8. Five

The morning of Ruith and Taelyn's wedding dawned gray and cold, a fine mist blanketing the valley. I awoke alone in my chambers, my body sore and my mind still reeling from the events of the previous day. The memory of Ruith's touch, his kiss, his whispered words of possession haunted me, even as I tried to push them aside.

I emerged from my bedchamber with a heavy heart, the weight of Ruith's impending nuptials pressing down upon me like a physical burden. The sitting room was dimly lit, the weak light of early morning barely penetrating the narrow windows set high in the stone walls.

As I stepped into the sitting room, my eyes fell upon the two young boys I had encountered the day before, huddled together near the hearth. They looked small and fragile in the dim light, their faces drawn and their eyes downcast. Beside them stood Senna, his gaunt frame rigid with barely contained disdain.

"On your feet, brats," Senna barked, his voice sharp and cutting in the stillness of the room. "The prince has deigned to grace us with his presence."

The boys scrambled to their feet, their movements stiff and awkward, as if their bodies were not their own. I felt a pang of empathy for them, remembering all too well the feeling of being at the mercy of Senna's whims.

Senna's eyes met mine, a challenge in their depths. "I trust you slept well, Your Highness," he said, the title dripping with mockery.

I met Senna's gaze. "Well enough, though I suspect my comfort is of little concern to you."

Senna's lips twisted into a sneer. "Your comfort is not my responsibility." He turned to the boys, his voice sharp as a whip. "Attend to the prince, brats. See that he is properly attired for the ceremony."

The boys hurried to comply with Senna's command, their movements jerky and uncoordinated. They gathered the garments laid out for me, their small hands trembling slightly as they carried them to where I stood.

I studied their faces as the boys began to dress me. Up close, the hollowness in their cheeks and the dullness in their eyes were even more prominent. Senna hadn't even called them by name. To him, they were just brats. He'd denied them even that basic dignity.

"What are your names?" I asked softly, my voice gentle so as not to startle them.

The boys froze, their eyes darting nervously to where Senna stood, his arms crossed and his expression thunderous.

"It's all right." I placed a hand on the shoulder of the taller boy. "You may speak freely."

The boy swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort. "I'm... I'm Leif," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "And this is my brother, Torsten."

I smiled at them, hoping to put them at ease. "Leif and Torsten. Those are fine names." I glanced at Senna, my expression hardening. "I'm going down into the castle town today. Leif and Torsten will accompany me."

Senna's eyes flashed with anger. "Impossible. They've work here to do."

"But I will need someone to carry my packages," I lied. "I'm certain you can complete the tasks on your own. Surely, you're not so old that you can't work anymore?"

Senna's face reddened, his eyes narrowing to slits. For a moment, I thought he might lash out, his fists clenching at his sides. But then he seemed to remember himself, his posture stiffening as he inclined his head in a mockery of deference.

"As you wish, Your Highness," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Far be it from me to deny you your... packages." Senna's nostrils flared, but he said nothing more before stalking from the room, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

When he was gone, I turned back to Leif and Torsten, who were watching me with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "Come," I said gently. "Let us be on our way."

We set out from the castle, the boys trailing a respectful distance behind me as we made our way down the winding path that led to the town nestled at the base of the falls. The air was cool and damp, the mist from the cascading water mingling with the morning dew to create a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere.

As we walked, I found my thoughts drifting unbidden to Ruith, to the way his dark eyes had smoldered as he'd claimed me in the baths. I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, the searing heat of his mouth as it mapped every inch of my body. The memory sent a shiver down my spine, a traitorous warmth pooling in my stomach.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the thoughts aside. Today was Ruith's wedding day, the day he would pledge himself to another. Whatever fleeting connection we had shared, it was over now. I had to accept that and move on.

The town slowly came into view as we descended the winding path, a collection of sturdy wooden buildings with steeply pitched roofs to shed the heavy snows of winter. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, the scent of baking bread and smoked fish carried on the damp breeze. The streets were still quiet at this early hour, but I could see signs of life stirring—shutters being thrown open, shopkeepers setting out their wares, a blacksmith's forge sputtering to life with a shower of orange sparks.

We passed under an arched stone gate set into a low wall that encircled the town, the weathered carvings depicting scenes from elvish mythology. Leif and Torsten stayed close at my heels as we navigated the narrow, winding streets, their eyes wide as they took in the sights and sounds of the bustling marketplace.

Vendors called out their wares from behind wooden stalls laden with everything from gleaming swords and intricately wrought jewelry to barrels of salted fish and wheels of pungent cheese. The air was filled with a cacophony of voices haggling in a mix of elvish dialects, punctuated by the occasional bleat of a goat or whinny of a horse.

I paused at a stall displaying an array of finely crafted daggers, the blades glinting in the weak morning light. The craftsmanship was exquisite, but they wouldn't be appropriate wedding gifts. Ruith had given Niro a sword at his wedding and it'd caused quite a stir since a blade could easily be interpreted as an insult.

I moved on, my eyes scanning the various stalls and shops that lined the narrow cobblestone streets. The scent of exotic spices mingled with the earthy aroma of tanned leather and the metallic tang of freshly forged steel. Merchants called out their wares in melodic song and rhyme, their voices rising and falling like the ebb and flow of a distant tide.

Leif and Torsten stuck close to my side, their small hands occasionally brushing against the rough fabric of my cloak as if seeking reassurance. I glanced down at them, taking in their wide-eyed wonder as they absorbed the vibrant sights and sounds of the marketplace. It struck me then, the weight of the responsibility I had taken on in claiming them as my own. They were no longer just nameless thralls, faceless casualties of a cruel system. They were Leif and Torsten, two young boys with hopes and dreams and futures that were now inexorably tied to my own.

As we wove our way through the bustling marketplace, I caught sight of a small stall nestled between a leatherworker's shop and a silversmith's forge. The aroma of freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, sweet and enticing. Leif and Torsten's noses twitched, their eyes widening with undisguised longing as they gazed at the trays of golden-brown tarts and flaky rolls dusted with sugar. Without a second thought, I strode over to the stall, fishing a few copper coins from the pouch at my waist.

"Two of those, please," I said, pointing to a tray of plump, glistening pastries filled with what looked like a dark berry preserve.

The old woman behind the stall nodded, her weathered face creasing into a smile as she wrapped the treats in a square of clean linen.

I handed one to each boy, watching as their small hands closed around the still-warm pastries with an almost reverent awe. Torsten brought his to his nose, inhaling deeply before taking a tentative bite. His eyes fluttered closed, a look of pure bliss washing over his face.

Leif was more cautious. He turned the pastry over in his hands, examining it from every angle as if trying to commit each flaky ridge and glistening sugar crystal to memory. He glanced up at me, his pale blue eyes wide and questioning, as if seeking permission.

I nodded. "Go on. It's yours."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Leif brought the pastry to his lips and took a small, delicate bite. His eyes widened in wonder, a soft gasp escaping his lips. He chewed slowly, savoring every morsel, a look of pure joy transforming his young face.

Torsten had already devoured his treat, licking the sticky residue from his fingers with gusto. He grinned up at me, his cheeks bulging like a squirrel's as he struggled to swallow the last oversized mouthful.

"Thank you," he mumbled in elvish around the pastry, his words muffled but heartfelt.

"It's my pleasure," I replied, meaning every word.

As we ventured deeper into the marketplace, a small shop caught my eye, its weathered wooden sign depicting an open book with a quill pen laid across its pages. Intrigued, I pushed open the heavy oak door, the tinkling of a bell announcing our arrival.

The interior of the shop was dim and cool, the air heavy with the musty scent of old parchment and leather. Towering shelves lined the walls, crammed with an eclectic array of books, scrolls, and strange artifacts. Dust motes danced in the slanting beams of sunlight that filtered through the narrow, leaded glass windows.

I stepped further into the shop, my boots echoing on the worn floorboards. Leif and Torsten followed close behind, their eyes wide with wonder as they took in the cluttered shelves and shadowy alcoves. The shopkeeper, a stooped old elf with a shock of white hair and cloudy white eyes, emerged from behind a teetering stack of tomes.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, his voice thin and reedy with age. "How may I assist you on this fine morning?"

I hesitated, suddenly unsure of what I was seeking. My gaze roamed over the crowded shelves, taking in titles in a dizzying array of languages, some of which I couldn't even begin to decipher.

As my gaze wandered over the crowded shelves, a glint of gold caught my eye. Nestled between a stack of dusty tomes and a gnarled wooden staff was a small, ornate box. Intrigued, I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of the clasp.

The box was made of a rich, dark wood, polished to a high sheen. Intricate designs were carved into its surface, but it was the golden inlay that had captured my attention. It formed a scene depicting a great battle, with armored warriors clashing against a backdrop of soaring mountains and turbulent skies.

I traced my finger over the largest figure, a warrior with streaming hair and a raised sword, his face a mask of fierce determination.

"Faelyn Stormbreaker," the shopkeeper said, shuffling closer. "Now there's a popular character."

I glanced over at Leif and Torsten, noticing how their eyes had gone wide with recognition at the name. "You know this tale?"

Leif nodded eagerly, his earlier shyness forgotten in his excitement. "Faelyn Stormbreaker, the greatest knight of the Evergreen Realm! He battled the fearsome wyvern of Whispering Gorge and saved an entire village from the beast's wrath."

Torsten chimed in, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "And he defeated the wicked sorcerer Morian in the Battle of Blackthorn Vale, breaking the curse that had trapped the land in eternal winter."

The shopkeeper chuckled, a dry, wheezing sound. "The young ones know the story well. Faelyn's legend has endured for centuries, inspiring generations of warriors and adventurers." He reached out and took the box, running his hands over it without looking at it. "I believe this scene depicts Faelyn's final battle against the shadow dragon Azrukal."

"That's Dawnbringer," Lief volunteered. "The magical sword given to him by the avatar of Nihir. He's the dead god buried beneath the falls."

I turned the box over in my hands, marveling at the intricate details of the carving. Each figure seemed to come alive under my fingertips, their faces etched with a mix of determination and fear. The dragon, Azrukal, was a monstrous creature, its scales rendered in gleaming obsidian, its eyes burning with malevolent fire. And there, standing tall and proud in the center of the scene, was Faelyn Stormbreaker, his armor glinting in the golden inlay, his sword raised high in defiance.

"Dawnbringer," I murmured, testing the name on my tongue. It felt strangely familiar, like a half-remembered dream. "It must have been a legendary blade, to defeat such a fearsome foe."

"Oh, it was," the shopkeeper said, his milky eyes seeming to gaze into some distant past. "Forged in the heart of a dying star, tempered in the icy waters of the Everflow, and blessed by the hand of a god. There was no weapon like it in all the realms."

I turned the box over in my hands, tracing the intricate lines of the carving with reverent fingers. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each detail etched with painstaking precision. Faelyn's determined visage seemed to stare back at me from the golden inlay, his eyes alight with the fire of righteous conviction.

"How much for the box?" I asked the shopkeeper, my voice rough with an emotion I couldn't quite name.

The old elf smiled, his cloudy eyes crinkling at the corners. "For you, young prince, I would part with it for a mere twenty gold pieces. It is a treasure meant for one who appreciates the effort of a well-made story, and the legacy it leaves."

I counted out the coins, the metal disks clinking softly as I placed them on the counter. The shopkeeper swept them into a pouch with a gnarled hand, his cloudy eyes crinkling at the corners.

"A fine choice," he said, his voice soft with approval. "This box has been waiting for the right owner for quite a long time. May it serve you well."

I cradled the box in my arms and exited the shop. Outside, the boys' young faces were alight with excitement as they watched me tuck the box away in my satchel. "Do you think King Ruith will like it?"

They nodded eagerly, and I hoped they were right.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, burning away the last tendrils of morning mist. The air was filled with the clamor of voices and the clank of metal as the denizens of the town went about their daily business. Merchants haggled with customers over bolts of brightly colored fabric, while children darted between the stalls, their laughter ringing out like silver bells.

We wove our way through the throng, the boys sticking close to my side. As we climbed the winding path back up to the castle, the distant strains of music and laughter drifted down to us on the breeze. The wedding festivities were already underway, the courtyard transformed into a scene of celebration.

Colorful banners fluttered from the battlements, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the weathered stone of the castle walls. Garlands of fragrant flowers adorned every archway and column, their delicate petals glistening with morning dew. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meats and baking bread, mingling with the heady perfume of a thousand blooms.

As we passed through the main gate, the full splendor of the scene unfolded before us. The courtyard was a sea of swirling silks and glittering jewels, as nobles from across the realm gathered to witness the historic union. Minstrels played sprightly tunes on flutes and lyres, their fingers dancing nimbly over the strings. Acrobats tumbled and spun, their lithe forms twisting into impossible shapes as they leaped and soared through the air.

At the center of it all, on a raised dais draped in shimmering silks, stood Ruith and Taelyn. The sight of them together stole the breath from my lungs, a visceral ache blossoming behind my ribs. Ruith was stunning in a long tunic of deep red silk, the rich fabric shimmering with intricate golden embroidery that caught the light with every movement. A heavy cloak of black velvet was draped over his broad shoulders, the high collar framing his chiseled features like a king's mantle. His dark hair was braided with strands of gold, the plaits interwoven in an elaborate pattern that spoke of hours of painstaking work.

But it was Taelyn who commanded the eye, a vision of ethereal beauty that seemed to glow with an inner light. Her willowy form was draped in a flowing skirt of gossamer silk, the thin layers shifting from palest lavender to the deepest plum as she moved. The bodice was encrusted with glittering amethysts and seed pearls, their iridescent sheen echoing the myriad of white dots painted across her luminous skin in delicate whorls and spirals. A sheer veil cascaded down her back, secured by a delicate crown of silver filigree studded with yet more amethysts that winked and sparkled in her silver-white hair.

They made a breathtaking pair, a living embodiment of the sacred union between the great houses of Starfall and Wolfheart.

I stood transfixed, my gaze locked on Ruith and Taelyn as they basked in the adulation of their guests. Ruith looked every inch the conquering king, poised and powerful in his finery. A wave of bitter longing washed over me, mingling with the hot spark of anger that flared in my gut.

How dare he look so devastatingly handsome on his wedding day, after all he had done? After the way he had toyed with my heart, seducing me with honeyed words and scorching kisses, only to cast me aside like a pawn that had outlived its usefulness? The memory of his touch seared my skin, phantom fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, the plane of my chest, the hollow of my hip. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms.

Beside me, Leif and Torsten fidgeted nervously, their small faces pinched with concern as they sensed the tension radiating from me. I forced myself to take a deep breath, uncurling my fingers and letting the pain ground me in the present. I had a duty to perform, a role to play in this grand charade. I could not afford to let my turbulent feelings betray me.

With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and strode forward, Leif and Torsten trailing in my wake like nervous ducklings. The crowd parted before me, curious eyes tracking my progress as I made my way towards the dais.

I climbed the steps slowly. Ruith's gaze snapped to mine, his dark eyes glinting with a mix of surprise and something else, something heated and hungry that made my breath catch in my throat. Beside him, Taelyn regarded me with cool appraisal, her storm-gray eyes sweeping over my form with a calculating intensity that almost mirrored Ruith's.

I drew to a halt before them, sinking into a deep bow that felt far too subservient for my liking. The polished stone was cool beneath my palms, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that pulsed under my skin. I straightened, meeting Ruith's smoldering gaze with a defiant tilt of my chin.

"Your Majesties," I said, my voice ringing out clear and strong in the expectant hush. "I come bearing a gift, a token of my... respect and admiration on this joyous occasion."

The words tasted like ashes on my tongue, but I forced them out. I withdrew the ornate wooden box from my satchel, holding it out before me like an offering.

Ruith leaned forward to retrieve the box. For a moment, our fingers brushed as he took it from my hands, and a jolt of electricity arced between us, setting my nerves alight. His dark eyes found mine, a silent communication passing between us in that charged instant.

Then the moment was gone, and Taelyn was leaning over his shoulder. "Faelyn Stormbreaker," she said. "And what exquisite craftsmanship!"

Taelyn took the box, her slender fingers caressing the polished wood with a reverent touch. She studied the carving, her storm-gray eyes alight with genuine wonder and appreciation.

She looked up from the box with a small smile. "You are…Prince Elindir, are you not?"

I inclined my head, feeling a flush of embarrassment at her recognition. "I am, Your Grace. Though I'm not sure the title of prince means much, given the circumstances."

Taelyn's smile softened, her eyes glimmering with a hint of sympathy. "Titles are what we make of them, I've found. And you carry yourself with a noble bearing, regardless of your current station."

Her words caught me off guard, a flicker of surprise chasing away some of the resentment that had been simmering in my chest. I had expected coldness from Ruith's new bride, perhaps even disdain for the human interloper in their midst. But there was only warmth in Taelyn's gaze, a genuine kindness that made it difficult to cling to my animosity.

"Please, won't you join us?" she asked, gesturing to an empty seat beside her. "I would love to hear more about the lands beyond our borders. The human realms have always fascinated me."

I hesitated, my eyes flicking to Ruith. He lounged in his chair with a studied indolence, but I could feel the weight of his stare, the intensity of it prickling along my skin like a physical caress. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, a heady mix of anger and longing and things left unsaid.

But Taelyn was watching me expectantly, her expression open and inviting.

I inclined my head, moving to take the seat beside Taelyn. As I settled into the plush velvet cushions, I couldn't help but be acutely aware of Ruith's looming presence just beyond her.

Taelyn leaned towards me, her gossamer skirts whispering against the stone floor. The amethysts woven through her moon-bright hair glinted in the dappled sunlight. "Tell me of your homeland, Prince Elindir. I've heard stories of sweeping plains that stretch to the horizon, of cities that gleam like polished brass under a blistering sun and mountains that touch the sky. Is it true that the Great Desert fills half the land?"

I met her inquisitive gaze, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. "The desert is many days' ride south of Ostovan, Your Majesty. It marks the border between Ostovan and Savarra. I'm afraid Ostovan is rather stark compared to the picture you paint. Our city is one of stalwart stone that rises against the snowcapped mountains to the west. Our winters are frigid and our summers blistering, but our people are strong and stubborn."

"Stubborn is an understatement," Ruith murmured under his breath.

I shot Ruith a sharp look, my eyes narrowing at his wry comment. "Stubbornness is merely determination viewed from the opposing side, a trait I'm sure His Grace is well acquainted with."

Ruith's lips quirked in a sardonic half-smile. He lounged back in his throne-like chair with languid grace, one ringed hand draped over the carved armrest. "Indeed. Determination is a quality I greatly admire...in the right context."

His gaze raked over me, a palpable weight that seemed to strip away the layers of my finery and leave me bare. The heat of it seared through me, igniting a fire of conflicting emotions in me. Anger warred with longing, resentment with a desperate, aching need that even now, after everything, I could not seem to shake.

Taelyn's gaze darted between us, a tiny furrow appearing between her delicately arched brows. "Tell me, Prince Elindir, what brings you to our fair kingdom? Are you here as an emissary of your people?"

I shook my head, a wry twist to my lips. "No, Your Grace. I'm afraid my presence here is more a matter of circumstance than diplomacy."

Ruith shifted in his seat. "Elindir was a gift from the king of Ostovan. He was meant for my father, but I claimed him for myself. This was, of course, before I knew who and what he was. He lives as a free man now, and we share…an understanding of sorts. An alliance."

I clenched my jaw at Ruith's cavalier description of my circumstances, the way he glossed over the cruel reality of my captivity with a few pretty words. An alliance, he called it, as if I had any choice in the matter. As if I hadn't been ripped from my home and thrust into a foreign land, stripped of my title and my dignity, reduced to a plaything for his amusement.

But I held my tongue, forcing my features into a mask of calm indifference. Causing a scene would only bring more trouble.

Taelyn studied me with those piercing storm-gray eyes. For a moment, I had the unsettling feeling that she could see right through me, that she knew exactly what thoughts were swirling beneath the surface of my carefully composed facade.

"An alliance born of adversity can be a powerful thing," she said softly, her melodic voice barely audible over the strains of music and laughter that filled the courtyard. "It forges bonds stronger than any wrought of mere political expediency or social niceties. And it is a rare strength indeed to not only survive one's circumstances, but to thrive in them."

Her words settled over me like a warm cloak, unexpected and strangely comforting. I looked at Taelyn, really looked at her, taking in the delicate strength of her features. She was not at all what I expected.

"You are very kind, Your Grace," I said, inclining my head in a gesture of respect. "I fear I have done little to earn such regard, but I am grateful for it, nonetheless."

Taelyn smiled, a soft, enigmatic curve of her lips. "Kindness is not something to be earned, Prince Elindir. It is a gift freely given to those who are open to receiving it." Her gaze drifted to Ruith, a flicker of some unreadable emotion passing over her luminous features. "And perhaps, in time, it may even soften the hardest of hearts."

Ruith met her gaze, a muscle ticking in his chiseled jaw. For a moment, they seemed to communicate without words, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. Then Ruith looked away, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a brooding intensity.

I followed his gaze, taking in the sea of glittering finery and elegant elven faces. As the music swelled to a crescendo, the gathered nobles begin to form a procession, their jewel-toned silks swirling like a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues. Taelyn and Ruith rose from their seats, which meant everyone else had to stand as well.

He extended a hand to Taelyn, and she placed her slender fingers in his. Together, they descended the dais steps, the very picture of regal poise and power.

I watched as Ruith and Taelyn glided down the stairs, their steps perfectly matched, their heads held high. The crowd parted before them like the sea before the prow of a ship, awed whispers and murmurs rippling in their wake.

Despite my simmering resentment, I couldn't deny that they made a striking pair—a union of power and beauty, shadow and light, Starfall and Wolfheart. And yet, even as I watched them, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a grand facade. A performance put on for the benefit of the masses, a shimmering veneer of perfection that concealed something far more complicated beneath.

They were strangers still, the two of them, and yet they were on their way to Ruith's chambers to consummate their marriage before a witness.

I followed the procession at a distance, Leif and Torsten trailing behind me like silent shadows. The boys seemed to sense my inner turmoil, their small faces pinched with worry as they glanced up at me. I tried to offer them a reassuring smile, but it felt brittle on my lips, a fragile mask that threatened to crack under the strain of my roiling emotions.

We made our way back to my chambers, the muted sounds of the ongoing celebration fading behind the heavy oak door as it swung shut. The room felt stifling suddenly, the air thick and oppressive, the walls too close. I paced the length of the sitting room, my boots wearing a path in the plush carpets, my mind awhirl with dark thoughts.

Ruith and Taelyn would be together now, alone in his bedchamber. Consummating their union as tradition demanded, their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time itself. The image rose unbidden in my mind—sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin, breathy moans and sighs of pleasure, the rhythmic creaking of the great oak bed. It made me feel physically ill, a cold sweat breaking out across my brow, my stomach roiling with nausea.

I didn't want to picture it, didn't want to imagine Ruith's hands on someone else, his lips worshipping another's flesh. But I couldn't seem to stop the relentless tide of my own masochistic imagination.

I sank onto the plush velvet settee, my head in my hands. Leif and Torsten hovered uncertainly nearby, their small forms casting long shadows in the flickering light of the oil lamps.

A sudden knock at the door startled me. I straightened, smoothing my hands over the rich fabric of my tunic, and called out for the visitor to enter.

The door swung open, revealing a young elvish woman in a plain gray gown, her wheat-blond hair pulled back neatly. She dipped into a deep curtsy, her eyes downcast.

"Prince Elindir," she said, her voice soft but clear. "I have been sent to summon you. If you would follow me, please."

I frowned, a flicker of unease stirring in my gut. "Sent by whom? And to what purpose?"

The girl merely shook her head, a hint of apology in her sea-green eyes. "I am not at liberty to say, my lord. Only that I am to guide you to where you are needed."

My frown deepened, but curiosity got the better of me. I rose to my feet, casting a reassuring glance at Leif and Torsten. "Stay here," I told them gently. "I will return shortly."

I followed the young woman out into the corridor, the stone floor cool beneath my boots. She led me through a dizzying maze of narrow passageways, the flickering light of the torches casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls. We passed through archways and up winding staircases, the air growing colder and damper as we descended into the bowels of the castle.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if we would ever reach our destination, the girl came to an abrupt halt before a nondescript stretch of wall. She reached out, her slender fingers searching along the stone until they found some hidden mechanism. With a soft click, a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow passage.

"Through here, my prince," she said, stepping aside to allow me entry.

I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding a furious rhythm against my ribs. The darkness beyond the hidden door seemed to beckon, an inky void that promised secrets and mysteries untold. Steeling myself, I ducked through the low archway, the musty scent of ancient stone and stale air enveloping me like a cloak.

The passage was a cramped and winding staircase. The only light came from the guttering flame of a single torch that the girl had thrust into my hand before sealing the door behind us.

After what felt like an eternity, the staircase finally leveled out into a low, narrow corridor. The stone floor was worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, the walls damp and glistening with moisture. I moved forward cautiously, my senses straining against the oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow the meager light of the torch.

As I rounded a final bend in the passage, a faint glow became visible ahead—the warm, inviting flicker of firelight spilling from beneath a heavy oaken door. My heart began to pound faster, a sickening sense of dread and anticipation warring within me. I knew, with a sudden, awful certainty, exactly where the hidden passage had led me.

I halted before the door, my hand trembling as I reached for the iron latch. The metal was warm to the touch, as if someone had just grasped it moments before. I hesitated, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my mind reeling with the implications of what lay beyond.

Steeling myself, I lifted the latch and pushed the door open.

The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing a bedchamber awash in the warm, flickering glow of a hundred candles. Their dancing flames cast shifting shadows on the richly appointed walls, the intricate tapestries and gleaming weapons seeming to come alive in the golden light.

And there, in the center of the room, stood Ruith and Taelyn. They were still fully clothed in their wedding finery, the sumptuous fabrics of their garments shimmering like liquid silk and polished gems. Ruith looked at me with a searing intensity that stole the breath from my lungs. Beside him, Taelyn regarded me with a serene, almost sad expression.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart pounding a furious staccato against my ribs. A thousand questions swirled through my mind, mingling with a dizzying surge of emotions—confusion, apprehension, a desperate, aching hope that I hardly dared to acknowledge.

Taelyn glided forward with a fluid grace that put even the most accomplished dancers to shame, her gossamer skirts whispering over the polished flagstones like a sigh of silk on skin.

She drew to a halt before me, searching my face in silence for a long moment. Then she leaned in, her lips brushing against my cheek in a kiss softer than a sigh. It was a benediction, a blessing bestowed with infinite tenderness. I felt something inside me crack open at her touch, a wellspring of emotion that threatened to burst forth and drown me in its intensity.

Taelyn stepped back, her eyes glistening in the candlelight. She glanced over her shoulder at Ruith, a wordless exchange passing between them in that charged moment. Then, with a fluid grace that made her seem almost ethereal, she took the torch from me and glided through the open door at my back, the whisper of her skirts fading into silence as she disappeared down the hidden passage.