Aethelgard buzzed with anticipation as the sun rose to its peak, but nowhere was it more alive than within the heart of the empire—the imperial palace, where the rune ceremony would soon unfold.
Held once every five years, the rune ceremony brought together noble families from across the realm. Some came as betrothed pairs seeking their engagement bands. Others, bound by arranged matches, came to sanctify their unions. But some awaited the outcome of the fate rune—the oldest and most revered of traditions, where the rune would choose one's destined match.
The palace, a majestic structure of gleaming white stone and crystalline windows, towered over the capital like a sentinel. Its spires shimmered with enchantments, and the grand courtyard—the chosen venue—was undergoing its final transformation.
Palace servants and royal mages moved in practiced harmony, their movements as precise as clockwork.
Dozens of crystal lanterns floated mid-air, bobbing gently as they aligned into arcs above the courtyard's marble dais. Each lantern pulsed with a soft azure glow, attuned to the magical currents running through the palace wards. By twilight, they would blaze brighter, illuminating the ancient platform inscribed with glyphs of fate.
Near the center, court magisters hovered over the ceremonial rune circle, weaving glowing sigils into the stone. Arcane lines spiraled outward like frost on glass, forming the sacred seal—one that only responded to true connection: love or destiny.
"Careful with the curvature," one elder magister warned. "The rune reacts poorly to flawed symmetry."
Imperial banners flanked the open columns, deep indigo silk stitched with the empire's crest—three entwined swords circling a golden sun. Reserved only for events of imperial magnitude.
Along the walkways, enchanted carpets unfurled beneath swift-moving servants. Florists from the royal gardens arranged blossoms of everbloom lilies and sunwept asters—symbols of clarity and divine will.
Scribes positioned themselves at the four cardinal points, ready to inscribe names and outcomes. Everything had to be flawless. No misstep. Not with the three princes present.
The empress's handmaidens moved silently through the inner halls, their coordination exact. The rune would not be forgiving of scandal—not this year.
Across the courtyard, palace guards stood in formation, adorned in ceremonial armor edged in cobalt and gold. Their halberds gleamed in the sun, each soldier handpicked for loyalty and silence.
Yet despite the grandeur, unease whispered through the palace.
"They say the third prince is returning…"
"The cursed one? I thought he was only a rumor."
"Careful—do you want to be silenced?"
"And Lady Vellore…? She dares to stand before the fate rune?"
"She hasn't stepped foot in the palace since her parents vanished. Not even while studying at the Royal Academy."
Whispers swirled like restless spirits beneath archways and behind silk curtains.
The Rune Ceremony was absolute—beyond wealth, beyond blood. It had rejected kings, and once united a knight with a duchess. Its decision—or its silence—would echo through the empire.
As the final glyph sealed itself with a glow, stillness settled over the courtyard. The air held its breath.
The empire watched. And somewhere beyond the palace gates… fate stirred.
---
A group of handmaidens made their way down the quiet corridors and stopped before a tall oak door where the empress's secretary, Hanna, awaited them.
The lead maid stepped forward and bowed. "Preparations are complete, Your Excellency."
Hanna nodded. "Good. Go now and ready Her Majesty's wardrobe."
As they disappeared down the corridor, Hanna turned and reentered the chamber, signaled by the subtle blooming of enchanted paper flowers on the hall's archway—a quiet mark of completion.
---
Sunlight filtered softly through tall windows, casting golden hues over a chamber of quiet elegance. Silk drapes shimmered in pale orchid and cream. Vases of winter roses stood on carved ebony shelves. A harp rested in the corner, untouched yet lovingly maintained. The scent of lavender and old parchment lingered faintly in the air.
Empress Seraphina sat by the latticed windows, a porcelain teacup in her hand, her lavender brocade gown trailing softly across the floor. Her posture was graceful, but her eyes were distant—measured.
Hanna entered with a quiet bow, holding a scroll case. "Envoys from Sylvalis and Caelith will arrive shortly. The ceremonial grounds are ready."
The empress gave a slight nod. "And the Vellore House?"
"They'll arrive by sundown. Lady Aveline is traveling with her assistant."
At that, a flicker of fondness crossed the empress's face—tempered by something more thoughtful. "So the real ceremony begins," she murmured, returning to her desk by the window. "Has she confirmed her method?"
"She has chosen the fate rune. As you predicted."
Seraphina smiled faintly. "Selena's daughter indeed. She never would've bowed to an old pact."
Hanna hesitated. "Some within the court believe Lady Aveline's presence… risks stirring unrest."
The empress set her teacup down with a soft clink.
"Let them whisper. The Vellores have protected this realm since before most houses were founded. They forget that it was Vellore steel and frost magic that held the line during the Black Rebellion."
She rose, walking slowly toward the window. "They forget where she comes from."
Aveline's mother, Selena Vale of Eldovor, hailed from the northern dominion known for its water and ice magic and arcane traditions—where scholars and warriors alike respected silence and strength. Her father, Alexander Vellore, bore the blood of the Lysandrian coast—diplomatic, silver-tongued, masters of water and trade.
"Eldovor and Lysandria both—ice and tide. That girl carries two legacies this court barely understands," the empress said quietly.
"She was raised far from court even before the disappearance," Hanna said gently.
"And yet she returns to Aethelgard of her own will." Seraphina's voice held pride. "She has nothing to prove. The rune will speak."
Another pause, then Hanna asked in a lower tone, "And the third prince… will he truly come?"
The empress's gaze sharpened. "He will. Whether he wishes to or not."
"He hasn't been seen publicly since—"
"Since he was hidden, to protect the throne," Seraphina finished, her voice firm.
"They say it's strange. After all these years, summoned now—like a pawn."
The empress's lips thinned. "It was no accident. The Emperor made a vow—to Kael's real parents—that he'd be raised with the rights of a prince. But a cage lined with silk is still a cage."
She walked to the window, where house banners now fluttered in the wind, signaling the arrival of noble families from every kingdom.
"The nobles are arriving quicker than expected," Hanna observed.
"Then summon both consorts. I'll speak with them before the ceremony. And ready my bath," the empress said.
"It's already arranged," Hanna replied.
As the bells rang out again across the palace, the empress's eyes narrowed toward the gathering dusk.
Outside, fate waited—quiet, watching, inevitable.
...