"I want you to marry Lady Aurelia."
For a heartbeat, Valerian wondered if his ears had deceived him. His brows furrowed, the faintest flicker of disbelief crossing the steel-grey eyes that had faced down kings and storms alike.
Surely, this was some jest....a whimsy from a boy who had spent too long in Caelmont's vaulted halls, his imagination stoked by courtly tales.
"This is not a joke to be taken lightly, Vaelric," Valerian said, his voice low, a quiet rumble that carried warning.
His features....youthful still for a man of eight-and-twenty, yet sharpened by years of command....tightened into a frown.
"I'm not joking, Father."
The boy stood straighter, his chin lifted with a stubborn pride that mirrored Valerian's own.
"You made an oath to me in the name of the Storm God Vireon....that whenever I called upon you to fulfill it, no matter how absurd the request, you would do so without question."
Vaelric's small hands curled into fists at his sides, as if holding tight to the invisible weight of the promise.
"Now, Father," he continued, his dark hair falling into his earnest eyes, "I call upon you to fulfill that oath. I want you to marry Lady Aurelia."
The air seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden weight. Above the Hall of Balance, the skies dimmed; clouds surged in with unnatural speed, boiling and black.
A low roll of thunder reverberated through the marble pillars. The scent of ozone crept into the chamber, sharp and metallic.
Gasps broke the hush. Murmurs swelled like the first stirrings of a gale. All eyes turned to the Storm Lord, for none doubted whose power can summone the wrath of the heavens.
Valerian's gaze swept the gathered faces, then settled once more on his son.
"What is your decision, Father?" Vaelric asked, his voice ringing far louder than any seven-year-old's had a right to.
"Will you honor your word… or break it?"
The word "break" cut deeper than it should have. Valerian's frown softened, just enough to betray a flicker of conflict.
"I have never been a dishonest man," he said at last. "I will honor my oath. But… why?" His voice lost its iron edge, puzzled now.
"Why would you ask such a thing? You are too young to understand the weight of such a choice."
Vaelric hesitated, glancing toward Aurelia. "If I told you now, you'd think me mad," he said quietly. "So I won't...not until I have everything I need to prove it. Until then… trust me."
Valerian studied him in silence. He could press, demand an answer...but the name of Vireon had been invoked, and such oaths were not to be toyed with.
Valerian exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "Very well, then" he said.
The moment the Storm Lord spoke those words, the clouds thinned as if drawn away by unseen hands.
Sunlight broke through the high windows, gilding the marble floor in pale gold. The air warmed, and a hush fell over the hall as the storm passed.
High above, on her seat upon the Aether Throne, Elyria Venn...the High Oracle herself...opened her eyes. A faint, knowing smile curved her lips.
The High Councilor's voice broke the spell. "We return now to the matter between the Lord of Ashmere and the Lord of Frostmere." Serathis Durn's tone was even, but the charged air had not entirely faded. He turned to the woman standing at the center of the dais.
"My lady Aurelia, it is clear that the reason Lord Neris seeks to dissolve the betrothal is due to the curse that has touched you. What say you in your defense?"
Aurelia felt every gaze upon her, their collective weight pressing like stone. Her hair....once looked red like fire that caught the sun...was now the dull shade of embers long burnt out. The face once immortalized in songs was altered beyond the reach of flattery.
Her eyes met Neris's. She searched for even a shred of the warmth she once knew. But in his eyes she saw only resolve—and avoidance.
Aurelia looked at Neris, really looked at him. She saw the man she had once loved with all her heart....the one she had thought would stand with her against the jeers and whispers.
The man whose image had kept her warm in her coldest nights. But now she saw clearly: he had loved only the fire-haired beauty she had once been, not the woman before him now.
And when that beauty was stripped away, so too was his love.
Her throat tightened. Behind her, Gwen moved closer, sensing the tremor in her lady's frame. The hand that slid into hers was warm, steady. It kept Aurelia standing, but it could not ease the ache in her chest.
Seven years she had endured...years of whispers behind fans, laughter in corridors, the cruelty of polite society.
Through it all, she had held to the thought of Neris. It had been her anchor. Her light.
And now, here in the Hall of Balance, he turned his gaze away.
Aurelia drew in a slow breath. "If Lord Neris wishes to break the betrothal because I no longer satisfy his… expectations, then let it be ended." Her voice wavered at first, but grew steadier as she spoke.
"Many might think me cruel for insisting that he uphold The oath made by his father, even now that I am...." she glanced down briefly "....a monster in their eyes. But I insisted because I believed he still cared for me. I see now I was wrong."
A ripple of murmurs swept the gallery, but Aurelia's eyes did not waver from the council dais.
"I will not bind myself to a man who would despise me for what I have become...a curse I never asked for, and which was no fault of mine."
A sharp crack broke the air. Heat shimmered in the center of the hall as Lord Azarion Flameborne rose to his feet, eyes like molten gold.
"No!" His voice rang against the marble. "This engagement will not be broken." Fire danced along his fingers, casting flickering light on the white stone floor.
"The oath must be honored," he thundered, "no matter the cost. Else our alliance with the North ends here."
The hall seemed to tilt at the weight of the words.
"Lord Azarion," Serathis's tone sharpened, "this trial was convened to bring peace through lawful judgment. To threaten war within the Hall of Balance is to defy its very purpose."
Azarion's voice dropped, but the heat in it only deepened. "If there is no marriage alliance, why should I maintain peace with a house that dishonors mine? That insults my blood?"
A few of the northern lords bristled, voices rising in protest. The High Councilor's gavel struck the marble once, twice...demanding silence.
But the undercurrent was clear: the matter had shifted from a personal grievance to the fragile thread of peace between two great houses.
And everyone knew threads could snap.