8

<JADE FESTIVAL CONTINUES>

Rowan furrowed her brow, trying to form a simple hand sign, but something felt off. She reversed it, yet it still didn't seem right. Frustrated, she sighed and tried a different approach. Roderan watched her with a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

"What on earth are you doing?" he finally asked, unable to contain his confusion.

"Back home, we have this gesture," Rowan explained, fumbling with her fingers. "I just forgot how to do it properly, but…" She bent her thumbs and pointed her four fingers ahead before taking a bow. Roderan could only stare in astonishment. Turning to him, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down. "I know she's your mother, but right now, she's the Queen. You have to bow," she insisted, forcing him to his knees and pushing his head down.

A wave of murmurs swept through the hall. In all of Etral, she was the first and only one to make Roderan bow, and even more shockingly, to touch him so boldly. The Lord and Queen exchanged glances, their lips curling into subtle smiles.

"So, you must be the mortal princess," one of the grand elders spoke, rubbing his beard as he eyed Rowan. They had taken seats on the right side, exuding an aura of authority, as if they were the true power in the room.

"No, I'm not," Rowan replied, drawing all eyes to her. "I am a princess, not a mortal princess—just a princess. And I have a name: Rowan." She smiled, her voice steady and confident.

"How unruly… You're still a mortal princess," the female grand elder snapped, her tone biting.

Rowan exhaled sharply. "If I called you an old-looking immortal, would you like it? Or better yet, a 'one-foot-in-the-grave' immortal. That sounds like a fitting title," she added with a small chuckle.

"How dare a mortal who hasn't even cultivated an immortal bone speak to me like that?" the elder hissed, her eyes blazing with fury. The Queen moved to diffuse the tension, but another voice cut in.

"The rude one is you, old granny," a man's voice boomed as he descended into the hall. "Talking to my future daughter-in-law like that—it seems you've forgotten about me, huh?" Rowan's jaw dropped in surprise.

"Master?!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with shock as the man, still holding his liquor, smiled at her. The hall buzzed with confusion.

"Master?" Roderan repeated, turning to Rowan. "That explains your behavior."

"What did you just say?" she shot back, whipping around to face him. But before she could continue, Lairon pulled out a jar that immediately captured her attention.

"Forget about him and look at my gift for you," Lairon said, grinning broadly.

"Is that…?" Rowan's words trailed off as she accepted the marble jar.

"Lost Summer. Etherday made it herself," Lairon explained, still smiling. "I wanted to bring it to your old home, but when I heard you were bound to this cold bastard, I rushed here before he could drive you insane and make you forget about your master."

"Lairon Dragneel, you disappeared for twenty years, and I never imagined you'd taken on a disciple," the Lord's voice cut through their conversation.

Lairon laughed heartily as he approached the King, taking a seat beside him. He leaned in, whispering something that made both of them chuckle softly.

The Queen turned to Rowan. "I heard you brought me a gift, is that…?" Rowan quickly hid the liquor and gestured to Tara, who brought forward a long, red, glittering duvet.

"This is my gift to you," Rowan declared proudly.

Laughter erupted around the hall, and she glanced around, feeling a wave of disappointment and mockery from the crowd.

"Do you even know what that signifies?" Roderan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course. I'm wishing Her Majesty and His Majesty a long and happy marriage," Rowan replied confidently.

"That's true, but the gift is traditionally given to newlyweds, wishing them great happiness and many generations of descendants. It's not something you give to a couple married for over five hundred years with three grown children," Roderan explained, causing another round of laughter.

"Well, maybe I want them to have more children," Rowan shot back, unfazed, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.

"What…" Roderan begins, turning to Rowan, but she has a smirk playing on her lips.

"Look at them both," she says, her tone light but pointed. "The Lord is still young, full of power," she gestures toward the Lord, drawing everyone's eyes to him as he adjusts his posture with a smile. "And Her Majesty—look at how youthful she is. If she told anyone she's still a teenager, those who don't know her would believe it. She's still so beautiful," Rowan adds, making the Queen blush. "So don't blame me for wanting them to have more children, especially a normal son, which is exactly what they need right now."

"What does that mean?" Roderan asks sharply. "They have me—why would they need another son?"

"You!" Rowan bursts into laughter. "Anyone who has you as a son would definitely need another one. Trust me," she continues laughing while Roderan mumbles angrily, clearly tempted to scold her, but he refrains, shaking his head instead.

"It doesn't matter what you want or what they want. The Dragneel bloodline has always produced only one son per generation. It's a curse that's been with us since the beginning and will remain so. Having more than three children has never been heard of in our family."

Rowan's laughter fades as her expression turns serious, confusion creeping in. "What did you just say?"

Without looking at her, Roderan replies, "The Dragneel clan only produces one son per generation. It's the curse we bear for being a powerful clan."

Rowan takes a deep breath, her demeanor shifting as she steps closer to him, almost in disbelief. "What in the heavens did you just say? Only one son? Then how do you explain him?" She points at Lairon, who is still laughing and enjoying the show with his liquor in hand.

"My uncle is from my mother's side," Roderan explains. "He's my father's elder cousin. When he married my father's younger sister, he took our family name. So, the only males in the current Dragneel clan are just me and my father."

Rowan's mouth drops open, a mocking laugh escaping her as she struggles to process what she's hearing. "What the hell," she mutters, moving even closer to Roderan, staring at him with wide eyes. "Are you saying that if we were to have children, we'd only have a single son?" she asks, her voice rising in disbelief. The hall falls silent as everyone watches the couple, not yet married, already having their first quarrel. Roderan sighs and nods.

"I suppose so…"

"No way!" Rowan cries. "I come from a family of seven girls and four boys. There's no way in hell I'm living in a house with the same messed-up numbers! And besides, what if he turns out like you?"

"Like me?" Roderan repeats, slightly offended. "He would be my son, so of course he'd be like me—strong, skilled in cultivation, everything."

"Before he's your son, he's my son," Rowan shoots back, "and I'll definitely make sure he doesn't turn out like you."

"Hey! Hey, please, children…" the Lord tries to interrupt, but both Rowan and Roderan snap at him.

"Shut up!" they both shout, their voices echoing in unison.

"What's so wrong with me?" Roderan argues, genuinely puzzled. "I'm strong, good-looking, and my cultivation is at the top. Of course, my son would want to be like me."

Rowan only laughs harder, placing her hands on her hips. "Oh, Mr. Strong," she mocks. "Before any of that, what matters is one's attitude, and you lack everything in that department. So, no way am I letting my son turn out like you."

The Lord and Her Majesty exchange amused glances, their smiles broadening with approval.

"No matter what anyone says, that's our daughter-in-law," they both agree, nodding in unison.

Lairon steps forward, looking between Rowan and Roderan as they continue to stare each other down. "What if you let your son be my disciple…?" he suggests, half-jokingly.

"No way in hell!" they both scream, their voices again in perfect sync. "You're only good at drinking and lazing around," they accuse. Lairon opens his mouth to defend himself but quickly gives up, retreating to his seat beside the King and taking another sip of his liquor.

"How long has the Dragneel been this lively?" the Lord chuckles, shaking his head.

"Oh, we're in for a long ride," Lairon adds with a grin.

The Lord smirks at him. "You mean me." Both men laugh, their voices mingling with the warmth of the moment. But just then, an intense surge of spirit energy overwhelms the hall, enveloping everyone in a powerful aura.

"What insolence! What absurdity!" one of the grand elders roars, releasing an intense surge of spirit energy that sends Rowan to her knees, gasping for breath as the overwhelming force crushes her. "A mere mortal, speaking so rudely, and she hasn't even cultivated her immortal bone yet! And you..." His eyes, filled with fury, lock onto Roderan. "How could our future Lord present himself like this? What happened to—" 

His words are abruptly cut off by the powerful dragon energy radiating from Roderan as he rises to his feet.

"What do you think you're trying to pull, Grand Elder?" Roderan's voice is calm, yet it carries a heavy weight as he envelops Rowan in his aura, shielding her from the oppressive energy. She immediately finds it easier to breathe. "You knew she hasn't attained her immortal soul yet, and still, you used your spirit energy on her?"

"Why? Does it anger you?" the elder retorts. "She is to be our future queen. Am I wrong to—"

Roderan disperses his energy and begins to laugh softly. "Future queen, is that so?" His gaze sweeps across the hall as he exhales deeply, the tension thickening. "I've noticed for a while now that some of you think that because you're in some measly cultivation realm, you can treat her however you please. You think that because—Oh, right, she's a mortal princess. But first and foremost, remember this," his voice drops, and he releases a devastating wave of spirit energy, calm yet seething with fury, "she is the new lady of the Dragneel clan. If you think lowly of that, then you're looking down on my clan."

His gaze narrows as it lands on the elders. "Should I take your earlier actions as a sign of that disrespect?" A dragon's roar echoes from within him, shaking the entire hall, and a crack appears in the floor. "Are you looking down on me as your future Lord?" His voice now carries a menacing threat. "If so, let me show you what it means to be in the False Deity realm." For the first time, he smirks, his brown eyes glowing with dark energy as it seeps from his body. The dragon tattoos on his hand come to life, writhing as if ready to strike. "Any takers?" he challenges.

Just then, Lairon flash-steps to his side. "Well, sorry to break it to you, kid, but you're not the only Dragneel in the house. An affront to our lady is an affront to all of us. Now let's see who here thinks they can take us on," he laughs, gulping down his drink. "Ha! Ha! Ants challenging the Dragneel clan? This, I've never seen before!" His laughter echoes through the hall as the combined spirit energy of the two men silences everyone, not a soul daring to move. 

Rowan, still on the ground, looks up at the two men, utterly at a loss, realizing they are ready to fight for her. This she had never dreamt of.