I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

The king tapped a finger on his throne, the sound breaking the stillness of the room. “Anyone else?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with impatience, like he was daring them to test him further. His gaze swept the hall, lingering just a heartbeat on Julian, who met it with a slight nod.

No one spoke. Defeat, fear, and awe.

The king’s finger stopped tapping, and he straightened in his throne. “With that out of the way, let me make an announcement.”

The crowd collectively swallowed hard, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to be simple. It was about to rewrite the kingdom’s flow, and every eye locked on the king, waiting for the hammer to drop.

He leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the throne’s arms, and continued, “The restrictions on Regina and her family, imposed by the royal family, will be lifted completely.”

A gasp broke through the silence, but he didn’t pause. “She will be retitled as Princess of the Kingdom, and likewise, her children will regain their royal titles as well.”

Whispers and murmurs erupted, uncontrolled and chaotic. It was as if the air itself cracked. Regina, the banished daughter, a princess again? Julian, already a duke, now a prince? The announcement struck like a tidal wave, drowning the court in shock.

Nobles turned to each other, wide-eyed, some clutching their dress, others frozen mid-breath. The Duke of Hans let out a low whistle, barely audible, while Norish’s neutral mask slipped for a split second.

Julian didn’t flinch. He sat there, legs still crossed, that dangerous smile curling just a bit wider. His deep blue eyes glowed just a bit as he scanned the room, drinking in the chaos like fine wine. The King had just handed him a crown’s worth of power without a fight, and he knew it.

His gaze flicked to the Queen, and oh, the look on her face—pure, unfiltered horror. Her mouth parted, but no sound came out; her hands gripped the throne so hard the wood creaked. Years of hating Regina, of burying her name, undone in one sentence.

Hallie was no better—she stumbled back a step, catching herself on her chair, her face drained of color. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head like she could will it away.

Ivan was a statue, fists still clenched, but his eyes—those eyes were wild, darting from the King to Julian like a trapped animal. His path to the throne, the one his mother and grandmother had groomed him for, just got a massive roadblock named Julian Easvil.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, swallowing hard.

The King raised a hand, silencing the chaos. “This is no debate,” he said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument. “Regina’s blood is my blood, and the kingdom will honor it. Her exile served its purpose; now, it ends.”

He settled back, his gaze sweeping the room, daring anyone to challenge him. No one did. Not Ethwer, licking his wounds. Not the Queen, trembling with rage. Not even Hallie, who looked like she had been slapped.

Julian rose slowly, the motion graceful, his robe flowing behind him like a shadow. He stepped forward, just enough to draw every eye, and dipped into a bow.

“Your Majesty’s wisdom is boundless,” he said, his voice smooth and calculated. “I am humbled to serve the kingdom and my family in this new light.” The words were perfect, polite, but the glint in his eyes as he straightened said it all: checkmate.

The Queen finally found her voice, an angered hiss cutting through the moment. “This is madness,” she spat, turning to the King.

“You’d raise her up after all she did? After she defied us, shamed us? And her spawn—” She stopped, catching Julian’s stare, and faltered. Those blue eyes didn’t waver, didn’t blink—just bored into her, calm and cold, daring her to finish.

Hallie surged forward, her desperation overriding any rules. “Father, please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “Ivan is your heir, your grandson. You can’t let this… this upstart overshadow him!”

She flung a hand toward Julian, trembling with fury, but the king’s expression didn’t shift. He looked at her, then Ivan, then back to Julian, and said nothing.

The four guardians stood like statues, their auras flaring just enough to remind the room who backed him. Raphael’s hand twitched toward his sword hilt—not a threat, just a reflex—while Lias’s sharp eyes tracked every noble, every whisper. The message was clear: Julian wasn’t just a prince now; he was untouchable.

As if mocking Hallie’s desperation, the king leaned forward again, his weathered face unreadable. “The Duke of Easvil, Julian Easvil, will be titled as Prince of the Kingdom,” he announced, each word slapping, dropping like stones into a still pond.

The hall sucked in a breath, but he wasn’t done. “Since he is already serving as Duke—and we do not want his loyalty and strength wasted within the castle walls—he will be given a new title: Archduke.” A pause, just long enough for the words to sink in. “This title stands above prince and below crown prince. That is all.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Then it shattered—whispers exploded into a roar, nobles turning to each other, mouths agape, eyes wide. Archduke? A title unheard of in living memory, crafted just for Julian, placing him inches from the throne itself.

The King didn’t just lift Regina’s banishment; he had vaulted her son into a league of his own, dangling him above Ivan, above everyone.

Julian rose once more, his movements fluid. His black robe with golden embroidery caught the light, shimmering like a crown he didn’t need to wear. He bowed again, deeper this time, but the gesture felt less like submission and more like a predator acknowledging its prey.

“Your Majesty’s generosity is unmatched,” he said. “I will bear these titles with the same devotion I’ve given the kingdom and more.” He straightened, and that smirk—oh, that smirk—flashed for just a second, aimed straight at Hallie and the Queen.