The echo of footsteps followed them through the long marble hall. The torches lining the corridor threw light on the walls etched with storms and thunderbolts ... the sigil of House Stormborne.
Valerian walked with Aurelia's hand still resting in his, his stride steady, his expression unreadable. The guards at each corner lowered their spears in salute as the pair passed.
When they reached the grand staircase that split toward the royal chambers, Valerian turned slightly to her.
His voice softened, almost lost to the hum of the castle.
"Go with them," he said quietly, nodding to a waiting servant. "Rest. We will talk later."
Aurelia nodded. Before they had left Caelmont, he had said that they would speak once they returned to Valkoron.... about everything that had been left unspoken between them.
She clutched the folds of her cloak and followed the servant up the staircase, her veil still in place, Gwen hurrying after her.
Valerian watched her disappear down the hallway before turning toward his own chambers.
He had not taken three steps before a familiar voice stopped him.
"My lord," came the calm, deep tone. "If I may have a moment before you retire."
Valerian turned. The Prime Minister, Lord Tiberin Dorrick, stood at the base of the stairs .... an aging man with streaks of silver in his dark beard and a sharp gaze that missed nothing. The badge of the king's hand gleamed against his doublet.
Valerian studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. He had suspected that he'd come looking for him.
"Very well. To the throne room, then. Let us finish what must be discussed."
*****
The great doors opened, revealing the throne room ..... vast and solemn. Pillars carved with coiling storms rose toward a ceiling painted with scenes of past kings summoning lightning.
At the far end, upon a dais of dark marble, stood the Storm Throne ... its frame forged from the metal of a fallen sky-shard, said to hum faintly during tempests.
Valerian ascended the dais and sat upon the throne. The sound of rain began faintly outside .... as if the heavens had chosen to bear witness.
Tiberin stood before him, clasping his hands respectfully.
"My lord," he began, "forgive the intrusion at such an hour, but matters of the crown cannot wait. I must ask .... when will the coronation take place?"
Valerian leaned back, his fingers tracing the edge of the armrest. "You are right to ask," he said after a pause. "Though I have called her my queen, the law of Virelia does not yet name her so until the crown is placed upon her head."
"Precisely, my lord," Tiberin replied, nodding. "The court must convene to plan the ceremony. The people will expect it, and so will the noble houses. When shall I set the date?"
Valerian's voice was steady, yet there was an undertone of fatigue. "Three days from today. The court shall be summoned by dawn tomorrow. The evening banquet planned for tonight is to be cancelled."
"Cancelled?"
"Yes. It will take place after the coronation. Tonight, I dine with my family .... I will introduce my bride to them myself."
Tiberin bowed. "As you command, my lord." He hesitated then, his hands tightening around each other. It was rare for him to hesitate.
Valerian noticed it immediately. "You're uneasy, Tiberin," he said. "Speak freely. You've earned that right."
The Prime Minister looked up, meeting the storm lord's gaze. "Aye, my lord. Before you departed Valkoron, you entrusted Virelia to my keeping.
I did as you commanded .... kept the peace, held the borders, kept the council in line. But…" He hesitated again. "I cannot pretend to understand your choice."
Valerian's eyes narrowed slightly. "My choice?"
"The lady," Tiberin said carefully. "Your… bride."
The hall grew still. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance.
Tiberin continued, though his tone remained respectful. "When your message reached me .... that you had married Lady Aurelia of Ashmere .... I was… shocked beyond words.
I do not mean to offend, my lord, but everyone knows the tale. The witch Ishara's curse upon her .... that she was struck down, her beauty taken, her fire extinguished."
He drew a slow breath. "Why her, my lord? Of all women, why her?"
Valerian's gaze darkened. He remained silent for a long while before speaking. "You are right," he said at last. "It was not planned. Even our god vireon knows I did not intend it. But it happened. And I will not undo it."
Tiberin's brows drew together. "Even knowing what the court will say? What the people will whisper?"
"I know what they will say," Valerian replied evenly. "But I have made my choice, and she is under my protection. I will see her crowned, and that is the end of it."
The Prime Minister sighed, lowering his head. "Forgive me, my lord, but no cursed woman has ever worn the crown of Virelia. The throne beside you is not meant for the damned."
Valerian's voice dropped to a low growl. "Then it will be ..... for the first time."
That silenced Tiberin. For a moment, the thunder outside filled the hall again.
He gathered himself, then said quietly, "The nobles will resist. Even your own blood may not accept her."
Valerian's jaw tightened. "That is a storm I will weather. And I expect my hand to stand with me through it."
Tiberin looked up at him .... the weight of years in his eyes. "Always, my lord. Through storm and silence."
Valerian inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Then we understand each other."
The Prime Minister bowed deeply, the sigil ring on his finger glinting in the torchlight. "I shall see to the summons for the council and begin preparations for the coronation."
He turned to leave, but at the threshold he paused, his voice softer now. "Forgive my candor, my lord, but she will need more than your protection.
She will need your conviction. The people follow the king's heart ... if it falters, they will too."
Valerian said nothing, only nodded.
Tiberin bowed once more and left the throne room, the great doors closing behind him with a deep echo.
Alone, Valerian leaned back in the Storm Throne, resting his arms on the carved lightning bolts along its sides. The rain outside had turned to a downpour, striking the high windows like a restless sea.
He exhaled slowly. "The seer was right," he murmured, almost to himself. "I would come home a changed man… and my son will be at the heart of it."
His words lingered in the empty chamber. Another rumble of thunder rolled through the skies above Valkoron .... as though the heavens themselves had heard the prophecy echo once more.