The grand ballroom continued to sparkle with ethereal light even after Permeus's latest display of empty rhetoric.

  Germaine watched the crystal chandeliers cast their warm glow over the guests, each dancing beam a reminder of the countless details he had personally overseen to make this evening perfect. Every flower arrangement, every placement of furniture, every security protocol—all his work.

  His silver skin gleamed in the ballroom light, though the formal blue robes that brought out his eyes felt more like a costume tonight. Despite his impressive stature, tension coiled through his shoulders like wound springs. His jaw ached from being clenched so tightly.

  “There he is,” he muttered to Greta as he spotted the royal couple descending the grand staircase .

  Greta's gentle hand on his arm was meant to be comforting, but Germaine could feel her reading his unease.

  She knows me too well.

  Germaine had deep, unshakeable love for Permeus and the royal family but also a burning resentment at watching his king receive endless praise for a stupid speech.

  This had been the biggest week of the year for Germaine. Coordinating the harvest and then immediately transitioning into security preparations for the meeting of the union.

  He remembered all the sleepless nights spent in his own planning chambers while Permeus... did whatever it was Permeus did in his private study with those damned shards.

  Germaine wasn't chasing acknowledgment—he never did. What gnawed at him was the negligence with which Permeus would return to him in kind.

  “Remember to be courteous,” Greta whispered, her deep blue hair catching the light as she leaned close. “This is neither the time nor place.”

  Germaine forced his breathing to slow, feeling his expression harden into the mask he wore so well. “I am always courteous, especially after Permeus gives one of his grand speeches.”

  The words came out more measured than he felt, but still carried an edge he couldn't quite suppress. Five years of watching Permeus gallivant across realms while Titania's governance fell entirely on his shoulders had worn his patience thin.

  “Oh I am sorry... Do you not like his speeches?” Greta's tone made it clear she was pointing out what everyone already knew—that nobody actually enjoyed Permeus's speeches except Permeus himself.

  Her question pulled a sardonic smile from him, though there was no humor in it. The smile felt bitter on his lips, nothing like the genuine expressions he used to wear in his king's presence.

  “What is not to love? Especially since King Permeus gives so many of them.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice like poison. “One would think that with such eloquence, he might occasionally speak of something of substance.”

  He felt Greta squeeze his arm in warning, but it was too late for warnings now. “Well suck it up and prepare yourself. They're coming this way.”

  Germaine watched Permeus and Imara make their approach across the ballroom floor, greeting various guests with that practiced ease that came so naturally to those who never had to worry about the mechanics of making things work. Titans bowed deeply as the couple passed—their reverence for their Origin palpable, at least for tonight.

  Permeus moved with such effortless confidence, as if the very success of the evening was proof of his own competence rather than a testament to Germaine's months of preparation. It made Germaine want to grind his teeth until they cracked.

  When they finally reached him, Germaine bowed respectfully, though his body felt stiff as carved stone. Every muscle protested the gesture of deference.

  “Germaine, Greta,” Permeus greeted them with a warm tone . “A magnificent evening, is it not?”

  “Indeed, Your Majesty,” Germaine responded, his voice falling into the formal cadence of courtly protocol. “Congratulations on your speech. It was... inspiring.”

  He watched Permeus beam with satisfaction, apparently oblivious to the careful choice of words, the pause before 'inspiring' that should have been a warning to anyone paying attention. But Permeus rarely paid attention to such subtleties.

  “Thank you! The words simply come to me when I speak of Titania's glory.” Permeus glanced around the ballroom. “And you've outdone yourself with the arrangements old friend. Everything is perfect.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Germaine replied, letting just a hint of his true feelings color his inflection. “Those are but one of my many duties.”

  The words were technically correct and appropriately deferential. But Germaine watched as something in his tone caught Permeus's attention, saw that moment of uncertainty flicker across his king's perfect features.

  He noticed Greta and Imara exchanging those knowing glances that women shared when men were being idiots about to make everything worse.

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  “Perhaps we should get some refreshments,” Imara suggested with diplomatic smoothness, linking her arm with Greta's. “I hear the wine is particularly sweet this evening.”

  “An excellent idea,” Greta agreed quickly, shooting Germaine a look that clearly said 'don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.

  “Shall we?”

  As the women departed, Germaine felt the weight of Permeus's full attention settling on him like a heavy cloak. The ballroom continued its celebration around them, but he was aware of the pocket of tension that had formed between them, as if they stood in the eye of a storm.

  “You seem angry, Germaine,” Permeus observed, his voice lowered. “Is something troubling you?”

  The question was so perfectly, infuriatingly innocent that Germaine had to work his jaw for a moment before trusting himself to answer. Something troubling him? Where did he even begin?

  “I would have been happier, Your Majesty, if you had helped with the preparations.”

  “The ball?” Permeus asked. “But you've always handled such things so efficiently and tonight looks no different. If I am being truthful, it looks even more radiant than last year”

  “Not just the ball,” Germaine said, his voice growing tighter as weeks of suppressed frustration began pressing against his carefully maintained control. “The harvest, security protocols... All the things you routinely pass onto your High Steward without a second thought.”

  He watched understanding dawn on Permeus' face, though it was mixed with confusion rather than guilt or recognition. Even now, even when confronted directly with his negligence, Permeus couldn't quite grasp why it might be a problem.

  “But Germaine, that is precisely why I created you as you are the most powerful and wise among the titans. Your purpose is governance.”

  Your purpose?

  “Other Origins govern their realms, Your Majesty” he pointed out, letting a hint of his bitterness finally show in his voice. “They take responsibility for their creations.”

  Permeus waved his hand dismissively, and that casual gesture—as if the governance of an entire realm was something that could be dismissed like an annoying insect—made Germaine's teeth clench so hard he was surprised they didn't shatter.

  “The realms do not require the level of governance you imagine, old friend. In a hundred years of existence, there has never been great bloodshed or catastrophe. The world finds its own balance regardless of our existence and shall forever continue to do so.”

  The World? I maintain Titania’s balance not the world.

  “Other Origins do not govern their realms simply to protect them from external threats, Your Majesty” Germaine insisted, his light blue eyes challenging Permeus directly now. “They govern because it is their responsibility. Because they understand that creation does not end with the moment of inception.”

  He watched Permeus frown at that statement.

  “What other reason could there be? The titans are immortal, thanks to me. The Mystia grows abundantly. The realm prospers. What more governance is required?”

  “Do you know how many matters Your Majesty could help me with but rather than being 'occupied' with other matters?”

  “Old friend,” Permeus began, his tone carrying a warning.

  “No disrespect to Your Majesty but what excuse could you give that does not sound ridiculous?”

  He saw a muscle work in Permeus's jaw and knew he was pushing into dangerous territory.

  “I have been researching matters of great importance. The shards...”

  “Always the shards,” Germaine cut him off. “Always these vague 'matters of importance' that somehow never benefit Titania or its people.”

  Around them, the celebration continued.

  “I am an Origin,” Permeus said, his voice dropping to something dangerous. “One of the creators of this world. My concerns extend beyond the day-to-day trivialities of governance.”

  Trivialities.

  “And yet other Origins manage both their greater concerns and their realms while you accomplish neither,” Germaine countered. “Helus manages the vast complexity of Hel. Desia oversees the weaving of fate itself. Even Darkeus, whom Your Majesty so frequently antagonize, maintains order in his realm of death.”

  “You forget yourself, Germaine. I can accept a rant about governance from a fellow Origin but no mere titan will not teach me how to rule.”

  Mere titan.

  “No, I am not teaching Your Majesty how to rule. A mere steward could never imagine to accomplish such. I am simply teaching Your Majesty how to remember ” Germaine replied, his voice steady. “I remember my duty to Titania and its people. TO YOUR MAJESTY’S PEOPLE. I remember the duty you have forgotten or at least choose to.”

  “I have never forgotten my duty to the people of Titania,” Permeus challenged.

  Germaine almost laughed at the audacity of the claim.

  “What about the five years you spent at Dephenai courting and studying shards while your people could only watch you arrive to Your Majesty’s own realm on an occasion such as this as if you were a visitor?”

  The words came out harsher than he had intended, but Germaine found he didn't care anymore.

  “I returned with your Queen,” Permeus shot back, as if that justified everything.

  “No Your Majesty, you returned with yours and you didn't even bring back the one you wanted.”

  The words hung in the air between them like drawn swords.

  For a long moment, they stared at each other across a chasm that had opened between creator and created. Permeus' face was now a mask of cold authority, while Germaine held his ground despite knowing he had just crossed a line from which there might be no return.

  Finally, Permeus spoke, and his words fell like stones into still water.

  “I created you to serve, old friend. To govern in my stead while I attend to matters beyond your understanding. That is your purpose, your very reason for existence. Or have you chosen to forget that as you accuse me of having chosen to forget my people?”

  Germaine felt something inside him die in that moment.

  “No, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice now empty of all emotion. “I have not forgotten.”

  With that, he bowed stiffly and turned away, moving through the crowd with purposeful strides. The titans parted before him automatically, sensing the dangerous darkness in his mood.

  He found Greta standing with Imara near the wine table, their conversation dying as he approached. Both women noted his expression, and he saw concern flicker across their faces.

  “Is everything all right?” Greta asked quietly, her voice carrying all the worry she couldn't express more openly in public.

  “Perfectly,” Germaine replied, his tone making it absolutely clear that the subject was closed and that anyone who pressed would regret it.

  Imara glanced between recognizing the tension, then discreetly excused herself to rejoin her husband. When she was gone, Greta placed a hand on Germaine's arm, her touch gentle but insistent.

  “What happened?”

  Germaine looked at his wife.

  “Nothing unexpected,” he said finally. “King Permeus simply reminded me of my place.”

  “Germaine—“ Greta began, her voice full of the sympathy he both needed and couldn't bear.

  “Not here,” he interrupted, his voice softening as he looked at her.

  The ballroom was full of eyes and ears, and he had already provided enough entertainment for one evening.

  “We'll discuss it later.”

  “I hope so,”