The afternoon sunlight was delicate—filtered through the gauzy curtains of the royal carriage, painting Sarisa's lap in gold.
She sat straight-backed beside Vaelen, the velvet bench between them a wide, invisible chasm. Outside, the road to the Celestian village wound through green hills and scattered orchards, dotted with the first blooms of spring.
It should have felt like freedom, a day away from the palace and all its heavy expectations. Instead, Sarisa felt a gentle but persistent ache beneath her ribs, as if something inside her was sighing for release.
Vaelen was perfectly dressed, as always. A pale blue coat with silver embroidery, his dark skin glowing against the cool colors, a single gold ring on his left hand—tasteful, refined.
He'd made sure there were pastries and chilled tea in a small basket at their feet. The carriage swayed gently, horses' hooves muffled by moss and loam.
They sat in silence for the first part of the journey. Sarisa watched the countryside slip by, the wildflowers nodding in the breeze, a hawk spiraling overhead. Vaelen cleared his throat once, then again, as if searching for the right words.
At last he spoke. "The weather is perfect today. I thought you'd enjoy the orchards—there are some cherry trees in bloom, if you'd like to see them after our walk."
Sarisa nodded. "That sounds lovely."
He offered a careful smile. "The musicians in the village square are quite good. I thought perhaps we could listen for a while, and then I've arranged for a table at the tea house. Nothing too formal—I wanted today to be easy, for both of us."
His thoughtfulness was genuine, and Sarisa felt a wave of gratitude. She offered him a small, practiced smile. "Thank you, Vaelen. That's very kind."
The carriage rolled through the outer gates of the village, the guards saluting with perfect decorum. Villagers lined the avenue—some bowing, some craning their necks for a better look at the soon-to-be queen and her betrothed.
Sarisa could feel the eyes on her, the mixture of reverence and curiosity and, perhaps, a trace of envy.
Vaelen stepped out first, turning to help Sarisa down. His hand was steady, warm—his grip firm but never possessive.
As their fingers touched, she felt nothing but a faint, polite pressure, the kind one might share with a distant cousin at a banquet.
They began their walk through the village. The air was bright with birdsong and the scent of early blossoms.
The cobblestones were swept clean, banners fluttering from every lamppost—blue and silver for the royal house, with a new banner stitched in gold to honor the coming marriage.
The musicians in the square were already playing—a gentle, lilting melody on lyre and flute. Children danced in a circle, laughter bubbling up in joyous bursts.
Shopkeepers waved, offering gifts of sugared fruit and tiny woven charms. Vaelen accepted them graciously, handing some to Sarisa with a courtly bow.
For a while, they wandered the market stalls. Vaelen asked about her tastes in flowers, in embroidery, in art. Sarisa answered truthfully, though every reply felt rehearsed, as if she were reading lines from a script she hadn't chosen.
A potter offered them a pair of cups—one painted with silver moons, the other with golden suns.
"For harmony and balance," the woman said, bowing low. Vaelen thanked her, glancing at Sarisa as if searching for some hidden reaction.
They paused by a cherry tree, its blossoms trembling in the afternoon breeze. Vaelen looked up, smiling. "Do you know, my mother always said the first cherry of spring brings luck to new couples? Would you like to try one?" He plucked a single, perfect fruit, holding it out.
Sarisa took it, skin brushing his fingers, and ate the cherry slowly. It was sweet, its juice tart on her tongue. Vaelen watched her, a hopeful light in his golden eyes.
He took her hand as they walked on. His palm was warm, a little clammy, his fingers gentle but insistent.
Sarisa let herself be led, letting the performance unfold for the villagers—the perfect future queen, the devoted fiancé. They stopped for tea at the tiny house on the edge of the square, where an old woman poured them delicate cups, her hands shaking with excitement.
"Your Majesty, we are honored," the woman said. "May your union bring peace and joy to all our people."
Sarisa nodded, offering a blessing in return, and tried to ignore the hollow ache in her chest.
The conversation was pleasant, careful. Vaelen asked about Aliyah—her favorite games, the books she liked best.
Sarisa answered, her stories making him smile. He told her about his own childhood, the games he'd played in the palace gardens, his dreams of adventure. She listened politely, trying to find a spark, a thread of connection that would light up her heart.
But the spark never came.
They walked the orchard paths, Vaelen pointing out rare blossoms and birds. He told a story about his father's pet hawk, about how it had once saved him from a wild dog. Sarisa smiled, laughed at the right moments, but felt like she was moving through water—slow, distant, insulated.
At one point, Vaelen squeezed her hand, stopping beneath a flowering magnolia.
"Sarisa," he said softly, "I hope you know how much I admire you. Not just for your title, or your beauty, but for your strength. I see how you carry your burdens, and how you care for Aliyah. I hope, in time, you might come to see me as a partner—not just in duty, but in life. I want to make you happy."
His words were gentle, sincere. For a heartbeat, Sarisa wished she could give him what he wanted—to love him, to build something true. She squeezed his hand back, her voice equally soft. "You are kind, Vaelen. And I am grateful for your patience. This… is not easy for me. But I will try."
He smiled, relief flooding his features. "That's all I ask."
The walk continued—gentle, slow, full of sunlight and polite conversation. They listened to the music in the square, watched the children race past. Villagers whispered as they passed, voices full of hope.
When a little girl offered Sarisa a bunch of violets, she bent down to accept them, her heart aching at the innocence, the way the world still believed in happy endings.
Eventually, the carriage was called. Vaelen offered his arm, helping Sarisa inside. The ride back was quiet—comfortable, in its way, but marked by the same distance, the same careful lines neither could quite cross.
As the palace gates came into view, Vaelen reached for her hand again. "Thank you for coming with me today, Sarisa. I hope we can do it again."
She nodded, managing a smile. "Of course. It was nice."
He hesitated, then leaned in—just enough to brush his lips against her cheek. The gesture was soft, chaste, more gratitude than passion.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Vaelen helped her down, his hand steady as ever. They walked up the steps together, the doors swinging open to welcome them back into the world of duty and expectation.
Sarisa glanced back, catching one last glimpse of the sunlit village, the gentle music, the hopeful faces. She wondered if anyone there had seen through her mask—if anyone had noticed the way her smile faltered, the way her eyes searched for something she couldn't name.
Vaelen squeezed her hand. "Rest well, Sarisa."
She nodded, letting her fingers slip from his. "Thank you, Vaelen. It was nice."
And as she walked into the castle, past the guards and courtiers, Sarisa realized the truth of it: It was nice.
But it was not enough.