CHAPTER 559: ARRIVED UNDER SUSPICION, LEFT WITH HIS FREEDOM

King Valemir felt the world tilt beneath him, not outwardly—his face remained carved in stone—but within, his thoughts spiraled in a rapid, tightening coil. The moment Liam’s request left his lips, the entire purpose of this gathering snapped into brutal clarity. Everything that had led to this day—the tension, the sudden formality, the audience he had been forced to grant—was not about glory, not about gratitude, not about debt.

It was about freedom.

His freedom.

Valemir’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest of his throne as he pieced everything together with painful precision. The condition he himself had set—the restriction placed upon Liam for Sheila’s "safety," limiting the boy to only using fire magic—had been relayed to him by Queen Lucy. That alone should have been a clue, yet he had brushed it aside, too consumed by worry for his daughter to consider the broader implications.

Now it was clear that Lucy had known all along what the boy would come after. She had known from the moment she proposed the audience. She had known when she calmly accepted the restriction, when she told him Liam would speak for himself, when she insisted on being present.

Valemir was no fool. Lucy rarely moved without intent.

But even knowing that, he had not expected this.

He had not expected Liam to ask for the one thing he never intended to give him.

Despite the fact that Liam was not a citizen of the Crescent Kingdom, despite being under Tempest’s protection and outside Valemir’s jurisdiction entirely, he still wanted—needed—some way to keep the boy tethered to Crescent. A leash, however thin. A precautionary chain. Something that allowed him to rest knowing Sheila would never again suffer in the hands of darkness.

And the restriction? It had been exactly that. A small leash. A tiny shackle. A subtle, quiet way to control Liam Hunter.

But now, in the form of a reward he could not refuse, Liam had demanded its removal.

And Valemir realized he was about to lose the only grip he had on the dark mage.

His jaw tightened. His mind raced. His eyes drifted across the hall until they found Lucy—calm, regal, infuriatingly composed. Her lips held the faintest curl, a knowing smirk that spoke without sound.

You know you can’t refuse him.

You know you have no grounds.

And you know he is not yours to control.

The message was silent, but loud all the same.

And maddeningly, she was right.

He could not claim authority over a child of another kingdom. He could not deny the reward without spitting on his daughter’s truth. He could not twist the moment to his favor without it blowing back into his face, making him appear petty and paranoid before neighboring royalty and his own people.

Cornered. By a sixteen-year-old boy with dead eyes and a fire he did not understand.

Taking in a slow, deliberate breath, Valemir let the realization settle. Then, finally, he lifted his chin and looked directly at Liam.

"Your request," he said, each word measured as if forced past a blade, "has been granted. Once this gathering is dispersed, I will finalize the matter with Queen Lucy. There will be no restrictions placed over you."

A hush swept the room, stunned and taut.

Liam’s expression, cold and unreadable, barely shifted—only a slow, confident smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. A small gesture, but enough to darken the king’s expression further. Still, Liam dipped his head in a curt, controlled bow of decorum.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

The words were polite, yet the tone was mercilessly indifferent.

Valemir felt the urge to grit his teeth.

"With the reward of Liam Hunter granted," he declared, rising slightly in his throne, "there are no further matters to discuss. This gathering is now concluded."

The proclamation echoed through the chamber, final and absolute.

Liam offered one last bow to the king and queen before turning his gaze toward Sheila. She met it without hesitation, her warm, small smile rising with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the steel she had shown earlier. Liam acknowledged it with the faintest tilt of his head, the closest thing he allowed himself to a soft expression in public.

Then, without hesitation, he turned away from the center of the chamber.

And as he walked, Queen Lucy rose smoothly from her seat, Mystica following with a sly glint in her violet eyes, and Galen standing with the silent gravity of a mountain. They formed around Liam almost instinctively, a trio of shadows and power flanking him as they headed out of the hall—leaving behind a room full of stunned nobles and a king who could do nothing but watch them go.

The boy who had arrived under suspicion left with his freedom.

And Valemir, despite all his authority, could only accept that reality.

***

Queen Lucy led the group with her usual serene stride, her presence bringing a quiet stability to the air around her. Mystica drifted just behind her, her dark gown brushing the floor with a whisper, while Galen walked like an armored wall of composed indifference. Liam kept to the center, shoulders squared, hands in the pockets of his coat, and his face set in a familiar, simmering scowl. Mabel and the four Tempest royal knights formed a protective perimeter around them as Zeis, their Crescent escort, guided them forward with unshakable silent discipline.

They had only turned the second corner when Mystica let out a soft hum, the kind that always preceded her commentary. Her voice floated into the chilly corridor with unhurried ease, smooth as velvet and carrying a note of entertained pride.

"Well," she murmured, casting Liam a sidelong glance through her lashes, "that was far more satisfying than I imagined. You actually managed to pull it off. And, more importantly—Sheila pieced together your words exactly as you said she would. Clever little princess."

There was no teasing lilt this time. Only genuine intrigue.

Queen Lucy’s breath formed a faint mist as she replied, her tone warm but thoughtful. "Mystica is right. I always knew Sheila was an exceptional girl, but I didn’t realize just how observant she truly was. The way she handled herself in front of that crowd... she showed maturity far beyond her age. Liam said she had the insight for it, but to see it with my own eyes... She is even more promising than I believed."

Galen let out a short exhale through his nose—his version of acknowledgment—before he spoke, voice low and detached.

"She earned some respect today," he said. "Her confidence was steady. No wavering, no fear. Whatever she endured during the war sharpened her. She’s not the same child she used to be."

Lucy nodded, her expression solemn. "That is true. Trauma changes people. But she did not allow hers to break her. She’s growing from it."

"Indeed," Mystica added lightly. "She might very well become someone impressive."

But before the conversation could drift further into reflection, Liam exhaled sharply, the impatience in the sound unmistakable. His voice came out calm, flat, and carrying the faintest tremor of irritation.

"No disrespect intended," he said, eyes forward as he kept walking, "but could we save the rest of this discussion for when we’re back in Tempest? Your talking—combined with this ridiculous cold—is getting more infuriating by the second."

Nearly everyone reacted at once.

Galen’s brows twitched upward in silent amusement, Mystica let out a soft, musical scoff, Mabel smiled behind her mask, and even two of the royal knights snorted before catching themselves.

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, a knowing look warming her features as she saw his rigid posture, his visible discomfort, and the frost clinging to the fabric of his sleeves.

Despite all the calm, all the composure, and all the stoicism Liam Hunter carried like armor, nothing could hide the deep, visceral hatred he held for the Crescent Kingdom’s biting cold.

And judging by the faint chuckles that echoed behind him, absolutely none of them intended to let him forget it.