Dawn broke over Roma with a soft, rose-gold glow, the kind that made the city's ancient stones appear almost holy. Bells from every district answered one another, swelling toward the heart of the capital—toward the towering Cathedral of Christ, where two kingdoms would soon bind their futures together.
The cathedral stood like a fortress of white marble and gilded arches, its great dome catching the morning light until it gleamed brighter than the banners hanging from its towers. Today, those banners bore two emblems: the golden Eagle of Luxenberg and the Green Manticore of Visconte, united side by side, lifting in the gentle breeze.
Inside, the air was thick with incense and reverence. Hundreds of candles cast wavering halos across frescoes of saints and kings. Rows of nobles, generals, foreign envoys, and high clergy filled the pews in brilliant swaths of blues, greens, and golds.
At the far end, beneath an arch carved with angels in flight, stood Pope Constantine IV; stern, dignified, his presence commanding even in silence. His vestments shimmered with silver thread, and when he lifted his head, every whisper in the cathedral died.
The great doors opened with slow, ceremonial weight.
Isabella Visconte stepped into the cathedral, and a collective breath swept the hall. At eighteen, she carried herself with a poise far beyond her years. Her gown cascaded like a liquid pearl, embroidered with tiny emeralds that caught the candlelight with every movement. A thin diamond circlet rested upon her blonde hair, veiled in the sheerest lace that trailed behind her like a path of morning frost.
King Alphonse Visconte, resplendent in emerald and gold, offered his daughter his arm. His expression was not stern nor overwhelmed, but simply proud, in the manner of a man witnessing the moment his dynasty strengthened before his eyes.
The organ swelled, deep and resonant. Isabella walked the long aisle to her future, her steps perfectly measured, her eyes steady on the altar where Anton waited.
Anton Luxenberg, tall and broad-shouldered, wore the deep blue ceremonial uniform of a Luxenberg commander, adorned with the golden Eagle on his chest. Like Isabella, he was just eighteen, but already carrying the bearing of a future king.
When she reached him, he bowed his head slightly, offering his hand. Isabella placed hers into it, the gesture small but powerful; the first binding of two houses that had once known only alliance through war and politics.
At that, Pope Constantine stepped forward.
"My children," the Pope said, his voice filling the cathedral with warm authority, "today you join not only hearts, but realms. Let this union be as steadfast as stone and as blessed as the rising of each new dawn."
He raised his staff, and the choir slipped into a soft hymn that echoed through the high arches.
The vows followed, clear, youthful voices promising loyalty, honour, and devotion. Though court etiquette demanded restraint, Anton's thumb brushed lightly against Isabella's hand; she answered with a faint, almost shy glance upward. It was enough to warm even the coldest observer.
Pope Constantine extended his hands above them.
"Through the grace of the Almighty and the witness of all gathered here, I bind Prince Anton of Luxenberg and Princess Isabella of Visconte in holy matrimony. Two nations, two bloodlines—now one."
A hush swept the hall.
"You may now seal your oath."
Anton leaned forward and kissed her, gentle but assured. The cathedral erupted in applause, cheers barely held back by decorum as nobles rose to their feet.
Victor and Clarisse watched from the front row, ecstatic for their son. It felt like only yesterday that they had just gotten married. The wedding ceremony was a success. There were no incidents on the way to the cathedral, nor any during the ceremony. All the hard work put into planning had paid off.
As husband and wife turned toward the gathered assembly, the organ burst into triumphant harmony. The great doors swung open again, allowing sunlight to flood the nave.
Outside, the streets of Roma thundered with celebration. Thousands had gathered, citizens waving banners, musicians playing lively reels, petals raining from balconies. Two magnificent white horses awaited the newlyweds, their carriage draped in blue and emerald.
Anton helped Isabella inside, and as the carriage rolled forward through the cheering crowds, she glanced back at the cathedral one last time, its bells pealing in jubilation.
Side by side, the young prince and princess held hands, their future stretching out before them like the sunlit streets of Roma.
A union born of peace, blessed by the Pope, celebrated by nations, witnessed by history.
The celebrations did not stop there; the carriage was strung along the streets of Roma, making its way back to the Visconte Palace. A long procession of carriages followed with scores of guards protecting it.
By the time Princess Isabella and Prince Anton were escorted back toward the Visconte Palace, the entire capital seemed to hum with celebration.
Inside the palace gates, the world changed.
Gone was the roaring city; in its place awaited a realm of polished marble, scented candles, and excitable courtiers dressed in their finest silks. Tonight was not simply a feast. It was the merging of royal families: Visconte and Luxenberg.
The newlyweds were guided into a grand banquet hall, the largest hall of the palace. Hundreds of candles flickered along the gold-rimmed walls, reflecting off mirrors so tall they seemed like endless corridors of firelight. The vaulted ceiling—painted with saints, angels, and long-departed kings—glimmered above like a heaven all its own.
A massive horseshoe-shaped table dominated the centre of the room, draped in emerald velvet and set with plates of polished silver. The musicians tucked in the gallery above began to pluck soft chords from their lutes as the first guests entered.
King Alphonse himself stood at the head of the hall, wearing the bright sash of the Visconte royal line. To his right stood King Victor Luxenberg in a blackish-blue royal military uniform trimmed with deep gold. The golden eagle above his heart caught the firelight, gleaming proudly.
Alphonse welcomed them with open arms. "Tonight," he declared, "two nations become family. Let joy, not politics, rule this night!"