The laces were too tight. One of the handmaidens murmured an apology as she pulled them tighter anyway, fingers quick and practiced. I didn't flinch. Didn't move. I just stared past my reflection in the mirror and into the space where Kael had stood only hours ago. He hadn't said goodbye—not really. Just a look. A small nod. And then he was gone, called to armor and orders, to the weight of war settling on his shoulders before dawn had fully broken. Another servant stepped forward to adjust my sleeves, smoothing the fabric with gentle, efficient hands. I barely felt it. But inside, a storm raged, threatening to burst through the calm facade I desperately tried to maintain.
"Will that be everything, Crown Princess?" someone asked. I hesitated. "Do you know whether they have set out for the front yet?" She glanced at the second maid, then at me. "Not yet, Your Highness. They're still in the courtyard. Preparing the horses." My breath was caught. "Then I still have time," I said, my voice steady, my resolve unbroken.
"Aye, Your Highness." They bowed and left in silence. I didn't follow right away. I stood still for a moment longer, surrounded by polished glass and gold trim, steadying myself. Then I turned from the mirror and walked toward the door. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. The palace was alive with motion—soldiers shouting orders, the clang of weapons being secured, the steady thud of boots crossing stone—but it all blurred beneath the tight hum beneath my skin. I kept my head down, taking the long corridor to the eastern arch that overlooked the courtyard without drawing attention.
Kael stood near the front, cloaked in deep black, armor gleaming in the morning light, sword strapped across his back. His posture was sharp, and every movement was efficient as he spoke with King Malrik and Cassian. He looked like a man built for war: disciplined, dangerous, and already gone in every way but physically. The distance between us, both physical and emotional, was palpable. Still, I stayed.
I knew I shouldn't interrupt. I wasn't here to speak. I just needed... this—a glimpse—one last look before the distance between us became real. But the battle between my heart and mind was fierce, each demanding its course of action. I was torn, my emotions raw and exposed.
A helmet clattered across the courtyard, loud and sudden as it hit the stone. The noise pulled my attention for a breath, just one.
When I looked back, Kael was gone. Before I could register the absence, I felt a fast and close movement behind me. A hand caught my waist, another curled around my shoulder, and I was turned sharply and spun back against the cool stone of the archway. And then lips were on mine. My body tensed in surprise, my breath catching in my throat as I struggled to comprehend what was happening.
Firm. Breathless. Consuming. I gasped, my hands instinctively rising to push—panic catching in my throat—until I heard him.
"Vireya." His voice—low and rough and desperate—broke through everything. My name is spoken like a tether as if it grounds him. Kael.
The tension in my limbs melted all at once. My fingers curled in the front of his cloak, dragging him closer as the kiss deepened, slower now but no less intense. His hand splayed across my lower back, holding me like he didn't trust himself to let go. The metal of his armor pressed cold into my body, but he was all heat—his mouth, his breath, the tremble barely hidden beneath his grip.
He kissed me like it hurt to stop. When he finally broke away, he didn't move far. His breath was uneven, his forehead resting against mine, his fingers still clutched at my waist like he couldn't let go. "You came," he said quietly as if the words tasted fragile. "I had to." He closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them again—darker now, softer in a way that made breathing hard. "You're going to ruin me." The words knocked the air from my lungs. My fingers tightened in his cloak, but I couldn't look away. "Me?" It came out small. Disbelieving.
I'd like to know if I meant to say it out loud. But it was all I had. All I could think. I couldn't fathom how someone like Kael—sharp, unshakable, untouchable—could say that to me. His gaze didn't waver. "You have no idea, do you?" I shook my head, barely. Kael leaned in again, brushing his lips over mine one last time. He was light and reverent as if he were imprinting it into memory. Then he stepped back, eyes locked with mine. "When I come back," he said softly, "we will finish what we started." And then he turned, disappearing into the courtyard without another word. I watched him disappear into the courtyard, swallowed by armor, motion, and war's hum. For a heartbeat, I didn't move.
There wasn't time to fall apart. So I turned. As I walked, I straightened the folds of my gown, brushing the lingering ache from my mouth where his kiss still burned. I smoothed the tremble in my hands before anyone could see it. I took the long corridor back into the heart of the palace, each step quieter than it felt. When I reached the court doors, my face was calm again, a mask of composure hiding the storm within. The guards stepped aside wordlessly and pulled the doors open.
The room inside was packed. Not loud, not wild—just full. A sea of silks and jewels and eyes that saw everything. With the high-ranking men preparing for war, most of those who remained were women. Queens, duchesses, noble daughters, and widows—every one of them sharper than their smiles. They looked at me like I was something being measured. Like I'd already been weighed and found lacking. Lyra Faelan stood near the far end, dressed in garnet and silver, her chin slightly tilted as if she'd been waiting just to see how I'd walk in. I didn't look away. I took my place at the head of the room, next to the queen. Let them stare.
The court was a painting of stillness—jewels, silks, measured expressions—but underneath, I could feel the shift—subtle, strategic. Queen Alina sat beside me, hands folded, her posture regal enough to make even silence feel like judgment. She hadn't said a word since I entered, but her presence alone kept the more brazen women from speaking too soon. Still, some couldn't resist. "It's impressive how quickly you've adapted, Crown Princess. Most brides have years to prepare for such a role."
"Was it true that a different match had been arranged originally? The records list no official change, but not all agreements are meant to be seen." There it was. Not a direct accusation. Just enough smoke to suggest fire. Lyra Faelan said nothing. She didn't need to. Her smile said everything. I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Queen Alina lifted her gaze, calm and precise, "The royal family does not conduct its unions by public vote. Whatever arrangements were made before the ceremony are irrelevant. The Crown Princess is Kael's wife by oath, which is the only truth that matters." The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, but it was decisive. A line drawn in gold and steel. That was when the doors opened. A steward entered the chamber, bowing low. His steps were quiet but confident as he crossed the floor and approached the dais.
"A message for the Crown Princess. From the Kingdom of Velthorne. Marked urgent." I took the parchment without a word. The seal had already been broken—standard for royal correspondence that passed through multiple hands. My name was written in my mother's hand, and the curves of each letter were painfully familiar. I opened the letter and read it in full. My chest went still. The court blurred around me for a moment. The words were precise, careful, and delivered as if this were the first I'd heard them. As if they didn't already echo in my bones. Queen Alina shifted beside me. "What does it say?" I looked up, its weight pressing hard against my ribs. "My father," I said, and my voice cracked despite me. "King Vaelen... has died."
A hush swept through the court like a blade. Queen Alina didn't pause long. "See that a mourning banner is hung in the royal hall," she instructed one of the attendants. Then, softer, without looking at me: "You are dismissed, Crown Princess. No one expects you to stand through this." I stood slowly. My legs didn't tremble, but I felt every step like I was walking through water. Let them think it's fresh. Let them think I only just learned to break. Let them believe I didn't already carry this grief into their palace.
The doors closed behind me with a finality I wasn't ready for. I didn't rush. I didn't crumble. I walked the halls like the stone beneath my feet belonged to me—head high, hands steady, back straight, just like they expected, just like I'd been trained. Servants dipped their heads as I passed. None of them spoke. None of them dared. By the time I reached my chambers, the silence was deafening. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, the letter still in my hand. I stared at the seal—not the broken wax, but the emblem it bore. The crown of Velthorne. Alaric's now. As it should be. I crossed the room and set the letter on the table beside my bed, fingers lingering over it longer than they should have. I didn't sit. I didn't cry. I just... stood there. Still. Alone. Until I wasn't. "I was hoping I'd get to you before you broke." The voice was warm. Familiar. Safe. I turned.
Alaric stood a few feet away as if he'd stepped out of thin air, which, knowing him, he probably had. There was no flare of magic, no dramatic entrance. Just him, standing there in his usual quiet way like he'd always been. My breath caught in my throat. "Alaric..." He opened his arms without a word. I didn't even try to hold it together. I crossed the room and sank into him, burying my face in his shoulder as the tears finally came. His arms wrapped around me like they were built for it—firm and steady, like he'd been holding everyone together, just waiting for me to fall apart. He said nothing at first. He just held me. The grief cracked out of me in waves like it had been waiting for a quiet space to land. When I could finally speak, my voice was hoarse. "I hate that we had to pretend." Alaric's hand moved gently up and down my back. "Me too."
"He was the best thing in our lives. And we had to mourn him like a secret."
"I know." I pulled back just far enough to look at him. "How did you do it? How did you keep standing?" He gave a soft, tired smile. "You. Nyra. Caelan. The twins. Mother. We all kept standing for each other. That's the only reason." I nodded, tears still streaking my face. "I just wanted someone to say his name out loud." He brushed my cheek with his thumb, his voice thick with emotion, and rarely showed. "Father would be so proud of you, Vireya." The sound of his name nearly undid me again, but I let it wash over me this time. We stood silently, not because there was nothing to say but because love didn't always need words. And for the first time since I left Velthorne, I let myself mourn my father, wrapped in the arms of the brother who had loved him just as fiercely as I did.