Like a funeral dirge's final notes, the echoes of the ceremonial vows continued to cling to the atmosphere. It was impossible to escape the weight of their uttered vows, sealed under the Blood Moon's watchful eye. Cassiel could still feel the phantom pressure of the enchanted ring now resting on her finger, a symbol of a bond that neither she nor Arden had chosen, yet one that bound them tighter than steel.
The great hall had long since been empty, with the high lords and nobles withdrawing into their rooms and discussing among themselves the implications of this union for the tenuous peace between Eldoria and Draven. Yet, even in the solitude of her dimly lit chambers, Cassiel found no comfort.
The walls of her new quarters within the Draven stronghold felt foreign, suffocating. Sturdy tapestries that showed crimson-stained battlefields and warriors engaged in never-ending combat hung along the stone walls. The air carried the faint scent of myrrh and old parchment, and the distant howling of the wind against the castle's towers sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
A knock at the door broke her restless reverie. Before she could grant permission, the heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing Arden standing in the doorway.
He was still adorned in his ceremonial attire, though his cloak had been discarded, and his raven-black hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had spent the past hour running a hand through it in frustration.
Cassiel straightened, her fingers instinctively curling into the silk of her gown. "You should not be here," she said, her voice steady but soft.
Arden stepped inside without hesitation; his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent heat surging through her veins. "And yet, here I am."
She exhaled sharply, turning her gaze toward the fireplace, where embers still smoldered from an earlier flame. "Why?"
A pause. Then, a quiet, almost bitter chuckle. "Because the moment we spoke those vows, the game changed. You and I are no longer just pieces on a board. We are the board, Cassiel."
She finally turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of deception. "You think I don't know that?"
"I believe you are unaware of how dangerous this has gotten." His voice lowered, he took a step closer. Our bond and the prophecy are more than just a political agreement. Its fulfillment is desired by forces outside of the mortal world. And there are people in this very castle who will stop at nothing to ensure that everything goes according to the prophecy.
Cassiel swallowed, the weight of his words settling into her bones. "Then we defy them," she said, with more conviction than she felt. "We break the chains of fate and carve our own path."
Arden studied her for a long moment, then, to her utter surprise, he smiled. Not the cold, practiced smirk she had come to expect, but something softer. Something real.
"Do you truly believe that?"
"Yes," she whispered.
And in that moment, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding forged in the crucible of shared defiance.
Before she could think, before she could retreat behind walls of reason, Arden closed the distance between them.
His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek. A touch that was both hesitant and deliberate.
Cassiel should have stepped away. She ought to have reminded him that their obligations, not their choices, bound them. The warmth of his skin, however, chased away the cold that had taken hold of her as she tipped her face ever so slightly into his palm.
Then he kissed her.
It was not the kiss of a conqueror stealing what was rightfully his, or of a prince claiming his bride. It was something else entirely, a meeting of two souls who were trying to find a mooring in the midst of a storm.
For a brief moment, the world outside ceased to exist.
But fate, it seemed, was determined to remind them of its cruel presence.
A sudden knock at the door shattered the moment, followed by a voice laced with urgency.
"You have to come right away, my lady, my lord."
Cassiel and Arden broke apart, breathless.
"What is it?" Arden demanded, his voice edged with frustration.
The voice on the other side hesitated, then said, "There has been an attack."
A knot in Cassiel's stomach dropped. "Where?"
The door creaked open just enough for them to see the pale, wide-eyed face of a castle guard.
"The temple," he uttered solemnly. "The High Priestess, Lysara, has left."
The firelight flickered dangerously, as if the shadows themselves were giving testimony.
The first thread of their intricately woven destiny started to come loose with that.