The bells of Elarith rang like silver laughter over the hills, echoing through the flower-laced streets of the capital. The sun poured down in soft golden rays, catching on stained glass windows and silk banners. Every corner of the city was dressed in bloom—roses, lilies, honeysuckle—woven into braids, draped over balconies, tucked behind ears. They called it the wedding of the century.
And Rosiline Elaria Thorne, Rose of the Vale, was to become queen.
Her gown shimmered like sunlight on still water, spun from layers of ivory silk and golden thread. Delicate lace kissed her collarbones, and a cascade of soft petals trailed from her waist down to the floor. A single rose, white and fragrant, was tucked behind her ear—a symbol of her house, of peace, of the love she had found.
The palace was alive with music—harps and flutes and the distant, familiar sound of the old Vale song, the one her mother used to sing at night. She could hear the people cheering beyond the high garden walls, their joy humming in her blood like a second heartbeat.
She stood before the mirror in her tower chamber, staring at her reflection as if she were gazing into another life. Her silver hair had been braided with strands of crystal and fine pearls. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips soft with color. But it was her eyes—their storm-gray depths—that gave her away.
"You look like a goddess," came a voice behind her.
She turned to find Thayer Elion leaning against the doorway, dressed in his ceremonial coat of deep forest green and silver embroidery, the colors of the Vale and the Riverlands. His smile was soft, boyish despite the crown he would wear beside her.
"I look terrified," she said with a shaky laugh.
He crossed the room in a few strides and took her hands in his.
"You're the bravest person I've ever known. Today we write a new beginning. For us. For Elarith."
She leaned her forehead against his. "I dreamed of this my whole life, and still I can't believe it's real."
"Then let me prove it is. Let me walk with you. Let me say the vows and bind our lives, soul to soul."
She smiled, tears brimming but unshed. "You already have."
They descended the grand staircase together, hands entwined. Nobles turned to admire them as they passed—some bowing low, others whispering praises. The palace hall was wreathed in white and green, soft light spilling from enchanted chandeliers. At the end of the corridor, golden doors opened slowly, revealing the sunlit courtyard chapel.
The crowd stood.
Rosiline stepped into the open air, a thousand eyes upon her, but all she saw was the world blooming. Flowers spilled from every ledge and column. Birds circled high above. Music rose around her like the lift of a dream.
Thayer squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Ready, my rose?"
She nodded. They walked the aisle together.
At the altar stood her father, King Alaric, waiting to bless the union. Her mother, Queen Seraphina, beamed from her throne. The high priest spoke the sacred words, the language of joining, and Rosiline repeated the vows with a voice clear as glass.
The moment Thayer reached for her hand to slide the ring upon her finger, the sky screamed.
The first explosion ripped through the outer wall of the palace. A second shattered the stained glass behind the altar. Screams replaced song. Smoke poured through the open arches as riders in black tore through the gates.
"Take her!" Thayer shouted, spinning around, blade drawn from beneath his ceremonial coat.
Guards surged forward. The crowd scattered. Fire spilled into the sky.
Rosiline's mother—Queen Seraphina—was struck through the chest by a spear before she could rise from her throne. Her father fell a moment later. Blood painted the steps red.
"No—no—Thayer—" Rosiline's voice cracked with a grief too sharp to hold.
He turned to her, blood already staining his shirt. "Run."
"I won't leave you—" she tried to reach for him, but an explosion rocked the marble beneath her feet.
He grabbed her waist, dragged her to the edge of the chapel's balcony. "Please," he whispered. "Live."
And then he jumped.
They fell in a blur of sky and ash. Rosiline screamed as wind whipped around her, her arms around Thayer's neck.
He twisted beneath her just before they struck the ground.
The breath left her lungs in a single, searing burst.
Thayer didn't move.
"Thayer?" she sobbed, pressing her hands to his chest. "Thayer, please—"
His eyes were open. Unseeing.
She didn't remember running. She didn't remember the blood on her hands, or the way her gown tore as she fled through smoke and rubble, barefoot and broken. Only the sound of her name echoing behind her—once, twice—
And then silence.
Until a voice, dark as velvet and cold as the grave, whispered in her ear:
"Found you."