When the gates of Valkoron came into sight, Aurelia's hands tightened on the edge of the carriage seat until her knuckles whitened. Her stomach twisted into knots.
For all her courage and the quiet resolve she had tried to nurture on the road, the sight of those black, towering gates shook her.
She knew Valerian's family might not welcome her kindly. Why would they? She was cursed, deformed, and....at least to them...ugly.
Outside, Valerian rode ahead on his great warhorse, his storm banner rippling behind him, the retinue of armored knights following in precise formation.
The air itself seemed to shift with his presence. When the soldiers stationed at the gates saw their lord approach, they shouted the call and signaled to the walls.
A horn's low bellow resounded across the valley, announcing to all that the Storm Lord had returned.
The iron-bound gates creaked open, massive chains groaning, and Valerian pressed forward into the city he ruled.
Aurelia parted the curtain of the carriage window, her heart still pounding, and peered out.
Valkoron rose before her in all its might. From a distance it had been intimidating, a fortress carved against the stormy skies, but up close it was breathtaking.
Black stone towers soared into the clouds, their spires tipped with silver lightning rods that glinted in the pale light.
The walls were etched with carvings of storms, waves, and thunderbolts, each mark telling a fragment of the Stormborne lineage. White banners embroidered with the thunder sigil fluttered proudly.
The streets leading to the castle gates were paved in gleaming obsidian stone, slick from the morning rain, and lined with statues of past kings who seemed to gaze down in judgment.
She now understood why the bards sang of Valkoron as both wonder and terror. It was not merely a city; it was a monument to storm and sovereignty, meant to awe and subdue.
Further inside, Aurelia's eyes caught sight of the crowd already gathered before the castle's great front steps.
Nobles in velvet and jewels, ministers in ceremonial cloaks, soldiers in polished armor...an entire sea of eyes waited.
The moment Valerian dismounted from his horse, the throng bowed deeply to their king. Only one figure, a woman with silver strands woven through her dark hair, held her chin higher than the rest, her sharp gaze fixed on him.
Aurelia quickly let the curtain fall back into place, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The weight of those unseen eyes pressed on her until her throat tightened.
" My lady, are you well?" Gwen's gentle voice broke the silence. The maid's concerned eyes searched her face.
Aurelia gave a quick nod, but the gesture convinced no one.
"You're trembling, Mother," Vaelric said, his boyish brows furrowing as he studied her.
"I...." Her voice cracked. She steadied it with effort. "Rather than scared, I would say… terrified. Intimidated."
Her gaze shifted to her stepson. "The sheer number of people outside this carriage… every one of them waiting to see who I am.
To judge me. And when they do, when they see me....what they will whisper, what they will think...." Her words trailed off, her throat thick.
She looked down at her hands and whispered, "It is not everyone in your family who will be kind enough to welcome me as you do, Vaelric. So I try to be brave, but… the truth is I am terrified."
Gwen reached across the seat and gently clasped her mistress's hands. "Then what would you have us do, my lady? Shall we remain in the carriage? The Storm Lord would surely understand if you chose to delay your first appearance."
"No." Aurelia's reply came sharper than she expected. She shook her head, lowering her voice.
"That would be worse. If I hide, their whispers will grow crueller still. They would see me as weak and unworthy....perhaps even afraid of the life I chose."
"Then what would give you courage?" Gwen pressed softly. "Tell us, and it shall be done."
Vaelric straightened, his young jaw firm. "I'll tell you what must be done....she should go out and meet them. Apart from Grandmother, none of that crowd would dare voice cruelty while Father stands there."
He leaned closer, his eyes earnest, his tone more man than boy. "Mother, this is your home now. This place where storms gather...this is where you will live until death. If you cannot face the storm on this first day, how will you weather the ones yet to come?"
His words, though young, carried weight. He went on, his voice steady and unflinching.
"So what if they call you cursed? So what if they call you ugly or unfit to sit beside him? It does not matter. What matters is that Father stands with you. If he does, no one else's words have power."
Aurelia's lips trembled. "Will he stand by me?" she asked softly. "Truly? Even when I look like this?"
Vaelric did not flinch. "He already has. He married you as you are. And no one....no court, no minister, not even the Dowager Queen....could have forced him. He is the Storm Lord. He could have refused me, refused you. But he did not."
Her heart lurched at the certainty in the boy's tone.
"Trust that, Mother," he urged. "And remember what I told you before: never appear timid. Never appear weak. Stand strong, and they cannot break you."
Aurelia shut her eyes, inhaling slowly. She forced herself to draw in the storm and let it settle in her lungs. When she opened them, her gaze had steadied.
With trembling fingers she reached for her veil, fastening it carefully across her face, covering her mouth and scarred cheek from nose downward. Only her eyes, weary yet unyielding, remained visible.
Then she reached for Vaelric's hand, gripping it tightly. "Very well," she murmured. "Let us face them together."
The boy smiled faintly, proud, as Gwen adjusted Aurelia's cloak and gave her one last reassuring nod.
Outside, the thunder of the crowd swelled as the carriage door creaked open. And with her stepson's hand in hers, Aurelia prepared to step out into Valkoron....the city of storms, and the life that awaited her there.