The bells of Eiradal rang hollow that morning.
Their echo drifted through the marble corridors like ghosts of a thousand promises; it's old, sacred, and unbroken.
Princess Serenya Valenhart stood at the window of the eastern tower, watching the sun struggle to pierce the storm-gray sky. Her coronation veil, pale as frost, lay untouched on her bed. Below, the courtyard bustled with knights in polished silver, their swords flashing like shards of morning light. One of them moved differently. He always did.
Sir Kael Dareth.
Her sworn protector. Her undoing.
He moved with that quiet grace only a man born for battle and burden could possess. The crimson crest of her House glinted on his chest plate — her family's sigil, a phoenix rising from ash.
How cruel, she thought, that the symbol of rebirth belonged to a lineage built on sacrifice.
A knock came.
"Your Highness," said a voice muffled by the door. It was her handmaiden, Mira. "The Council awaits you in the Hall of Vows."
Serenya's breath trembled. The Hall — where every royal heir sealed their fate with an oath before the gods of flame and wind.
Where she would swear to wed the Duke of Althros.
And where her heart would be buried alive.
"I'll be there shortly," she said. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
When Mira's footsteps faded, Serenya let her composure shatter like glass. Her hands found the small pendant beneath her collar; a shard of obsidian wrapped in silver wire. It was Kael's, once. A knight's charm meant to protect the one they love most.
He had given it to her the night before he took the oath of service. "A knight's heart," he'd said, "is a weapon forged in loyalty. But if you ever wear this, Princess… you'll know where mine truly lies."
She had promised to never wear it in daylight.
Now, as dawn broke, she did.
---
In the courtyard, Kael tightened his gauntlets as he watched the royal banners flutter. The scent of rain lingered, and so did the ache in his chest — that quiet, forbidden ache that had followed him since the day he first swore to protect her.
He remembered her laughter echoing through the stables, the way she used to sneak from her tutors just to spar beside him. That was before the crown grew too heavy for innocence.
"Sir Kael." Commander Veyne's voice was curt. "You'll escort the Princess to the Hall. The Council wants her arrival guarded."
Kael bowed. "By your command."
When Serenya descended the steps moments later, Kael's breath caught. Her coronation gown shimmered like moonlight trapped in silk — regal, untouchable. Only the faint tremor in her hand betrayed her fear.
He offered his arm, as protocol demanded.
Her fingers brushed his armor. A spark, small but defiant, flared between them.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Kael didn't look away. "Then don't look back, Your Highness."
And together, beneath the watchful eyes of gods and courtiers, they walked toward the Hall of Vows. Toward the promise that would bind them both, and the sin that would one day break them.