Alric
The palace had been rebuilt for the wedding. At least, that's what it felt like.
Silks in the colors of House Valen and House Kaelen draped across towers like stitched alliances. Musicians rehearsed in courtyards at dawn. Foreign emissaries arrived by the day. The air itself tasted ceremonial — like wine left too long to breathe.
And through it all, Alric moved like a man walking through a dream. Not quite awake. Not yet drowned.
He hadn't seen her since the ball.
No letters. No words. Not even a glimpse from a high window.
And yet, every corridor seemed to whisper her name.
Princess Saren.
The girl with the storm in her eyes. The one who had looked at him without blinking, without smiling, without flinching. One glance. One breath. That was all she had given him. And still—
Still it lived under his skin like wildfire.
"Are you nervous?" Ryn asked as they stood outside the Hall of Shields, where robes were being fitted.
Alric didn't answer. His hands were steady. His breath, even.
But his soul — that had started to shift the night her name was sealed beside his.
He had faced sieges. He had commanded men through snow and fire. But this… this was different. This wasn't war.
This was something quieter.
Sharper.
He wasn't sure which would hurt more.
---
Later that night, he stood on the palace balcony, overlooking the city. The bells had stopped. The crowds had gone home. And the stars were spilling across the sky like spilled salt.
Tomorrow, he would marry her.
Tomorrow, he would become more than a name in her father's court.
And still — he knew nothing of the girl he was giving his life to.
Only the memory of her gaze.
Only the haunting truth in it.
She had looked at him like she saw something she could use.
Or something she could ruin.
And he, fool that he was, had already begun to fall.
The chapel was centuries old, carved of white stone that caught the morning light and turned it gold. Ivy curled along its arches like blessings from the earth. Inside, it was quiet — not the silence of emptiness, but the sacred kind that made a man feel seen.
Here, where kings had knelt and bloodlines had begun, he would marry her.
The Church of the High Light followed old Christian rites — candlelit aisles, holy psalms sung in Latin, vows sealed beneath the great cross that hung above the altar. It was not merely ceremony. It was covenant. Soul to soul. Flesh to flesh.
And he had yet to speak a single word to her.
He stood outside the sanctuary hours before the vows, his formal attire fitted and dark, a gold trim stitched along his cuffs — the symbol of House Kaelen added to his shoulder, sewn by royal hands.
It still felt foreign there.
Like a crown that didn't quite belong.
His mother gave him a quiet blessing. His father, a nod stiff with pride. The court whispered behind fans and folded fingers, watching him as if trying to read his fate through the set of his jaw.
He did not flinch.
Only when the chapel doors opened and the people began to rise did his hands tighten. The choir began their hymn.
And then, she appeared.
Princess Saren, cloaked in white.
She did not walk — she arrived.
A veil softened her face, but not enough to hide the poise in her posture, or the fire in her eyes. She held a rosary of ivory pearls in one hand, a small gold-bound Bible in the other.
And though she was draped in symbols of purity and peace, she looked nothing like a lamb.
She looked like the beginning of a storm.
As she stepped closer, closer, closer, he heard nothing but the echo of his own breath.
Their hands met at the altar.
Cold fingers. Steady grip.
And when the priest asked if he would love and protect her until death claimed them both—
He said yes without hesitation.
He did not know the shape of her heart.
He did not know the weight of her soul.
But in that moment, he believed he would choose her again and again.
Even if it killed him.
And someday, it would.
(Author's Note: Do you trust her? Or are you already scared for him? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.)
....to be continued.....