The bells rang early. Three slow tolls—too heavy, too grim for morning prayers.
Aelia knew before the third echo faded that something was wrong.
She was still halfway through dressing, her hair in a loose braid, when the knock came. Not her maid's usual light tap. This was harder. Impatient. Final.
She opened the door herself.
"His Majesty requests your presence in the throne room," said the guard. He didn't meet her eyes.
Aelia didn't ask why. There was no point.
She changed quickly, choosing a simple gown in her house's colors—sky blue with a silver sash. No jewelry. Her mother's pin, a sunburst of pearl and jet, rested on her dresser. She left it behind.
The hallways were quieter than usual. No laughter from the pages. No chatter from the court ladies. Just the faint sound of wind through the high windows and the clink of armored footsteps trailing her.
When the throne room doors opened, she didn't stop walking.
King Thorne, her father, stood before the high seat. He wasn't wearing his crown. That was the first sign.
The second was the man beside him: Lord Halvar, his councilor, always present for matters of state. He held a scroll, sealed in black wax.
The third was her mother, standing a few paces back. Pale. Silent. Her hands clutched around the folds of her gown like she was keeping herself from falling apart.
Aelia stopped at the base of the steps. Her heart was steady. Her voice wasn't.
"You sent for me, Father."
He didn't look at her right away. When he did, she saw the weight in his eyes. The age. The guilt.
"You've always been a dutiful daughter," he said. "I've never had reason to doubt your loyalty to Caerthalon."
The formal tone scraped against her skin like frost.
"What is it?" she asked.
He nodded once. Halvar stepped forward and unrolled the scroll.
"A treaty has been signed," he announced. "Between Caerthalon and the Kingdom of Noreldor. Terms of mutual peace. Passage through shared borders. Trade restoration. And" his voice dipped "a royal union to seal the alliance."
Aelia didn't move.
It took her a second to breathe.
"A royal union," she repeated, slowly. "You mean a marriage."
Silence.
Her mother flinched.
Aelia's gaze snapped to her father. "To whom?"
The king didn't answer.
Halvar did.
"King Kael of Noreldor."
It felt like the floor shifted under her feet.
The Shadow King.
Whispers of his name had filled war camps and children's nightmares for years. A monarch shrouded in darkness. A throne carved from bone and stone. No one had seen him in nearly a decade, but they said his realm had grown colder every year. Crops withered near the border. Animals went silent in his presence. No emissary ever stayed long.
"He's not even..." Aelia stopped herself. Swallowed. "He's not one of us."
"He is the only reason we are not at war," Halvar said, calmly. "He offered the terms himself. He asked for you by name."
That stopped her cold.
"By name?" Her voice dropped. "Why?"
No one answered.
Her mother finally stepped forward. Her voice was quiet, trembling at the edges. "There's more you don't know, Aelia. About the treaty. About… the old bonds. Oaths made before you were born. He's honoring them. In his way."
Aelia stared at her. "You knew."
The queen's eyes shone. "I begged your father to reconsider."
Aelia turned back to the king. "You're sending me to marry a man made of shadows."
"A man who holds our survival in his hand," the king said, voice heavy. "Aelia, you've seen the grain stores. You know what our healers whisper. Caerthalon cannot stand another winter without allies."
"Allies, not chains."
"It's not a chain. It's a duty."
"No," she said, louder than she meant to. "It's a sacrifice. And I'm the offering."
His jaw clenched. She saw it then—not cruelty, but desperation. The kind that made kings choose the daughter they loved over the kingdom they ruled.
Aelia took a step back.
"When?"
The question burned.
"Tomorrow," Halvar said. "At dawn. A royal envoy from Noreldor will arrive at the east gate. They will escort you to the shadow border."
Her hands were shaking now.
A wedding. To a stranger. A cursed king. Tomorrow.
She should've begged. Pleaded. Thrown something.
Instead, she straightened her spine.
"Then I'll leave tomorrow."
Her mother made a sound, something between a sob and a breath, but Aelia didn't look at her. If she did, she might falter.
She turned and left the throne room without waiting to be dismissed.
The halls felt longer now. The sunlight from the windows is colder.
In her chambers, Aelia locked the door. She didn't cry. Not yet. Not while there was still air in her lungs.
Instead, she went to the window overlooking the east road.
A trail of trees wound down from the castle gates, bending toward the horizon. Beyond them, hills dipped into shadow. That's where Noreldor lay. Beyond sight. Beyond understanding.
A cursed kingdom. A cursed king.
And her name already written into its story.