Beneath The Crimson Moon

Two weeks later, on the wedding day,

The bells of Aurora Palace rang across the capital with a brilliance that seemed to chase every shadow from the streets. Gold and silver banners fluttered from every tower. Fresh white camellias decorated the palace gates, their petals trembling faintly in the breeze, and the scent of them drifted all the way to the outer courtyards where carriages were still arriving.

The Grand Hall, usually reserved for royal councils and grim state ceremonies, had been transformed into a breathtaking sanctuary — crystal chandeliers, polished marble underfoot, and thousands of candles glowing so steadily that the whole room seemed to shimmer.

Nobles from every corner of Asteria filled the chamber. Kings. Queens. Dukes. Generals. Scholars. Merchants. For the first time in decades, representatives from all four kingdoms stood beneath the same roof — some smiling sincerely, others smiling because the moment demanded it, and a careful few doing both at once without anyone able to tell the difference.

King Alaric stood at the entrance beside Queen Elowen, greeting each guest personally rather than leaving the task to a herald.

"I never imagined I'd see this many rulers gathered at one place peacefully," Queen Helena of Vareth said warmly, embracing Elowen like an old friend rather than a foreign queen.

"Neither did I," Elowen admitted, her smile gentle but her eyes bright with something closer to disbelief.

King Cedric greeted the king of elaria

"Let's hope our children succeed where our ancestors failed."

The words were spoken lightly. But everyone understood the weight of the words anyway. One successful marriage could end generations of rivalry.

A trumpet sounded. The great doors opened once more.

Crown Prince Lucien entered first. Two weeks of dust and travel scrubbed away, replaced by formal black attire embroidered with silver thread, the crimson crest of House Draven resting proudly across his chest.

The hall fell quiet. Because he carried himself with quiet confidence rather than arrogance, the kind that made people straighten up even when they don't want to

He stopped before King Alaric and bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."

Alaric stepped forward and hugged Lucien and saidb

"Welcome to Elaria."

Lucien reciprocates and said

"It is an honor."

"No." Alaric smiled, warmth breaking through the ceremony of it. "The honor is ours."

The two men clasped forearms rather than merely shaking hands. Lucien appreciated the gesture immediately; it told him more about the man than a hundred reports could have.

"His Highness seems exactly as the reports described," Elowen said, watching the exchange with quiet approval.

"Honorable," Cedric agreed.

" Painfully honorable," he added, and Elowen laughed.

Lucien sighed without turning around.

"I can still hear you, Father."

Laughter spread through the hall, easing whatever tension had gathered in it, and for a moment the room felt less like a political summit and more like a very large family gathered for a very important day.

Another trumpet echoed. The musicians changed melodies. Every conversation stopped at once.

The palace doors opened slowly, and Princess Ariana appeared.

For one heartbeat, the world seemed to hold still around her.

She wore a flowing ivory gown embroidered with silver moonflowers that shimmered faintly whenever she moved, a delicate veil resting against her shoulders. The Moon Pendant lay just above her heart, catching the candlelight like a small caught star. But it wasn't the gown or the jewels that made the hall go quiet.

It was her smile — not the practiced, social gathering-ready smile of royalty, but a genuine one, unguarded, full of something that looked almost like hope.

Lucien found himself unable to look away. Not only because she was beautiful, though she undeniably was, but because she actually looked kind and gentle with a powerful aura and grace.

As Ariana walked toward the altar, her eyes met his for the very first time. Neither spoke. Neither needed to.

Lucien bowed respectfully. Ariana returned the gesture, and then — almost imperceptibly, small and a little shy — she smiled at him directly.

It eased something in Lucien's chest that had been quietly tightening since dawn.

“Perhaps” he thought, “this marriage will not be only for peace's sake”

Near the front of the hall, Elowen watched her daughter cross the marble floor and felt her throat tighten. For just a moment — brief enough that no one beside her noticed — her gaze slid past Ariana, toward the empty space at the edge of the family's reserved seats where, in some other version of this day, her second daughter might've been here if the fate didn't demanded.

She blinked, and the thought was gone, tucked back into the place she kept things she had promised herself she wouldn't think about today of all days.

She reached for Alaric's hand instead. He took it without looking, as though he'd felt the same thing at the same moment and knew better than to say so.

The High Priest stepped forward while saying,

"If there is anyone present who opposes this union, let them speak now."

Silence answered him — only the soft, steady crackle of candle flames, and somewhere far off, the muffled sound of the city still celebrating outside the walls.

The ceremony began.

Far above the Grand Hall, hidden behind a stained-glass window overlooking the ceremony, a cloaked figure watched without moving. One gloved hand rested against the cold stone ledge. The other held a small crystal vial of clear liquid, turning it slightly so the candlelight below caught in it like something almost alive.

The figure's mouth curved, faint and unreadable.

"So this," a quiet voice murmured, barely more than breath, "is what the sky looks like before the storm."

The vial vanished back beneath the cloak.

As the priest continued through the sacred vows, Ariana's fingers found the Moon Pendant at her throat. For the briefest moment its silver surface felt strangely cold against her skin — cold enough that she nearly gasped.

She frowned.

Then the feeling passed, and she told herself it was nothing — the hall was drafty, that was all, and every bride's hands went cold on a day like this.

Outside, clouds drifted slowly across the afternoon sky, dimming the sun by degrees too small to notice.

No one noticed. Not the kings. Not the queens. And certainly not the two young royals standing before the altar, hands now joined, who still believed that they had a lifetime stretched out ahead of them.

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