Alric
The palace glowed that night - not with torches or lanterns, but with power.
Silk rustled like whispers across marble floors. Nobles sparkled in family heirlooms, faces painted in courtly masks, all eyes trained on the golden dais at the end of the hall. It was the Coming-of-Age Ball for Princess Saren of House Kaelen, and no one dared arrive without a bow deep enough to graze the floor.
Alric stood in perfect posture near a towering pillar, dark-cloaked and stone-faced - a soldier among courtiers, a noble among strangers. His sword was peace-bound at his hip, his house sigil stitched to his shoulder, and his thoughts... somewhere far from diplomacy.
Trumpets rang sharp and clean.
The music stilled. The crowd turned.
And then she appeared.
Princess Saren, escorted by the King himself. Not the Crown Prince - her older brother - but the Emperor of the realm. That alone turned heads. The king's presence said what no decree had: She is more than a daughter. She is the future.
She moved like a tide, slow and sovereign, her midnight gown stitched with thread finer than silver. A quiet grace surrounded her - not softness, no. Something colder. More precise.
And then her gaze swept the room-
-and caught his.
Alric froze.
It lasted no more than a breath. One flicker of eye contact. One heartbeat too long.
But it was enough.
Her expression didn't change. She looked away as if it meant nothing. As if his breath hadn't caught in his throat and his chest hadn't clenched like a fist. But Alric would remember that moment until the day he died.
And somehow, he knew she would too.
---
The next few weeks passed in silence. No letters. No glances. No foolish court dances of affection. She was the Princess of Kaelen - and women like her did not flirt.
But then, the summons came.
His father handed him the sealed scroll with white knuckles and a hard stare.
The royal crest pressed into the wax like fire.
A marriage had been arranged.
Alric of House Valen.
Saren of House Kaelen.
He read it twice before he could speak.
No courtship. No whispered conversations.
Just a command from a throne - and a single, silent glance that had already undone him.
"The crown had spoken. The gods had turned their faces. And somewhere in between, Alric stepped into a fire he did not yet see."
....to be continued....