The new morning brought with it a fragile silence. Damon woke early, the fire in the hearth having long since died down. The sprawling manor was a residence his family kept in the capital, a stark contrast to the rough stone halls of their border fortresses. He dressed in plain, unadorned clothes, the heavy armor of the previous day now just a memory. Isolde lay in the massive bed, her back to him, her small frame curled into a tight ball. He could see the wedding dress draped over a nearby chair, a symbol of the duty she had expected to fulfill and the terror it had brought her.
He left the room quietly, closing the door behind him with care. The household was already bustling, the servants and knights who had accompanied him from the borderlands now moving through the unfamiliar halls. His head servant, an old man named Corwin, met him in the corridor.
"My lord," Corwin said, bowing low. "Your breakfast has been prepared. And Captain Arion is waiting for you in the solar."
"Thank you, Corwin," Damon said, his mind already on his brother. "Is he… well?"
"He is well, my lord. He is, as ever, a man of few words, but his face tells a story of its own."
Damon gave a slight nod. He knew that story. His brother, Arion, was the captain of the Vexin knights. Two years Damon's junior and a fierce warrior in his own right, Arion was his shadow, his right hand, and the one person he could always trust for an honest opinion.
He found his brother in the solar, a small room with windows overlooking a well-kept garden. Arion was a mirror of Damon in some ways—the same dark hair, the same strong jaw—but his face was a little grimmer, his eyes a little harder. He rose as Damon entered, his posture a soldier's rigid stance.
"Damon," Arion said, his voice a low gravel. He didn't bow, a sign of the deep bond between them. "I was expecting a more celebratory mood. Did the king's gift not meet your expectations?"
"The gift was a political maneuver, Arion, nothing more," Damon replied, his voice flat. He poured himself a goblet of water. "How are the men?"
"Content," Arion said with a shrug. "They are happy to have the war behind them and are eager to return home. They do not trust the king's guards, and they chafe at the confines of the city, but their spirits are high." Arion paused, his gaze intense. "But their loyalty is to you. To a man."
Damon met his brother's eyes. "And you?"
"My loyalty is to the House of Vexin, and to you, my brother," Arion said. "I have no intention of ever sitting in this chair. You are the head. I am your sword." Arion's tone was bitter, but not with jealousy. It was the bitterness of a brother seeing his sibling trapped. "But what of this… princess? Is she to be trusted?"
Damon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She is a victim, Arion. A pawn in her brother's game. She is not to be harmed or mistreated in any way. She is under my protection."
"Protection is a fine word for a shackle," Arion muttered, his tone bitter. "The king has you now, tied to his family. We are stronger than ever, and yet… weaker."
Damon knew what he meant. Their military strength was a source of fear for the king, but their financial weakness meant they were always one wrong move away from ruin. Now, with a royal bride and the expenses that came with her, that ruin felt closer than ever.
"We will manage," Damon said, though the words felt hollow. "We always have."
Just then, Isolde's door opened. She emerged from the room, a new, simple blue gown on her frame, provided by a maid Damon had sent to her room. She walked with her head bowed, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes, wide and apprehensive, darting from Damon to his brother.
Arion's gaze, sharp as a drawn sword, fell on her. He didn't offer a bow. He simply looked at her, his expression a mixture of suspicion and cold assessment.
Damon stepped forward, his body moving to shield her, though he knew Arion would never harm her. "Isolde," he said, his voice soft. "This is my brother, Arion. He is the captain of my knights."
Isolde's eyes flickered to Damon, then back to Arion. She gave a small, jerky curtsy, a learned response from a lifetime of court protocol.
"Princess," Arion said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Welcome to the House of Vexin."
Isolde said nothing, her silence a shield against their words and their intentions. She remained by the door, a few feet from them both, her face a mask of careful neutrality. She watched them, her eyes like two dark stones, trying to read the emotions on their faces. Did they truly mean her no harm? Or was this kindness a performance? She had no way of knowing.
Damon could feel her wariness, a thick tension in the air. He turned his attention back to Arion. "Arion, take a few of the men and scout the city. I want to know who is watching us. I want to know where the Sorran guards are posted. Do not be seen."
Arion nodded, a flash of his old self in the way he acknowledged the order. This was a war he understood. He glanced at Isolde one last time, a brief, calculating look, before he left the room.
Damon was left alone with his new bride. He turned to her, offering her a small, gentle smile. "He is a good man, Isolde. He is just… protective."
Isolde finally looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "He is a warrior," she said, her voice still quiet, but with a new, stronger edge. "Just like you."
The words were not an accusation, but a simple statement of fact. Damon knew what she meant. They were all warriors, men of violence and power. And for a woman who had known only cruelty at the hands of powerful men, it was a label that carried with it a terrifying truth.