Alric
The feast had faded into music. The music into farewells. And now, even the palace seemed to hold its breath.
Alric stood at the door to the eastern wing — the chamber gifted to the newlyweds by the King himself. No longer merely a guest of the court, he was now the young Duke of Viremont, and she... the Princess who would wear no crown, but would hold just as much power beside him.
His wife. The Duchess of Viremont.
He hadn't spoken more than a few formal words to her all day. At the altar, her voice had been calm, unwavering, as if the vows were simply another duty. She had not looked at him more than necessary, and yet—
Every moment in her presence had felt like standing too close to flame.
He opened the door.
The room was warm, lit by candelabras and the soft glow of the hearth. Rose petals dusted the floor. Incense curled in the air, a scent like myrrh and ash. A book of Psalms lay on the bedside table — untouched.
And at the center of it all stood Saren, still veiled, still silent.
She turned as he entered.
No smile. No fluttering lashes.
Only that gaze — the one that had first undone him.
"I will not pretend tonight," she said softly, her voice low but firm.
It was the first real thing she'd ever said to him.
"I do not fear truth," Alric replied.
A pause.
She stepped forward, slowly, and removed her veil. Beneath it, she was achingly beautiful — not like a flower, but like something sculpted to last. Her expression unreadable. Her eyes, searching.
"I did not ask for this," she said.
"Nor did I," he answered. "But I will not shame you with cruelty. Nor demand what isn't offered freely."
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she spoke, softer than before. "You are not what I expected."
He almost smiled. "Neither are you."
She walked past him then, untying her braid, unpinning the metal circlet that crowned her. It hit the table with a soft clink — the sound of a weight being put down.
And in that moment, she looked almost… human. Not the empire's daughter. Not a power-hungry heir.
Just a girl, unarmed in candlelight.
She sat at the edge of the bed, her back to him.
"I do not know what kind of man you are," she said.
Alric's voice was quiet, but certain. "The kind that keeps his vows. Even if you never love me."
A pause.
Then, without looking back, she whispered:
"Then may the gods forgive me, if I ever do."
(Author's Note: What do you think Saren meant by that last line? Is she warning him—or herself? Drop your thoughts, I'm dying to see what you think.)
....to be continued....