The kingdom of Valerius had known four long years of war, a brutal conflict that had finally ended just a few months ago. The fragile peace was a tense, uneasy quiet bought with immense sacrifice. The kingdom was governed by countless noble families, but four houses held the true balance of power, a delicate and often dangerous arrangement. The House of Valerius ruled from the capital, their authority absolute, their wealth second only to the cunning merchants of the House of Galen. The House of Sorran served as the kingdom's internal security, loyal to the king, their loyalty cemented by a generous flow of royal gold. And then there was the House of Vexin, the border protectors, a family whose military might was unmatched, yet whose financial resources were the most meager of the four. Most of their lands were rugged and untamed, suited for training fierce warriors, not for growing crops. This meant a constant struggle to feed their people, a reality Lord Damon Vexin felt deeply.
Lord Damon Vexin, head of the house and the kingdom's celebrated war hero, rode through the streets of the capital. The cheers of the crowd were a deafening roar that felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders. At just twenty years old, he had commanded armies and faced down the kingdom's enemies, yet the adulation of the common folk made him deeply uncomfortable. He was a man of action, not of words, a silent sentinel who preferred the quiet solitude of his family's border fortresses to the suffocating splendor of the king's court.
His procession ended at the gates of the palace, where the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and political intrigue. Inside, King Theron Valerius sat on his throne, a predator disguised in silk and gold. His eyes, cold and calculating, watched Damon with a mixture of feigned pride and simmering resentment. The court was a sea of onlookers, a mix of the sharp-eyed Galen merchants and the stoic, heavily armed guards of the House of Sorran, all watching to see how the king would handle this popular young rival.
"Lord Vexin," the king boomed, his voice a theatrical performance. "Our glorious protector! The savior of our kingdom's peace! You have returned a hero, and a hero deserves a grand reward!"
Damon bowed, his movements precise and practiced. "I only did my duty, Your Majesty. The honor was mine to serve."
The king's laughter was a cold, hollow sound. "Humble, too! Such a rare quality in a man of your talent." He clapped his hands, his gaze never leaving Damon's face. "And for such humility, I offer you a treasure no amount of gold can buy."
He gestured to a side door. Two guards of the House of Sorran appeared, leading a young woman toward the throne. She was beautiful, but her head was bowed, her body trembling, and the light in her eyes was extinguished by a deep, palpable fear. Damon had never met her, but the whispers in the court and her stunning resemblance to the king made her identity clear. This was Princess Isolde.
"I give you my own sister, Princess Isolde, as your wife," the king announced, his smile a cruel, victorious slash across his face. "A gift from a grateful king to his most loyal subject."
A tense silence fell over the court. Damon's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of annoyance, quick and sharp, crossed his eyes. This was not a reward; it was a shackle. The king was not celebrating his hero; he was binding him to a new responsibility, one that would only drain his family's already scarce resources. With the need to feed a growing family and staff, a royal bride was the last thing he needed. He was being bound to the cruel king's will, not by chains, but by the fate of a terrified princess who was now his to protect.
Ignoring the king's mocking laughter and the stunned silence of the court, Damon took a firm step forward. He knelt before the trembling princess, taking her hand gently in his. She flinched at his touch, but he held it with a soft, reassuring firmness. He bowed his head and brought her hand to his lips, a chaste and respectful kiss.
"I accept your gift, Your Majesty," Damon said, his voice low and steady. Then, looking directly at the frightened woman, he added, "I will protect her."
The king's smile faltered for a moment, a hint of confusion in his eyes. Damon had not played along with the mockery. Instead, he had turned a political insult into a solemn vow.