Chapter 15 – Storm's Embrace
The news of the northern watchtower's destruction had rippled through the capital like a poisoned arrow, silent but lethal. In the aftermath, the court buzzed with speculation, while Aurelia moved with the calm of someone who had seen the storm long before it struck.
Rain painted the windows of her study. Outside, the palace seemed to hold its breath.
"You're not hesitating," Serion said.
Aurelia stood in front of a map sprawled over her desk, eyes fixed on the border markings. Her voice was low. "I can't afford to."
Serion stepped closer. "You intend to lead the campaign north yourself."
"I already said I would. The council may debate, but my resolve is not theirs to sway."
He studied her for a long moment. "You're making it very hard for me to pretend you're just another piece on this board."
She looked at him, eyes sharp. "Then stop pretending."
That evening, a private court session was held. Only selected members of the High Council were present, and yet, the weight of the decision hung heavier than any public decree.
Serion addressed the chamber. "Lady Aurelia has proposed to lead an expedition north."
Lady Cyrene Vortalis arched an eyebrow. "Bravery, or a death wish?"
"Survival," Aurelia replied coldly. "We either show strength or invite war to our doorsteps."
Whispers filled the hall. Lord Thalien Corven tapped his ring against the wood of his chair, gaze unreadable. Verena Althaea remained silent, but her fingers twisted the stem of her goblet.
Serion spoke again. "If she is to ride as our vanguard, then let it be not as a rogue noble... but as the crown's chosen."
The silence was absolute.
He turned to Aurelia. "Marry me."
Gasps erupted. Even Aurelia blinked.
He continued, voice unwavering. "Let the court see our unity. Let the kingdom see that we ride not in pieces, but as one."
They wed under torchlight.
There was no music. No celebration. Just a ceremony—bare, cold, and watched by those who understood what it meant. Power, aligned. Danger, barely contained.
Serion held her hand like a man grasping for hope, but Aurelia's fingers were steel.
As they left the sanctum, a servant approached Aurelia with a sealed letter. She recognized the mark instantly.
Caelum.
She opened it in silence.
If you're going alone, I'll find you. Not as a knight. As myself.
She folded the letter carefully. Her new husband stood a few steps ahead, speaking with a lord.
She didn't look at Serion.
But in her chest, something ached.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
Just longing.
Late that night, in her chamber, Serion entered quietly. He did not speak.
He simply looked at her.
"I know why you did it," he said at last. "But let me be more than a symbol."
Aurelia didn't answer immediately. Then she said, "Symbols don't bleed. But people do."
He approached, slowly. "Then let me bleed for you."
He kissed her. Not with lust. Not even with love.
But with desperation.
And for the first time, Aurelia didn't push him away.
She let him believe. Let him hope.
Because hope, too, was a weapon.
And she needed every blade she could wield.