Valerian leaned back against his throne, eyes narrowing at his son. "You claim you know how to undo the lady's curse?"
Vaelric met his father's gaze, his small shoulders squaring as though he bore the weight of a crown. "Yes, Father," he said quietly, yet with a calm certainty that made the air stir. "I do."
Valerian rose from his seat, his tone cautious. "And how do you intend to do that?"
"The hunt," Vaelric answered simply.
"The hunt?" Valerian's brows furrowed. "You can't mean that hunt...The Hunt of Realms... the Cael'haran. It only takes place once every …"
His voice trailed off as realization struck, his eyes widening slightly. "Every ten years."
He turned toward the tall window, the wind brushing his cloak aside. "And the next hunt is less than a year away." He looked back at his son, a shadow of unease in his storm-gray eyes. "That can't be a coincidence."
Vaelric shook his head. "It isn't, Father."
Ser Corven, standing beside Lady Levina, stepped forward with a frown. "How could a ceremonial hunt possibly lift a curse? It's a game of blood and sport, not sorcery."
Vaelric's lips curved faintly, the ghost of a secretive smile. "This year's hunt," he said, his tone almost whispering, "won't be like the ones before it."
Valerian's gaze hardened. "And what will make next year's hunt different from the rest?"
His son tilted his head, an odd light flickering in his eyes. "You'll find out for yourself when the time comes."
Valerian exhaled slowly, frustration mingling with reluctant curiosity. "Vaelric," he said, stepping closer, "how do you know these things? Who told you?"
The boy looked at the ground for a moment, then up again. "I can't tell you yet, Father."
"You can't?" Lady Aelira's voice broke the silence, sharp as a blade. The dowager queen's face was a mask of disbelief.
"You bring the court to its knees, you have your father marry a cursed woman, and now you say you cannot tell us why?"
Vaelric met her eyes but said nothing.
"Answer your grandmother," Valerian said sternly.
"I can't," Vaelric repeated softly. "If I speak before the time, everything will fall apart."
Lady Aelira's hands clenched. "You speak in riddles like a seer. Do you take us all for fools?"
Before Valerian could intervene, the seer Serath Veyne inclined his head respectfully. "My lady, I would not question the boy's restraint. Sometimes the gods whisper secrets meant to ripen in silence."
The dowager queen let out a frustrated breath and turned away, muttering, "Storms take these prophecies and their cryptic tongues."
Valerian ran a hand through his hair. "Enough," he said, voice low but firm. "We'll leave this matter for now."
Lady Aelira turned her sharp gaze upon her son. "Fine. You married the cursed lady because your son asked it of you. But you could have refused him. You are the Storm Lord...why didn't you?"
Valerian's voice grew quieter, weighted. "Because I swore in Vireon's name," he said. "As the storm lord, a promise made before the god I worship cannot be broken. When I missed his last birthday, I vowed to grant my son one wish whenever he called for it. That was his wish."
The dowager queen's anger faltered, her expression softening. She knew the cost of divine vows; to break one would invite ruin upon Valerian's soul and throne alike.
She sighed, the fight draining from her shoulders. "Then it's done," she said tiredly. "At least thank the gods you do not love her. You need not share your bed with a cursed woman."
Valerian gave no answer. His gaze flicked briefly toward the great doors as he said, "Vaelric, you may return to your chambers."
The boy bowed to them all, his young face grave beyond his years. "As you command, Father." He turned and he walked out. The echo of his footsteps lingered long after the doors closed.
Lady Levina curtseyed politely. "Your Majesty," she said. "If you'll excuse us."
Valerian nodded. "There will be a dinner tonight. I expect you both present."
"Of course," she replied, taking her husband's arm as they left.
When the doors shut again, the throne room felt vast and hollow. Only Valerian and his mother remained; the seer had withdrawn silently after Vaelric's departure.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Lady Aelira said quietly, "Do you intend to fulfill your matrimonial duties to your new bride?"
Valerian let out a long breath and sank back onto his throne. His voice was weary. "No."
"No?" she repeated, arching a pale brow.
"No. This marriage was never about desire."
She studied him, searching his face for signs of conflict. "Very well," she said at last. "You've made the right choice. But remember, a king may take concubines freely. If the curse forbids you from touching her, take comfort elsewhere. No one will fault you."
"I'll think about it later," Valerian muttered.
Lady Aelira's expression softened, though her voice held a lingering frost. "Until that curse is lifted, I will never accept her as my daughter-in-law. Do you hear me? Never."
He looked up at her. "You may keep your distance if you wish, Mother. But she is my wife now. The gods themselves have witnessed it."
Aelira folded her arms. "Wife or not, she is not Queen of Valkoron. I hope you've not lost your senses enough to crown her."
Valerian hesitated. "Her coronation is in three days."
"What?" Her eyes widened in outrage. "You cannot be serious!"
"I am."
The dowager queen's voice rose, echoing through the chamber. "Three days? You would crown a cursed woman as your queen? Has the storm clouded your mind, Valerian?"
He met her fury with silence.
Aelira's nostrils flared; her hands trembled against her gown. "You shame the bloodline of Stormborne. You risk the wrath of gods and men alike."
Valerian's gaze hardened. "I risk what I must to honor my word."
The dowager queen stared at him for a long moment, searching for some hint of weakness. Finding none, she turned sharply toward the great doors. "So be it. But when ruin comes, do not say I did not warn you."
Her footsteps struck the marble like thunder as she swept out of the hall, the doors slamming shut behind her.
Silence settled once more. The king sat alone beneath the vaulted ceiling, the light of the storm flickering through the glass dome above him.
He leaned back on his throne, eyes fixed on the storm-dark sky. Lightning flashed, painting his face in pale silver light.
"The hunt," he murmured under his breath. "The curse… the prophecy… my son."
The wind howled through the windows as though the gods themselves were listening.