The carriage ride to the border was long and silent, filled only with the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the groan of wheels. I stared at the passing trees, each one a blur of green fading to gray, and thought of home—the scent of my sister's hair when she hugged me goodbye, the weight of Father's ring still heavy in my cloak, the way the castle always smelled of lavender and smoke after a fire was lit in the hearth. My thoughts moved faster than the horses, a whirlwind of certainty and doubt. Outside the narrow window, the landscape shifted—from the familiar green hills of Velthorne to the stark, imposing terrain of Drevak. The air smelled faintly of smoke and steel. The wind carried a keening hum like it mourned what we left behind. The sky darkened as we passed beneath it. The trees grew taller and more twisted. A metallic chill rose in the air, biting my throat.We had crossed the border. There would be no turning back.Not just in geography but in purpose. I wasn't a daughter of Velthorne anymore. I was a political offering, a barrier between peace and war. Every bump on the road seemed to echo that truth.Drevak was not a kingdom that welcomed outsiders. It was a crucible of stone and steel, brutal in terrain and temperament. The forests grew dense and shadowed, the trees towering and sharp. Mist curled along the underbrush, thick and low, laced with the scent of iron—a scent that reminded me too much of blood, sharp and metallic, like the edge of a blade waiting to draw it. There was no birdsong here. The silence was oppressive.A flicker of movement caught my eye. Something massive—something wrong—moved through the woods. Shadowed, smoke-bound. Too many eyes glinting like emeralds. A shadow beast. It didn't attack. It didn't have to. Its message was clear: You are being watched.I stared back. I didn't blink.The beast vanished into the mist.The driver muttered a curse. "The wilds don't like change," he said, almost to himself. "They feel it."Good.Let them feel it. Let them know something had shifted.Ahead, the Temple of Binding rose from the fog, carved of black stone veined with crimson. Its towers jutted skyward like jagged teeth. Runes glowed faintly along the steps—warning or welcome, I couldn't tell. The air throbbed with restrained power, like the gods beneath the earth stirred in their sleep, hungry for blood and vows.When the carriage halted, I stepped onto gravel, each crunch sharp beneath my boots. The cold settled immediately, crawling beneath my cloak. From the trees, fae lights flickered—sharp blue flames that danced like they were laughing.Let them laugh. I kept walking. My legs were leaden, but I made each step count. One for Nyra. One for Velthorne. One for the girl I used to be.Each step toward the temple was with a purpose, every breath a vow. I had not come seeking honor. I had come to protect those I held dear and preserve a fragile peace purchased with sacrifice.I halted at the top of the stairs, holding myself up with one hand on the cold stone wall. I breathed once, twice, steadying myself. The doors before me appeared to loom, covered in ancient symbols. There would be no procession, no celebration, only a binding.Behind the doors stood Crown Prince Kael Drevak—the man I would marry. The man who expected someone else.A soldier beside me gave a curt nod. Somewhere beyond the doors, I heard voices—one deep and cold, commanding without raising its pitch.His voice.The doors opened. A rush of cold air swept out, thick with the scent of ash and ancient stone, curling around my ankles like a warning.The chamber beyond was silent and austere, lit only by torchlight and the flicker of power. At the altar stood Priest Evander, dressed in crimson and black. Beside him stood Kael.He turned as I entered, his gaze finding mine instantly. There was no warmth in his eyes—only calculation. He stood perfectly still as if carved from obsidian, a monument of war and will. His hair was black and short, curled slightly at the ends. His features were sharp, his presence sharper. A military coat hugged his frame, layered in reinforced cloth and silver-trimmed leather. The crest of Drevak—a silver raven clutching a bloodied dagger—was pinned over his heart.Kael neither blinked nor spoke, his gaze steady and unreadable. Something in his eyes made my breath catch—not surprise, not anger, but something colder. Measured. Like he had already decided what to do with me.I stepped forward.The ancient rites began.Evander's voice echoed off the stone as he read from the scroll, the ritual sounding more hollow with every word. "We gather to witness the binding of Crown Prince Kael Drevak and Princess Nyra Velthorne—""Vireya," Kael said.The word was a blade.The silence that followed was suffocating.Evander hesitated. I froze, my breath catching painfully as my legs locked beneath me. Panic jolted through me like lightning snapping down my spine. For a heartbeat, I might collapse. But I didn't. I couldn't. Too much rested on my feet, staying planted. He knew. The lie was shattered before I had even spoken.Kael's face revealed nothing. "Her name is Vireya Velthorne," he said, calm and cold. "Continue."The priest mumbled through the following words, each becoming weaker with his increasing frailty. I stood frozen, my own heart deafening within my own ears. I didn't have any idea what Kael was thinking. Did he believe the truth? Would he betray me later?I forced myself to speak the vows. My voice wasn't trembling, but the words were heavy stones in my mouth, burdensome. I vowed allegiance, obedience, and one-ness. And with each syllable, I felt the shackles wrap more tightly around me.When the ceremonial dagger was drawn, I offered my hand. Blood welled and spilled, then mingled with Kael's on the binding cloth. The cut was shallow, but the pain echoed deeper like something inside me had been marked and bound forever. His grip was firm. Commanding. Final.I was no longer pretending. By Drevak's law, I was his. The weight of that truth settled on my shoulders like a second cloak—one I could never take off.I had walked into the storm.Now, I had to survive it.The blood still burned on my palm, a silent reminder that every vow came at a cost—and mine had only just begun.And I would.
