The Hall of Oaths was never meant for warmth. It was a chamber of power, built to remind all who entered that decisions made within would ripple through generations. Its vaulted ceiling soared so high the banners hung from the rafters seemed lost in shadow. The floor was black-veined marble, polished until it mirrored the flicker of hundreds of candles set in wrought-iron sconces along the walls.
At the far end, a raised dais supported the long table of treaty-signing—a slab of ancient oak darkened by centuries of use. The legs were carved with interlocking serpents, their eyes set with garnets that glinted like drops of blood in the candlelight. Every ruler for four centuries had signed their most binding accords here, under the watch of the stone statues of the Twelve Justiciars, who loomed from alcoves in the walls. Their faces were stern, each one clutching a scroll in one hand and a blade in the other.
Outside the tall arched windows, a pale winter sun struggled to break through a veil of low, heavy clouds. It cast the hall in a cold, grey pallor that seemed to suit the occasion.
Kaelen stood at the table, dressed in a tunic of midnight blue trimmed with silver thread. Over it lay a mantle clasped with the crest of Valeryn—a silver hawk gripping a sword in its talons. His gloves were off, his hands bare, fingers resting lightly on the parchment that would bind him to Seraphina Drayven, Empress of Saerath.
The heavy doors swung open, the creak echoing through the hall.
Seraphina entered flanked by two of her personal guard, their armor lacquered black and inlaid with silver filigree. Her gown was deep crimson, the train embroidered with scenes of dragons and phoenixes entwined—a statement of imperial heritage. A diadem of black gold sat on her brow, set with a single bloodstone.
She moved with calculated grace, her eyes sweeping the chamber, measuring everyone present before they could measure her. Her gaze lingered briefly on Kaelen, unreadable as polished obsidian.
When she reached the table, she inclined her head just enough to acknowledge him without lowering herself. "Your Grace," she said, her voice smooth as silk over steel.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Kaelen replied, equally measured. His voice carried the tone of someone aware the entire hall was listening.
The benches lining the walls were filled with Valeryn's nobles—lords and ladies in their finest winter furs, each bearing expressions ranging from polite disapproval to outright scorn. Some whispered behind jeweled hands, others made no effort to hide their glare.
Closest to the dais sat Queen Dowager Elyra, her posture flawless, her face unreadable save for a faint tightening at the corners of her mouth whenever she glanced at the Saerath entourage. Beside her stood Sir Renic in full ceremonial armor, helmet under one arm, his eyes scanning the hall as though expecting an assassination attempt.
At the rear, a cluster of robed figures from the Faith of the Nine waited with folded arms. Their High Prelate, Father Marov, stood in the center. His white-and-gold vestments gleamed in the candlelight, but his face was carved from disdain. His presence was silent condemnation—the Faith had already declared such a union "contrary to the sanctity of the realm's independence."
The treaty lay unrolled on the table between Kaelen and Seraphina.
Its surface was covered in looping, meticulous script—each clause detailing military cooperation, trade concessions, and the personal union of the two rulers through marriage. The final section, written in crimson ink, bound both parties to "stand as one in war, in peace, and in blood, until death or abdication."
The ink itself was said to be mixed with powdered garnet and the dried extract of kingsfoil, a symbolic tradition meant to signify unbreakable commitment. But there was another tradition: the ruler's own blood used to seal the document.
The imperial scribe stepped forward, setting a small silver knife and two signet seals on the table. His voice rang out: "The binding is witnessed by those gathered, signed in ink and blood as the law and custom demand."
Kaelen's hand hovered over the knife for a moment. He could feel every eye in the hall on him—the nobles, the Faith, even Seraphina's coldly assessing gaze. He took the blade and drew it across his palm, a shallow cut, crimson welling instantly.
A murmur rippled through the nobles' benches, quickly silenced by Elyra's sharp glance.
Kaelen pressed his bleeding palm to the page beside his name, the blood mingling with the red ink until the letters seemed alive.
Seraphina stepped forward next. She took the knife without hesitation, her cut deeper, the blood flowing freely as she placed her hand beside her signature. Her eyes never left Kaelen's during the act, the faintest suggestion of a smirk tugging at one corner of her lips.
The scribe affixed the seals—Valeryn's hawk and Saerath's phoenix—side by side at the bottom of the parchment. When he stepped back, the contract was law.
The moment the seals cooled, the uproar began.
Lord Braventh of Halmar rose to his feet, his fur-lined cloak flaring. "This is an outrage! You would chain the sovereignty of Valeryn to the whim of an Empress whose ambitions stretch across the continent!"
Others joined in, voices rising, the sound swelling until it reverberated against the stone walls. A lady of the western houses hissed, "Our sons will be sent to die in her wars!" Another noble spat, "This is treason disguised as alliance!"
Kaelen let them rage for a moment before raising his hand. His voice cut through the noise, steady but carrying the weight of command. "This union ensures the survival of Valeryn. Without it, there may be no throne for any of you to bow to. Remember that before you call it treason."
Some quieted, but the resentment did not fade.
Father Marov stepped forward, his steps deliberate. The scent of incense clung to his robes, the golden sunburst of the Faith gleaming on his chest.
"The Nine teach that the marriage bed is sacred," he began, voice heavy with disapproval. "It is not to be used as a pawn in the games of kings and queens. This union is not blessed. The gods will turn their gaze from those who defile the sanctity of—"
"That will be enough," Elyra interrupted, her tone like ice over stone. "You presume to speak for the gods, Prelate. I will remind you that your authority ends where the crown's begins."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Father Marov's jaw tightened, but he bowed stiffly, retreating to his cluster of robed acolytes. His glare promised the Faith would not forget this slight.
The noise in the hall subsided, though tension still clung to the air like the scent of burning wax. Kaelen turned slightly toward Seraphina.
Her voice was pitched low enough for only him to hear. "They will hate me," she said, her words almost conversational. "And by extension, they will hate you. But hatred, if properly managed, can be as useful as loyalty."
Kaelen didn't reply. He watched as the scribe rolled the treaty and sealed it with red wax, the bond now as irreversible as a blade once drawn.
The Empress and her guard withdrew first, her train whispering across the marble floor. Kaelen remained standing until the great doors closed behind her, the echo lingering in the high chamber.
When the nobles began filing out, many bowed stiffly, others not at all. Elyra met his gaze briefly as she passed, her expression a mixture of calculation and concern. Renic gave him a curt nod—approval of necessity, if not of choice.
As the hall emptied, Kaelen remained alone at the table. The garnet-eyed serpents carved into its legs seemed to watch him, their stone mouths frozen in eternal hunger.
The hall was silent now, save for the faint hiss of candles burning low. Kaelen stared at the parchment tube holding the contract. Blood and ink. Sovereignty and survival. He knew the cost was not yet fully paid—that bill would come due in ways neither ink nor blood could predict.
Outside, the winter sun had vanished behind thick clouds. Snow began to fall, silent and relentless, covering the city in white—a shroud or a blessing, he could not yet tell.
To be continued…