The morning sun streamed through the high glass panes of Arkenfall Castle, illuminating its vast marble corridors with a soft golden sheen. Tapestries lined the walls—depictions of ancient kings, legendary wars, and the silver wolf sigil of House Dragarth.
Neriah walked quietly beside Kaelith, her steps slow, careful. A long trail of handmaidens followed, their gowns whispering against the floors like murmured secrets. Gwen, at the front of the line, looked like she might burst from excitement at any moment.
"Alright," Kaelith said brightly, her voice echoing off the stone. "Welcome to your first unofficial tour as an almost-queen. We'll start from the eastern wing and move west. Gwen, remind me to avoid the Tower of Ravens—I'm still convinced they hate me."
One of the younger maids giggled.
Neriah smiled but didn't speak right away. Her thoughts were swirling—so many halls, so many expectations.
"Is it always this big?" she asked finally, her voice soft with awe. "This castle?"
Kaelith gave her a mischievous grin. "Oh, this? You've only seen half of it, sweetheart. Arkenfall is less of a castle and more of a city that got tired of being outside."
Neriah blinked. "Gods…"
"Don't worry," Kaelith said. "You'll know your way around. It's just stone. Stone and stories. That's all."
They turned a corner, entering a long corridor flanked by towering suits of armor.
"So," Kaelith added, "it's time to start getting you queen-ready. Officially."
Neriah raised a brow. "I thought marrying the king did that."
Kaelith gave her a knowing smile. "Oh no. You've got Lady Vax to impress. And believe me, Vax of Edravon doesn't crown just anyone. She tests, observes, glares… ticks her little boxes in that terrifying mind of hers. She'll be watching."
"Sounds charming," Neriah murmured.
Kaelith snorted. "She's the Queen Maker. She once told a duchess she wasn't fit to lead her own hairbrush, let alone a kingdom."
Neriah let out a nervous laugh. "No pressure then."
"Oh, tons of pressure," Kaelith teased. "But you'll be fine. Vax likes backbone. And I've seen yours already. You held your head up through an entire ceremony filled with gossiping nobles and hungry-eyed lords. That's worth something."
They passed beneath tall archways and through stained-glass corridors, where golden light fell across tapestries older than any living soul. Kaelith narrated everything — from the old portraits that watched them with judging eyes to the spot where Lord Roran once tripped over a chamberpot and claimed it was a ghost.
"And that, over there, is the gallery where I once caught a suitor trying to paint my portrait without asking." Kaelith smirked. "He called it 'inspiration.' I called it 'trespassing.'"
Neriah giggled despite herself. "And what happened?"
"I had his paints confiscated and gifted to the stables. The horses produced better art."
They stepped through a wide stone arch into the courtyard, where training grounds sprawled under the morning sun. The clang of steel echoed off the walls. Warriors drilled in small units.
Kaelith smiled. "Ah, there he is."
In the open space, Leon stood surrounded by a cluster of guards, dishing out instructions like a general with no time for nonsense. His hair was slightly tousled
His presence commanded respect—sharp, efficient, quick-tongued.
Kaelith's steps slowed.
Leon.
Neriah froze in place.
Leon turned, mid-command, and stopped as well.
Their eyes met across the courtyard — both wide with sudden recognition.
"You…" Neriah breathed.
Leon's brow furrowed. "You."
Kaelith looked between them. "Oh, gods. Did I just walk into a scandal?"
"No!" they both said at once.
"I mean—" Neriah said. "I just…we have met in Halemond."
Leon's face broke into a crooked smile. "You were the girl in the gardens. You told me where to find that strawberry-scented flower."
Neriah grinned. "Yes. You wouldn't stop mumbling about the girl you were bringing the flowers for."
"I did not mumble," Leon muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Kaelith folded her arms. "This gets more interesting by the breath. And you knew not that she was a lady of Halemond? Daughter to Lord Velmorn?"
Leon blinked. "I thought she works at Lord Velmorn's estate."
"And you," Kaelith said, turning to Neriah, "didn't realize you were fetching flowers for a warrior sworn to the King?"
"He just looked like someone in need of help," Neriah said.
"She's still right about that," Kaelith murmured, causing Leon to scoff.
"And did you ever give the flower to the girl?" Neriah asked with innocent mischief.
Leon cleared his throat. "Not quite—"
Kaelith tilted her head. "Well...well"
Leon coughed. Loudly.
Neriah looked between them. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Only enough to write a ballad," Kaelith said, eyes gleaming. "And I shall call it 'The Knight and the Strawberry Bloom.'"
"I should return to the men," Leon said, turning swiftly. "Your Graces."
Kaelith chuckled as he walked off, muttering under his breath.
"That was… strange." Neriah said.
Kaelith grinned. "Strange? No, Leon is such a delight."
*****************
The King's royal study was quieter than Neriah expected — no courtiers, no council members, no distant echo of heralds calling names across marbled halls. Just stone walls, tapestries, tall windows that poured in light like gold, and at the center of it all…
Him.
Damon Dragarth, The Storm Lord, her husband, sat at a long carved table littered with scrolls and seals. He wore no crown. His dark tunic was simple — if anything tailored to his broad frame could be called simple — and his sleeves were rolled past his forearms as he worked. His ink-stained fingers moved quickly, signing a decree with a flick of his wrist.
He did not look up when she entered, but his voice came at once.
"Come in, Riah."
She flinched, slightly. The name again. Soft on his tongue, like something cherished. She obeyed in silence, her hands smoothing her skirts as she stepped further in.
"You summoned me, my lord?"
He finally looked up.
And for a moment — just a moment — his eyes said everything.
"Yes," Damon replied. "Come here."
She walked slowly toward the table, halting a few steps away. He watched her with that unreadable look again, the one that made her chest tighten.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair beside his.
"I hope I haven't done anything wrong," she murmured, lowering herself onto the seat.
"You haven't," he said. "You've been here for a day and I've summoned you for the most kingly of reasons."
She arched a brow. "And what reason is that?"
He leaned back in his chair. "I wanted to look at you."
Neriah blinked. "What?"
"I think I've developed a condition," Damon said with a smile, signing another scroll. "It worsens every time you walk into the room."
A breath of nervous laughter escaped her lips. But she didn't fully relax. Not yet.
He noticed.
"You're still frightened of me."
"I'm not—" she began, then sighed. "Perhaps not frightened. Just… unsure."
He gave a small nod. "Do you know what I want most from you, Riah?"
She shook her head.
"I want to be the one person in this court you don't feel the need to guard yourself against."
That stilled her.
He reached for another scroll but paused. "Tell me what's on your mind."
She hesitated, then..."Everything feels… new. The castle. The court. The people. I feel as though I've been thrown into a grand game where everyone else already knows the rules."
He chuckled low. "Half the court has been playing for decades and still don't know the rules."
"But they pretend to," she said.
"Yes," he said, "that's court. Smoke and mirrors. Velvet words. Poison smiles."
She tilted her head. "That's awfully poetic, coming from you."
"I used to write," he muttered.
"You?" She leaned in, intrigued. "Poems?"
"War reports," he smiled.
She laughed, properly this time. Damon's lips tugged upward.
Then her smile faded.
"Lady Vax of Edravon," she murmured. "They call her the Queen Maker?"
"Yes."
"She's to test me."
He looked up sharply and looked at her, "Who told you that?"
"Kaelith. Gwen. A few others."
He frowned. "The Queen's rite isn't a test, not truly. It's... tradition. A way for the crown to say — this woman is ready."
"But if I fail it…?"
"You won't," he said, voice firm. Then, after a pause, "But if it troubles you, if any part of it becomes too much, I will end it."
Her eyes widened. "You would?"
He nodded once. "With a word."
"But… the court… the nobles—"
"They don't rule me."
"But they might judge me."
He leaned closer, voice softer now. "Let them. You are not a test to be passed. You are my wife — fire-haired and sharp-tongued, and now Queen of BannerLands. If that does not suit them, I'll teach them new manners myself."
Her throat tightened. Something warm swelled in her chest.
He signed another scroll and added with a glance, "Besides, if I'm to lose sleep over you every night, I might as well make it worth the title."
She laughed. "Are you always like this while working?"
"Only with you."
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling despite herself.
"I talk too much?" she asked.
"Gods, yes," he said immediately. "But I'd rather hear your voice than a room full of councilmen."
She flushed.
He returned to his work, writing steadily.
She watched him for a while, the way his brow furrowed when he focused, the way his hand moved with surety. It was strange — how quickly this man, this storm, was beginning to feel like...shelter.
Damon leaned back in his chair, the firelight gilding the angles of his face. He wasn't signing anything now — only watching her. It was maddening, the way he looked at her. Like she was a riddle he enjoyed never quite solving.
"So…" he said, voice velvet-soft. "Tell me. What did you do today, Riah?"
Neriah blinked. "You want to know?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
She smiled, looking down at her hands. "Well… Kaelith took me around the castle. A full tour."
"Ah," he mused. "Did she speak the entire time, or did she grant you three seconds of silence?"
Neriah laughed. "Exactly three. Just as we passed the Eastern stair. I think she paused to breathe."
Damon chuckled. "A rare occurrence."
"It was overwhelming, honestly," she added, her tone softening. "The castle is… vast. I didn't realize how many wings there were. I got lost twice and Kaelith teased me endlessly."
"She teases everyone," Damon said, watching her closely. "If she didn't like you, she'd ignore you entirely."
"Well, then she must adore me," Neriah muttered with mock weariness.
"I do," he said.
The words came so casually, so smoothly, that it took her a heartbeat to register them.
She looked up.
He was smiling faintly, the corner of his mouth lifted, his eyes still locked to hers.
"Wh–what about you?" she asked quickly, needing to look away, to steady herself. "Did you do anything… kingly?"
"I did."
"Like what?"
Damon leaned forward, resting an arm on the table. "I listened to old men shout at each other. Signed thirty-six scrolls. Argued about wheat prices and defense levies. And then I waited until I could summon you."
She blinked. "Truly?"
"Truly."
"That's… actually quite sweet."
"I'm many things," he said, "but sweet is not what people call me."
"Well, I do."
That made him pause — just for a moment. As though her words had slipped past every defense and nestled somewhere beneath his ribs.
Then she frowned a little. "Did you at least eat something?"
"No."
Her mouth dropped slightly. "Nothing?"
"I had warm wine," he offered, as if that counted.
She gave a disapproving hum. "That doesn't count."
"Are you scolding me, Riah?"
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Maybe."
He smirked, leaning his cheek against his knuckles. "It's oddly endearing."
"You can't rule on an empty stomach," she insisted.
"You'd make a terrible general. My enemies would starve me before I ever reached the battlefield."
Neriah looked at him then — truly looked — and found him watching her again, as if he hadn't stopped. That steady gaze, that maddening warmth. Her breath hitched.