The words hung in the air like a fragile thread, trembling yet unbroken.
"You're my son." Aurelia whispered, almost dazed,her voice was soft, trembling with a mixture of disbelief and tenderness.
Her lips parting around the words as though they had slipped free of their own accord
She had spoken without thought, her heart ahead of her reason, her soul reaching out where her mind still hesitated.
Valeric's lips curved into that adoring, bright, and startling innocent smile. The sort of smile only a child could wear, that lit his sharp Stormborne features.
For a moment, the storm in his eyes softened, Yet in that innocence lay a glimmer of something unspoken, something that brushed against the edge of fate.
And he leaned closer as if to drink in her warmth.
"Yes," he said softly, his voice warm, assured, unshaken by the weight of her claim. "I am your son."
The words slipped from him like a secret vow. Aurelia's heart fluttered, startled, but comforted.
She thought he spoke because she had married his father and she now bore the title of his stepmother.
She thought it was her new role he acknowledged, as a mother and her place in the Stormborne line.
A flush warmed her cheeks, and she smoothed his hair gently, a tender smile breaking across her own lips.
But Valeric said nothing more. He let her think that. He offered no correction, only that radiant smile, leaving her to drown in the sweetness of an illusion he had carefully allowed.
His secret tucked safely behind that boyish smile, but Aurelia, lost in her thoughts, failed to notice.
The hall of the High Citadel buzzed with life. Incense curled through the air, mingling with the fragrance of wildstorm flowers draped along the pillars.
The stormcloud sky outside had broken at last, shafts of silver light falling through the high arched windows, as though the heavens themselves had bent to witness this union.
Lord Valerian Stormborne, warden of Valkoron, had taken Lady Aurelia Flameborne as wife. And with that vow, storm and flame were bound in blood and oath.
The nobles gathered along the length of the grand hall shifted like restless waves, their jeweled garments catching the light.
Voices rose in speculation, admiration, and in whispers that carried both praise and unease.
At the head of the gathering, the Calestarch Orien Valehart lifted his staff, its crest glimmering with inlaid moonstone.
His deep voice rolled like distant thunder, silencing the sea of murmurs.
"With this union, the House of Storm and the House of Flame are bound as one.
By oath and by blood, let peace endure, for the good of the people and the realms beyond."
A cheer rippled through the crowd, though not all faces were smiling.
Some lords applauded out of duty, others with concealed tension, as though uncertain of what storm might follow this newfound flame.
Lord Azarion Flameborne stood slightly apart, his tall frame rigid, his hawk-like eyes shadowed with thought.
He had watched it all unfold and he wasn't happy.
Aurelia's hand slipping into Valerian's, the vow spoken before gods and men. And though his face was composed, within him burned a restless fire.
This was not what he had wanted.
He had hoped .... no, he had planned ... for Aurelia to be given to the Northern Lord, Neris Winterbourne.
Where ties of blood would tether prophecy to his house. For if the child born of her line turned out to be the one spoken of in the old prophecy, the chosen flame of destiny, he would have had claim.
A stake in the future, secured by alliance. The child would be within his grasp, his claim.
But with Valerian Stormborne in the picture… Azarion's jaw tightened. He could not contend with him.
A single spark from lightning was enough to ignite fire .... and once storm and flame joined, there would be no breaking them apart.
Valerian Stormborne had turned the tide, and Azarion knew it.
The hall stirred as High Councilor Serathis Durn stepped forward, his silvered robes gleaming under the torchlight. His voice rang clear and measured, cutting through the silence.
"On behalf of the council, I offer blessings to the union of Lord Valerian Stormborne and Lady Aurelia. May the bond of storm and flame endure, binding two great houses as one."
"Lord Azarion."
The voice of High Councilor Serathis Durn broke through Azarion's thoughts. The man approached with a knowing smile, his heavy robes brushing the marble floor.
His eyes glimmered with a diplomat's craft, weighing every reaction, every flicker of expression.
"Congratulations are in order," Serathis said smoothly, inclining his head.
"Your daughters have both found lords worthy of their station. One wedded to the North, the other to the East. Few fathers may boast of such fortune."
Azarion forced a thin smile. "Fortune, perhaps," he said, though his tone carried the weight of resignation more than triumph.
Serathis's gaze sharpened, though his smile never faltered.
"A rare thing indeed, when fire warms both north and east. It seems destiny favors your house, Lord Flameborne. Rejoice in it, for not all men may claim such a gift."
Azarion inclined his head, but his thoughts remained elsewhere.
Destiny. Prophecy. Words that once felt like promises now curled like chains around his chest.
Azarion inclined his head, but his smile was thin, sharp at the edges. Inside, bitterness coiled.
He was not blind to the implication. His daughter's hand had given him ties to power, yes, but not in the direction he had wished.
It was a wall. A wall against him.
"The Calestarch, Orien Valehart, rose then, his deep voice carrying over the assembly.
"The trial is concluded. The marriage is sealed. Let Caelmont bear witness this day, not only to vows spoken but to peace preserved.
Stormborne and Flameborne stand united, so does winterbourne and the realm shall rejoice."
His hands lifted, commanding the hall.
"Now, let us turn our hearts toward celebration.
The solstice festival awaits, where not only lords and councilors, but every soul of Caelmont may lift their voice in joy.
Let music sound, let torches burn bright, for the gods themselves look upon this day."
The people erupted in cheers, their voices rolling like thunder against the stone walls.
Musicians struck up a lively tune, and servants moved quickly to prepare the feast. Aurelia stood amid it all, her hand still resting on Vaelric's shoulder, her eyes seeking her new husband.
Valerian's gaze found hers across the hall...storm-gray eyes steady, unreadable, yet pulling her in as though the tempest itself had claimed her.
And behind her skirts, Vaelric's small hand curled tighter, smiling his youthful smile, so adoring, so disarming ... met her gaze and said nothing.
His secret burning quiet and bright. He would let her believe what she wished.
For storms had a way of hiding their truest strikes until the moment they chose to break.