across the aisle, Max raised a brow, clearly amused. Elliot looked physically ill.

Astana didn’t stop.

"Next, the court addresses the diplomatic status of the Paisian-Agaron Imperial Agreement and the violations committed by Princess Anya of Pais during her temporary stay."

Now, silence turned sharp. She hasn’t arrived yet. A new offense to the list.

The Paisian delegates stiffened. The chair beside them remained empty, its silence louder than protest. Gabriel noticed the youngest diplomat look sideways at it before quickly returning to his notes, as if pretending she was present would change what was about to happen.

Astana continued without pause. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

"During her time in the capital, Her Highness has repeatedly violated imperial scent laws, disrupted state business, and conducted herself in a manner unbecoming of her position. These actions, taken together, have compromised the trust and decorum between the Empire and the Paisian court."

The weight of each word fell like steps in a long descent.

"In order to preserve the diplomatic integrity and strategic cooperation between our nations, the Princess will be escorted back to Pais under imperial watch. Upon return, she will be bound in diplomatic union to Count Elliot Claymore of Nissa, as agreed upon by both courts."

Gasps rippled across the chamber.

Gabriel let out a long, quiet sigh, full of the passion that only a man at his wits’ end could muster. It wasn’t theatrical. It was exasperation wrapped in silk and bone-deep fatigue.

No one heard it but Damian.

And of course, Damian smiled. The smallest twitch of the mouth. Not even smug, just aware.

Across the aisle, Max straightened slightly, his smirk frozen mid-curve.

Elliot, however—Elliot nearly stood.

His chair scraped loudly against the marble, a screech that broke the court’s silence like a blade through glass. He twisted toward George, his face twisted with disbelief.

"What—this is not—" he began.

George didn’t speak. Just placed a hand on his son’s arm and pressed down. Firm.

Elliot’s eyes widened in shock; George wasn’t under his control anymore.

Astana didn’t pause.

"This marriage will be conducted in Pais within two months of today’s decree. The union will be recognized in title only. Her Highness will continue to use her royal title as an honorific, without political power, authority, or rank."

The chamber froze.

It was neat. Lawful. A polite execution.

And Anya wasn’t even present to hear it.

Gabriel leaned back against the velvet of his throne-side seat, gloves folded over one knee, and murmured under his breath, "Here she comes."

A heartbeat later, the doors slammed open.

Edward, standing just behind Gabriel’s chair, pinched the bridge of his nose in quiet mortification.

The chamber’s collective gaze snapped toward the sound. Some out of reflex. Others out of curiosity. A few—out of dread.

Princess Anya of Pais stood beneath the archway, backlit by afternoon sun and absolutely unaware that the floor had already dropped out from under her.

She had changed her dress.

A fitted crimson gown swept behind her in a long train of imported lace, the bodice embroidered with Paisian gold. A circlet of rubies crowned her head, gleaming defiantly. Her hair was pinned in spirals of precision. Her entrance was regal and measured and three minutes too late to matter.

She walked like she still thought the court was hers to dazzle.

"Forgive my tardiness," she said, smiling faintly as her heels clicked against marble. "It seems I was not informed the schedule had changed."

No one responded.

Not even the Paisian diplomats. The oldest among them kept his gaze fixed forward, stoic and unmoving. The youngest had the decency to flush.

Gabriel didn’t move. He didn’t even look at her.

That, more than anything, would sting.

Damian spoke at last—calm, sharp, and utterly uninterested in theater.

"Your chair has been removed from today’s record."

Anya faltered mid-step.

"...What?"

Her voice cracked faintly at the edges.

Damian didn’t look at her. "You may sit with your delegation. Or leave. The court has no more patience for wasted time."

The sentence hit harder than raised voices ever could.

A few nobles exchanged glances. One or two ministers looked down, pretending they hadn’t heard. Even Crista Lyon shifted slightly, just enough to betray mild surprise.

Anya was being publicly demoted. In front of every house. Every foreign seat.

Her gaze finally snapped to Gabriel.

He was turned slightly toward the Emperor, his face angled in profile. Not mocking. Not gloating.

Just utterly, entirely disinterested.

Her fingers curled tightly around the folds of her skirt.

But the performance couldn’t go on forever.

She moved too quickly for a princess. The weight of her gown snagged slightly as she approached the delegation row. No one rose. No one offered her a hand. She took her own chair and sat, posture straight, chin raised, fury barely hidden beneath polished poise.

But the court didn’t pause for her.

Astana, standing exactly where he had been before her arrival, gave her a quick glance before returning to his tablet. His voice resumed, untouched by the theatrics.

"As previously declared, the marriage arrangement between Princess Anya of Pais and Count Elliot Claymore of Nissa shall be formalized in two weeks’ time to ensure proper ceremonial notice is given to both imperial and Paisian courts."

Anya’s fingers clenched in her lap.

Elliot let out a sharp sound under his breath, half protest, half disbelief, but George’s hand remained on his arm.

Gabriel didn’t look at either of them.

Astana continued, each word chosen with surgical care.

"After the engagement ceremony, the couple will be escorted to Pais, where their union will be recognized in a closed diplomatic ceremony. Aside from the assigned guards and official treaty clerk, no Empire state representatives will be required to attend.

It was a public statement of just how unimportant the union was.

A formality. A political afterthought.

"The Princess shall maintain the use of her title as a matter of courtesy only. All former privileges of political involvement within the imperial court are formally revoked. She is not to be addressed as a royal envoy, representative, or speaker in any matter of state."

Anya sat very still. She did not look at anyone, only at the floor.

"These decisions are final and recognized by the court. They have been jointly ratified by the Imperial Crown and the Paisian royal council."

There was a moment where the silence felt too heavy to breathe through.

Astana didn’t allow it to settle.

"The court will celebrate today’s union with a light luncheon in the Winter Palace in two hours."

"For the celebration of the royal bond between the Empire and House von Jaunez, the date will be set at the end of the week."