The corridor stretched ahead, long and shadowed, as Elara walked with Kalynda beside her, her steps quiet against the stone floor. The weight of the veil seemed to press down on her chest with every step, and she fought the urge to tug it away—to shed the facade of a woman already claimed.
In the distance, she could hear the low murmur of the court, the rustle of silk and the flutter of whispered expectations. The grand hall was just ahead. Her fate waited inside. This was the moment she'd been groomed for—and yet it felt more like a sentencing than a celebration.
At the threshold, Kalynda squeezed her hand, offering silent support before stepping back, leaving Elara alone with the door that separated her from her new life.
She pushed it open.
The room beyond was bathed in golden candlelight, the flames flickering across polished floors and vaulted ceilings adorned with banners bearing Aldovia's royal crest. The scent of incense drifted through the air, mingling with perfume and power. The guests lined the edges of the hall, their eyes fixed on the figure cloaked in ivory.
And there he was. Prince Kaelos.
The man who would become her husband. The man she barely knew.
He stood at the altar in full royal regalia, the deep blue colour and gold embroidery complementing his eyes, a dark contrast against the gleaming lights of the room. His posture was perfect—rigid and regal—and his expression unreadable. Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, eyes like frozen obsidian. He looked every inch the warrior prince—every inch the stranger.
Elara's heart fluttered painfully as her feet moved of their own accord, step by step toward a life that had been written for her long before she had the chance to dream.
The priest welcomed her, voice warm but distant, and she came to stand beside Kaelos. For a brief moment, their eyes met.
And just as quickly, he looked away.
His fingers tensed against the edge of the altar, the only betrayal of his otherwise composed demeanour.
"Kaelos," she whispered, testing the name that would bind her. It felt foreign and cold.
He glanced at her—sharp and sudden.
His eyes caught the soft sheen of her raven-black hair, twisted into an intricate braid that crowned her head like a halo, a few rebellious strands curling loose against her temple.
Her eyes, wide and a deep shade of stormy violet, flickered with uncertainty beneath the delicate veil.
The candlelight kissed the silver embroidery along her gown, which clung to her like a second skin before cascading in waves around her feet—elegant, poised, and entirely too real.
For a moment, Kaelos stared—long enough to betray something unspoken—before his gaze shuttered, and he looked away.
"Elara." He said. One word. No warmth.
The ceremony began. Sacred words woven with ancient promises filled the space, but to Elara, they sounded like the rustling of dry parchment—formal, scripted, empty.
"Do you, Elara, take Kaelos to be your husband, to cherish and obey…"
The words drifted into thin air, her hands gripping her bouquet, slowly squeezing the life out of the hydrangeas.
Her throat tightened. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.
"I do." She nodded slightly.
She felt the cool press of the ring against her finger—the symbol of a union, a sentence, a sealed fate.
"And do you, Kaelos, take Elara—"
"I do." He cut in, clipped and dismissive.
The priest gave his blessing. "Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
There was a polite applause. Choreographed smiles. But beneath the practised joy lay tension so thick it could've cracked the marble floor beneath their feet.
And then came the moment everyone had truly waited for.
The First Bind.
A tradition older than the crown itself. A dance that symbolized unity—the first steps in sync, the first gesture of trust and intimacy. It was not just custom; it was a spectacle. An offering of harmony to the court, to the gods, to the people.
A courtier stepped forward, bowing low. "Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Kaelos and Princess Elara shall now perform the First Bind."
Kaelos turned to her. She lifted her gaze to meet his.
He offered his hand. Not a gesture of welcome—but obligation.
She placed her fingers into his. His palms were cold.
The music began—harps and flutes rising in a graceful swell. The court watched in silence, waiting to be dazzled.
Elara moved with practised poise, her body a vessel of grace. Kaelos matched her steps with mechanical precision. No missteps, no stumbles. And yet, the air between them was colder than stone.
"Smile," he murmured under his breath.
Elara's jaw tightened. "Is that a request or another command?"
His mouth curved slightly. Not a smile—more like a warning. "Does it matter?"
Elara nodded her head. "Of course, Your Highness, we wouldn't want anyone thinking we're not happy."
Kaelos' eyes darkened with something she couldn't quite place.
They spun. Twirled. Dipped. From a distance, they looked perfect—ethereal, even. But up close, their movements lacked the softness the dance was known for. There was no emotion. No harmony.
And then—the final step.
Kaelos was meant to lift her hand, kiss her knuckles, and whisper a vow before the court.
But instead, he stopped. Dropped her hand.
And took a step away.
The music stumbled, the court gasped, and whispers rose like a tide.
"He didn't finish the Bind—"
"Is it a slight?"
"Does he reject her?"
Elara stood frozen, hand suspended where he had been, her spine straight but her breath shallow. Heat flushed her cheeks, not from the crowd—but from the humiliation.
Kaelos turned his back, already striding away before the music had even faded.
He didn't look back.
The court fell into uneasy silence. Elara slowly lowered her hand, swallowed the scream that rose in her throat, and forced her expression into something serene.
Let them whisper. Let them wonder.
She would not crumble in front of them.
But in her chest, something cracked.
Elara took in a deep breath. She opened her eyes which had been shut since Kaelos turned his back. Hoping it was all a dream but it wasn't.
He had left her. On the dance floor. In front of everyone.
The murmurs and whispers do not escape her ears.
But before the stunned silence could settle too deeply into the room, a figure stepped forward with effortless grace.
Princess Serya.
Kaelos's younger sister. Finally of age, sharp as a blade, and dangerous in her way—not with swords or strategy, but with her wit and charm, honed to perfection.
She moved between the watching nobles and stopped before Elara with a warm smile, dipping into a playful curtsy.
"If the prince won't honour the dance," she said lightly, "then allow me the privilege, Princess."
There was a flicker of tension across the court, the tension of a string pulled taut… and then the music resumed.
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line—but Serya had already taken her hand, spinning her into the next turn of the dance.
The court exhaled as if on cue, the murmurs dying down as nobles took it as permission to rejoin the celebration. One by one, couples began to pair off again, partners clasping hands, picking up the rhythm of the dance floor.
It was a royal salvage. Beautifully done.
Serya leaned in close as they moved, voice low. "You mustn't let him make you small. Especially not here."
Elara swallowed. "He made his feelings clear."
"Kaelos hasn't felt anything in years," Serya replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "But you're different Elara. Don't let him take that from you, too."
And just like that, she spun Elara into the hands of another nobleman—one of the lesser lords who bowed respectfully, sweeping her into another pass of the dance.
But Elara's heart wasn't in it.
Her eyes searched the hall—and found the tall, dark figure of Kaelos vanishing through the side door, his cloak trailing behind him like a storm cloud.
She barely registered the end of the song. Didn't hear the polite applause. She stepped away from her dance partner and followed the trace.
Out of the grand hall, past curious glances and gasps.
Down the corridor where the flickering torches cast angry shadows.
Her slippers tapped against the stone as she turned the corner—just in time to see him slam a door open, disappearing onto a private balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens.
She stepped into the cool night air, the door swinging shut behind her.
Kaelos stood at the edge of the marble railing, hands gripping the stone, breathing heavily.
"You ran," she said. Her steps slowed before she reached him.
Marlos sighed at the moment he heard her voice. He didn't turn around. "I left." He said sharply.
"In front of everyone? Really Kaelos?"
There was a brief silence before he turned sharply.
"I didn't ask for this Elara," he said finally, voice low and tight. "Do you think I enjoy being paraded like livestock? Marrying for alliance? Smiling while our court eats us alive?"
She took a step closer. "No. But I stayed."
He turned then—slowly. His eyes found hers, hard and unreadable.
"You think that makes you stronger?"
"No," she whispered. "But it makes me present."
For a heartbeat, they stared at each other.
And something shifted. A crack in the armour. A flicker of something buried deep.
Then Kaelos looked away, inhaling sharply. "This isn't a fairy tale, Elara. There won't be love here. No matter how many dances we fake for the court."
"I don't need a fairy tale," she said, her voice steady now. "But I deserve respect."
He flinched like she'd struck him. Then pushed off the railing and walked past her—brushing her shoulder as he passed.
"Kaelos." She called out, but he didn't turn back.
She turned to watch him go, alone on a moonlit balcony, her ring finger still cold beneath the weight of a future she hadn't chosen.
And yet, she wasn't going to surrender to it either.
Not without a fight.