A week passed in silence.
Not a word. Not a glance. Not even the slightest acknowledgment.
Kaelen and I moved through the same halls like strangers—no, worse. Strangers might exchange pleasantries. We were ghosts to each other, passing without presence, bound by law but fractured in spirit.
Even Lady Darwyn noticed.
"I must say, for newlyweds, you and my nephew have mastered the art of frost," she remarked over tea, one perfectly arched brow lifted. "So much ice between you, I half expect the palace to start snowing."
"We're both just busy with the preparations for the coronation, nothing you need to worry about." I offered a polite smile and sipped my tea as though it weren't bitter in my mouth.
Lady Darwyn hummed to herself, clearly to irk me, but I paid her no mind.
Let her gossip. I cared little for what she thought.
I kept busy with final fittings, diplomatic briefings, and walking the long gardens where nothing bloomed yet. Every moment alone was filled with noise—my own thoughts rattling like loose chains.
And then the day came.
The coronation.
The ceremonial bells echoed through the palace halls like a funeral toll for who I used to be. I stood before the tall mirror in the inner dressing chamber, draped in rich silver silk embroidered with stars—the colors of the revolution paired with the symbol of House Starwyn, or what remained of it. A nod to the past I could no longer claim, and the future I could not yet name.
Emelia adjusted the royal robes over my shoulders. "You look like a queen already," she whispered.
I didn't feel like one. I felt like an imposter.
Kaelen and I continued our silence as we traveled in the royal carriage together toward the Grand Hall. We waved to the crowd as we ascended the steps, but only we knew of the invisible wall erected between us.
We entered the hall hand in hand, he clad in the black and silver of Fenwyn's legacy. He looked every inch the ruler—regal, composed, distant.
He didn't look at me. I didn't look at him. But I felt him.
Every step I took toward that throne was a step into the unknown. The crowd watched in breathless silence. Nobles. Generals. Foreign emissaries. Eyes that judged and recorded every twitch of my mouth.
Kaelen offered his hand as I reached the dais.
For a moment, I hesitated. Then, wordlessly, I took it.
His hand was warm. Steady. Familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
No words passed between us, but I felt something. A pull—tense, invisible thread between us, drawing me closer despite the weight I carried in my spine, in my throat.
We turned toward the High Chancellor, an elderly man with a sonorous voice and parchment-thin skin. His expression was grave, but reverent.
"Kaelen Thorne, son of Craven Fenwyn, born of rebellion and forged in war," he began, his voice echoing across the vaulted ceiling. "Do you swear to uphold the laws of Velmoria, to protect its people, and to govern with both strength and discernment?"
Kaelen's voice was firm, ringing with conviction. "I do swear it."
"And do you vow to wield power not as a tyrant, but as a servant of the realm—to hold justice above vengeance, peace above pride?"
Kaelen hesitated only briefly. Then he spoke, his eyes fixed on the crown in the Chancellor's hands.
"I vow this before all: I will not rule as a man above others, but as a guardian of those who cannot fight for themselves. I will lead not to conquer, but to preserve. And I will never allow the blood that built this throne to be shed in vain."
The Chancellor nodded solemnly. "Then by the will of the Assembly, and the eyes of the people, rise as Kaelen Thorne—King of Velmoria."
He lowered the crown into Kaelen's hands.
Kaelen turned to face the crowd as they erupted in applause—but only for a moment. He stepped back, and the hall fell silent once more as I moved forward.
The Chancellor's gaze shifted to me.
"Nyriane of House Starwyn," he intoned, "do you accept the charge to reign beside your husband—not in shadow, but as sovereign in your own right? Do you vow to protect the dignity of this realm and honor the legacy from which you come?"
My voice did not waver. "I do."
"Then let it be so."
Kaelen approached me.
He held the crown in both hands, and for the first time in a week, our eyes met.
"By my hand, I crown you Queen of Velmoria—equal in rule, unshaken in strength."
Slowly, carefully, he placed it upon my head. As I began to rise, he offered his hands. I took them wordlessly, our eyes locked.
There was a hush—like the world itself had stilled in reverence. No roar. No fanfare. Just the heat of his hands brushing my hair, the weight of something greater than a crown settling on my head.
We stood together before the people—two rulers, two legacies, joined not just by oath, but by something neither of us dared name.
He did not speak. I did not move.
But in that moment, I knew: he hadn't looked away.
And I hadn't wanted him to.
"Long live the King and Queen!" the crowd roared.
---
The dust had barely settled by the time we returned to the Manor. We were both in the room we shared, yet still strangers. Emelia helped remove the heavy robes while Kaelen was attended to by his valet.
I slipped off my gloves, and Emelia reached up to remove my crown—but it snagged in my hair.
"Ouch!" I hissed as the weighty thing tugged.
"Oh no!" Emelia exclaimed, reaching up again to help, but I felt another pair of hands already at work.
Kaelen.
He had already taken off his crown and robes, now dressed only in his royal suit. Carefully, he untangled the crown, then removed it and handed it to the attendant, who carried it away.
His gaze lingered on me. Mine had never left him.
"We should leave," Emelia said to no one in particular.
And soon it was just the two of us.
Alone.
"Thank you for today," Kaelen said, almost breathlessly.
"I only kept my end of the deal," I replied.
"You looked beautiful," Kaelen said with a faint smirk—but there was pain behind it. "It's almost a crime."
"You did threaten to send me to the dungeons once," I said, trying for humor.
His eyes softened. "You're very dangerous, princess."
"I thought I just became a queen."
Our eyes never faltered. His head dipped slightly—like he was waiting. For permission. For consent.
We paused...
"Lord Commander!" someone shouted from the hall.
I stepped back as the door flew open.
"Lord Commander!" A soldier rushed in, out of breath.
"What is the meaning of this?" Kaelen demanded, his tone sharp.
"There's been an attack at the center of Caerthrone—multiple injuries, possibly fatalities."