Arasha's return to Scion Hold was warm and filled with laughter, but once the welcome faded, her commander's mantle settled firmly back upon her shoulders.
She spent her first evening in the office, the broad oak desk stacked high with scrolls and ledgers that had gathered in her absence.
Candlelight flickered across maps, notes of supply routes, and dispatches from the alliance network.
Her sharp amber eyes moved swiftly, annotating margins, cross-checking troop reports, and reviewing merchant contracts with an intensity that would brook no oversight.
When the morning light finally pierced through the narrow windows, she summoned the enchanted mirror and reached out to Linalee.
"How are things holding in the capital?" Arasha asked, her tone brisk but edged with quiet concern.
The archmage's tired but composed face appeared, shadows under her eyes betraying sleepless nights.
"The court grows restless, but we're holding steady. Ministers bicker less now that Alight has made his stance clear. Still, whispers linger."
"Good," Arasha replied, making notes. "Tell me what remains unfinished. If there's anything I can take from your burden, I'll shoulder it."
"You already have enough," Linalee said softly. But after a beat, she sighed and listed outstanding matters: negotiations with certain border lords, stabilizing supplies into the eastern province, and maintaining unity among the smaller houses.
"I'll see to it," Arasha said firmly.
And she did.
For the next month, she made the Hold her anchor, moving tirelessly between office and field.
She inspected supply rooms, checked defensive wards, and walked the training grounds to hear from knights and squires alike.
She jotted personal notes in her ledger—repairs needed on the southern ramparts, more attention for the forge's dwindling coal stock, requests for better wardstones in outlying posts.
At midday, she sat across Garran in the war-room. The veteran knight leaned forward, arms crossed, his expression as steady as stone.
"How are our operations?" Arasha asked.
"Efficient as ever," Garran replied, his tone clipped. "The rifts' closure stirred up more magical beasts for a time—mutated, aggressive, more cunning than usual. But numbers are falling now. Still, we're not growing complacent. The key stations remain fully manned and alert."
Arasha nodded. "Good. We can't assume quiet means safety. Keep drills sharp."
"Aye, Commander," Garran agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching with rare approval.
The month blurred into a rhythm of vigilance and action.
Arasha coordinated closely with Linalee and King Alight through letters and mirrors, ensuring that the alliance threads were woven tighter than ever.
She mediated disputes, pressed for better treaties, and reinforced supply chains.
When the time came to send invitations for the wedding, Arasha paused, pen in hand, before addressing two in particular. Commander Hiral and Alexis.
When her sealed letters reached them, both men were taken aback.
A quiet smile had crossed Alexis' lips, while Hiral, though reserved, traced the seal with a long silence before setting it aside.
King Alight himself expressed his desire to attend—but Linalee, ever the pragmatic counselor, shook her head.
"Your presence will overwhelm the gathering. Better to send your regards."
Alight slumped into his throne, shoulders sagging with disappointment. "My little sister… and I cannot even see her wed."
"She will understand," Linalee reassured, though she glanced away, sadness flickering in her own eyes.
Back in Scion Hold, Arasha continued her unyielding pace, steadying every loose thread she could find.
By the time her wedding approached, the Hold thrummed with renewed strength—ready for the storms to come.
For a full month Kane let Arasha throw herself into her duties without interruption, watching from the edges of her days.
He shadowed her quietly, ensuring she never walked alone into dangerous errands, that her late nights in the office ended safely, that the burdens weighing on her shoulders never tipped her into collapse.
But when the month closed, and he saw the Hold humming with stability—supplies flowing, alliances tightened, knights sharper than before—Kane decided enough was enough.
His passive watch ended.
From then on, he made it his mission to interrupt her.
At first, it was small things—appearing in her office with a tray of food she had "forgotten" to eat, leaning against the doorframe until she sighed and set her quill down.
Then, it became pulling her outside into the gardens for air, or stretching his hand out to her mid-task until she gave in and walked with him.
More and more, Kane found excuses to carve moments for them, to press her restless focus into gentler shapes.
And the Hold noticed.
Servants whispered of the groom-to-be monopolizing his bride, of the commander's stern amber gaze softening whenever he lingered near.
The gossip spread like fire—by dusk and dawn, knights and mages alike snickered over how their unshakable commander would soon be kept in bed for days once the wedding night came.
Rewald and Leta seized the rumor with merciless glee.
"Careful, Kane," Leta sang one morning as she passed him in the corridor, her sly smile sharp as ever. "If you keep hovering like this, we'll all assume you're seizing her up for bed rest."
Rewald, overhearing, nearly choked on his laughter. "Seizing her up? More like guarding her like a dragon with its treasure. I give it a week after the vows before she's not allowed to leave the chamber."
Kane's ears burned crimson every time, his rebuttals stumbling into furious half-words, much to their delight.
Arasha, for her part, confronted him one evening after he once again appeared in her office with a blanket and soup when Kane noticed she was a bit chilled after her outing.
"Kane," she said, voice calm but edged with mirth. "You don't have to keep tabs on me so often. You know I belong to you—no one else."
His golden eyes softened, but his jaw remained stubborn. "I can't help it," he admitted.
"And I'm not hovering that much. Just… enough to make sure you don't work yourself restless."
Her sigh carried both exasperation and warmth.
In the end, she leaned against his shoulder, resigning herself to his tender care.
And that resignation only fed the rumors further.
By the week's end, laughter echoed in the halls—Arasha was definitely pregnant, according to the gossip, her glowing presence proof of it.
Leta and Rewald nearly collapsed from joy when Kane's flustered reaction gave them more fuel.
For Arasha, it was almost amusing.
She chuckled every time, shaking her head at the Hold's eagerness.
But for Kane… every whisper set his face aflame, until he avoided corridors entirely when the two notorious mischief-makers lurked nearby.
****
Two months passed in a blur of steel, silk, and song.
When Valmira arrived at the Scion Hold, it was not as a quiet guest but as a storm of grandeur.
Two dozen wagons trailed behind her—laden with silks, mithril-threaded fabrics, carved marble, barrels of wine, precious woods, crates of crystal, and instruments of every kind.
Her artisans spilled from the wagons like a tide, each of them sharp-eyed and brimming with purpose.
Within the hour, they had taken the Hold in hand.
Knights, mages, servants, even Garran himself were all measured with quick precision for wedding attire—each outfit to be a keepsake of the union they would witness.
Complaints were few, drowned by laughter and anticipation, for even the sternest veterans felt the pull of the joyous tide.
The hill chosen as the wedding's heart loomed at the edge of the Hold, overlooking the sprawl of stone and banners below.
Once, it had been a dangerous place, treacherous underfoot, its paths unstable. Yet Valmira would not hear a word of warning.
"Beauty is always worth taming," she declared, eyes alight with steel.
And so, artisans and builders labored without rest.
Runes were carved into stone to bind the earth; bridges of whitewood and mithril laced upward like stairways of light.
By the month's end, the hill bloomed into a vision—an open chapel sculpted from the world itself, framed by columns that looked to have been cut by angels, crowned with banners of indigo and silver.
Those who first beheld it stilled in their tracks.
The knights of the Scion Order, hardened by blood and battle, whispered reverent oaths. Roen remarked softly that the place looked as though it had been stolen from the dreams of gods.
Even Rewald, who scoffed at sentiment, bowed his head and admitted, "Yes… this is where it must be."
And still, the preparations swelled.
Word spread of the ceremony, carried by wing and rumor alike.
Gifts flowed in—swords etched with blessings, relics bound with light, chests of gold, silken veils from foreign lands, enchanted wine said to never empty.
Soon, the number of guests who vowed to attend soared past a thousand.
John, forever the logistician, sat with his parchments late into the night, grimly calculating. At last, he came to Arasha, brows furrowed.
"We will not have space," he warned. "Even with the hill. Commander, I advise cutting the guest list."
Arasha, pragmatic as always, agreed immediately. "Then cut it. The wedding is for us, not the world."
But Valmira would not allow it.
"Nonsense! If the world wishes to bear witness, let it. We will make it possible."
And with a wave of her jeweled hand, she set her network in motion.
Friends from far-off estates, allies of old, patrons of craft and wealth—all answered her call.
Barracks were refitted, pavilions erected, enchanted wards spun into tents so large they seemed carved from the horizon. Against all reason, Valmira made it possible.
The Scion Hold pulsed with anticipation.
Yet as the date drew near, Kane's composure began to fray.
His hands, steady on the battlefield, trembled when fastening his cloak.
His thoughts wandered mid-conversation, his golden eyes distant.
Arasha noticed.
Late one evening, as the stars hung heavy, she caught him lingering at the edge of the transformed hill, staring out over the chapel-to-be.
His shoulders were tense, his breath shallow.
"Do you regret it already?" she teased softly, though her eyes searched him with gentle worry.
Kane turned, startled, then shook his head. "No. Never. It's just… it feels too great a dream. As though I'll wake tomorrow and find none of it real."
Arasha stepped close, sliding her hand into his. With her other, she cupped his cheek, firm and warm.
"It's real, Kane. Every stone, every star, every step we took to reach this moment. It's happening."
He swallowed hard, then pulled her into him, arms crushingly tight, as though she might slip away if he let go.
"Don't vanish," he whispered, the echo of old wounds trembling in his voice.
Arasha held him just as fiercely, resting her head against his chest. "I won't. Not now, not ever. This time… I stay."
And for the first time since the preparations began, Kane's heart steadied.