The moonlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains of Catherine's chamber, casting soft silver patterns over the canopied bed. Outside, the palace was asleep—save for the quiet footsteps of the guards and the rustling leaves whispering with the wind.
But within the room, one soul was wide awake.
Catherine lay beneath layers of satin and lace, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Her fingers nervously twisted the edge of her sheet as her heart pounded a rhythm too fast for the stillness of midnight.
Tomorrow... I become his wife.
She turned slightly, her mind refusing to settle.
How did I get here?
Her thoughts drifted, not just to the months behind her—but years. To a version of herself that once cowered in dark corners, trapped by chains and hopelessness. A girl with hollow eyes, whose voice had become nothing more than whispers of apology and fear.
Back then, I had no name. No purpose. Just survival. I existed, but I wasn't alive.
And then, she remembered him—the first time she saw Brooklyn.
Not as the man he is now, not even as the Duke—but as the stranger who walked through that enemy fortress, sword drawn and fire in his eyes. The one who looked at her—not with pity, not even with curiosity—but with something terrifyingly unfamiliar:
Respect.
He didn't flinch when he saw her. He didn't look away when she begged him not to be cruel. He had stared at her like she was worth saving.
She bit her lower lip.
I had nothing to offer him. Nothing. Just a bruised body and a soul fraying at the edges. Yet he carried me from that basement as if I were something precious.
Then came the healing. The quiet days of pain and recovery. Of stolen glances and hesitant touches. Of his silence that always held more meaning than a thousand words.
He didn't save me with grand speeches. He saved me by standing beside me when I couldn't stand at all.
Catherine smiled faintly, brushing away a tear that trailed to her ear.
And now here I am... in this golden palace, no chains, no leashes...
But love. And choices. And a crown that doesn't terrify me, because it will sit beside his.
She sat up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest. The stars above glittered like the jewels she would wear tomorrow, but none of them sparkled as brightly as the moment she first heard him say "Don't be broken, please."
He never asked her to become someone else. He had loved the girl she was—trembling, shattered—and helped her become the woman she was meant to be.
And he… he grew too.
She giggled softly.
The cold-hearted Duke who now sneaks into the kitchen for pastries. Who flirts when no one is watching. Who gets jealous of flowers I like more than him.
Who gets on one knee just to ask me to be his forever, when he already had all of me anyway.
Tomorrow she would walk down the aisle not as a survivor of darkness, but as someone who chose joy. Who found light again. Who stood tall despite every effort made to crush her.
Tomorrow, I walk toward him. Not because I need him to save me. But because I love him. And I want to share every sunrise and every storm with him.
Catherine pressed her palm to her heart, her cheeks warm and wet.
I thought I was broken. But maybe I was just waiting to be seen. And he… he saw me.
Her eyes fluttered shut, the excitement still buzzing—but now softened by peace.
Tomorrow, I marry my rainbow.
And for the first time that night, she smiled into her pillow—and finally, sleep found her.
Brooklyn stood at the tall arched window of his chamber, a glass of untouched wine in his hand, the other resting on the cold stone ledge. Outside, the skies were dark velvet and still. No wind. No rain. Just an endless, aching silence broken only by the slow thud of his heart.
I've been through wars. Led armies. Burned castles. Broken bones. I've stared death in the eyes more times than I can count... and yet tonight, I can't sleep.
His amber eyes narrowed slightly.
Because tomorrow... I marry her.
He didn't move. Just breathed.
It doesn't feel real.
His mind took him back—years ago, a different time, a different man.
He had known nothing of softness. Of smiles. Of trust.
My world was made of blades and betrayal. Power meant survival. And affection? That was weakness... until I met her.
The image of her the first day he saw her still haunted him. That dungeon. That stench. That pitiful, trembling figure in torn clothes and iron collars.
I remember wondering why my chest hurt the moment I looked at her. Why I suddenly wanted to slaughter every soul who had laid a hand on her.
She'd begged him then. "Please don't be cruel."
Brooklyn exhaled, his jaw clenched.
I had no intention of being kind either. I didn't know how. All I knew was that she shouldn't be left in that place.
And yet… she changed everything.
He turned from the window, walking toward the dying fire in the hearth.
Day by day, piece by piece... she softened the monster I had become.
The walls he had built to keep others out—she didn't knock them down. She simply waited. And he found himself unlocking the gates, one by one.
I called her fragile once. But I was wrong. She's the strongest person I've ever met. Even when she was shattered, she didn't give in.
Brooklyn sat down in the chair, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames.
They beat her. Starved her. Humiliated her. And still, she never broke. Never became what they wanted her to be. That kind of strength... it terrifies me.
He laughed bitterly.
I was afraid to love her.
What if I hurt her like the others? What if she came to hate me for who I am underneath?
But she hadn't.
She looked at me with those eyes... and said, "You're the reason I smile."
He rubbed his face with one hand, voice low and harsh.
"And now look at me—losing sleep over the thought of not being good enough for her."
He looked down at his hands—hands that had held swords, killed men, ruined dynasties. And now, they would hold her. In a white gown. With trembling fingers. With vows that frightened him more than any war.
She trusts me.
That's what frightens me the most.
But... he had already made his decision.
I'll never betray that trust. Never let her cry again like she once did. Even if it means burning down the world she fears.
Brooklyn's eyes flickered toward the box on the table—the ring already on her finger now. He had slipped it on days ago, but tonight, it felt even more symbolic.
No more war. No more vengeance. Just a future. Ours.
He stood again, the firelight dancing across his tired features.
I didn't think love was for men like me. I didn't think peace was possible.
But she...
He closed his eyes.
She made a tyrant into a man. She made a beast into something human.
And tomorrow, I get to call her my wife.
Brooklyn finally smiled—slow, faint, but real. Then, setting the untouched wine aside, he made his way to bed, whispering beneath his breath,
"I'll make you happy. Even if it kills me."
It was a morning like no other.
The skies above Faolinshire stretched wide and clear, painted in a brilliant blue untouched by clouds. Bells rang from the palace towers and across the town square, their echoes reaching fields and forests and every ear that had long waited for this day. The people of the kingdom had gathered in thousands—peasants, nobles, soldiers, even foreign delegates. The streets were lined with rose petals and silken ribbons. From balconies, children waved tiny flags, and old men wiped tears from their weathered faces.
The capital had turned into a realm of celebration—for today, Duke Brooklyn Harperwood would marry the woman who had survived hell to win his heart.
And the kingdom rejoiced.
Inside the palace, a thousand candles were lit. Sunlight spilled through the great stained-glass windows of the Grand Hall, casting vibrant colors across polished marble and golden tapestries. Musicians lined both sides of the grand aisle, harps and violins tuned to perfection, awaiting the moment to fill the air with their melody.
The throne room had been converted into the wedding hall, draped in deep crimson and ivory hues, roses winding around the pillars, the royal crest of Faolinshire shimmering behind the altar. Guests were already seated, whispering and watching, hearts thudding as the minutes drew closer.
George and Marliana, the King and Queen no more after passing their titles, sat in front, regal and proud. Their expressions unreadable, but their eyes never left their son.
Brooklyn stood at the altar, tall and solemn in a deep black ceremonial suit trimmed with silver and gold. A crimson sash lay over his shoulder—the symbol of his dukedom. But for once, his usual cold stoicism had been replaced by something quieter, softer. A spark in his amber eyes. A tremor in his hands he quickly hid behind his back.
Sebastian stood beside him, uncharacteristically composed, though his smirk remained.
"You look like you're going to faint," Sebastian murmured.
Brooklyn shot him a look. "Shut up."
Sebastian chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall. And then marry her myself."
Brooklyn nearly growled—but then the music began.
Everyone rose.
From the marble arch, she stepped in—Catherine.
Dressed in white silk and lace that shimmered like stardust. Her long scarlet-blonde hair was braided with pearls and fresh lilies, her jet-green eyes glowing with a kind of warmth that could melt mountains. She walked slowly, arm in arm with Luciane, whose eyes were already misty.
Every step she took left behind rose petals. Every breath she drew silenced the room.
Brooklyn didn't blink.
He had seen her in pain, in chains, in blood and bruises. But never like this—glowing with life, reborn from ashes into someone beautiful beyond his dreams.
She reached him. Their eyes met.
The world fell away.
The ceremony began, words echoing across the hall—sacred vows, ancient blessings, promises exchanged not only between them but in the hearts of every soul present.
Brooklyn's voice was steady but low when he said, "I pledge to protect you, honor you, and never let the world touch you with cruelty again."
Catherine's voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. "I pledge to stand with you, even in storms. To never forget the man who gave me hope... and my heart."
The rings were exchanged.
A kiss sealed their fate.
The hall erupted in applause, cheers, whistles. Petals rained from the ceilings as musicians struck a triumphant symphony.
Brooklyn turned to her, whispered against her temple, "You're mine now."
She smiled against his chest, whispering back, "I always was."
And outside, in every street, field, and village of the kingdom, celebrations burst to life. Fireworks painted the daylight sky. Dances erupted in the town square. Toasts were raised in every tavern and courtyard.
Faolinshire sang the song of its new King and Queen—not born from convenience or alliance, but carved from suffering and healed by love.
A new era had begun.
The palace had never seen such splendor.
The coronation ceremony that followed the royal wedding was an event woven with history and future in equal threads. Banners bearing the royal crest fluttered from towers. Knights stood guard in pristine formation along the golden carpet that led through the palace courtyard and into the newly renovated Royal Hall.
Here, a throne of obsidian and ivory awaited its new rulers.
The sacred Book of Oaths had been placed open atop a pedestal. The twin crowns—one of silver etched with hawthorn leaves, the other of gold woven with tiny rubies—rested on crimson velvet.
Trumpets sounded.
The crowd inside the hall, a sea of nobles, generals, diplomats, and citizens handpicked to witness the moment, turned in reverent silence as the royal couple approached.
Brooklyn walked in, head held high, clothed in a deep navy mantle embroidered with black feathers—a nod to Faolinshire's symbol. His amber eyes, sharp and steady, scanned the crowd without a hint of hesitation. His steps were slow, measured, kingly.
Beside him, Catherine shone brighter than any gemstone. Her gown, this time a royal shade of dusk rose, trailed behind her like dawn dragging itself over a battlefield. Her hair was tied up in braided rings, her expression calm but unmistakably proud.
Not the girl who had once trembled in chains—but the queen who had survived.
As they stood before the altar, the High Priest began the sacred rites.
Oaths were spoken.
Catherine, clear-voiced, vowed to uphold the honor of the throne and defend her people as her own blood.
Brooklyn swore with fire in his tone—to bring justice, to rule with reason, and to never allow tyranny to fester in the kingdom he now called his own.
And then the crowns were placed.
First on Brooklyn's head—then on Catherine's.
The crowd erupted into cries of devotion.
"Long live King Brooklyn! Long live Queen Catherine!"
In the far corner of the great hall, Luciane leaned against a marble pillar, watching with crossed arms and a soft smile playing at her lips.
"I swear," she murmured, "he really does look the part."
Sebastian, standing beside her with a goblet already in hand, chuckled, "You sound surprised."
Luciane turned her head lazily. "Not surprised. Just… observing. Brooklyn's a good husband. Drinks less wine, looks like a grown-up king." She glanced pointedly at Sebastian's cup. "Unlike some husbands I could name, who practically bleed wine."
Sebastian raised a brow, smirking. "Oh? But you married me for my impeccable drinking stamina. You just didn't know it came with lifetime refills."
Luciane rolled her eyes. "I married you because I lost a bet, probably."
"Hmm. You married me because of my smile."
"I married you because you shut up when I told you to."
Sebastian grinned, took a long sip, and said, "And yet, you're still standing beside me."
They both looked forward again.
Brooklyn and Catherine now sat upon the thrones of Faolinshire—regal, composed, but still clasping each other's hands in quiet intimacy.
The music swelled. The celebration moved forward. Guests lined up for their turn to kneel, to offer gifts, to give blessings.
Yet for the few who had known the full story—who had seen Catherine chained in darkness, and Brooklyn drowning in his own bitterness—this moment held a deeper weight. A coronation not just of royalty, but of redemption.
Luciane sighed, folding her arms under her chest.
"Well," she said softly, "they made it."
Sebastian nodded. "They did. And the kingdom's better for it."
Then, raising his goblet toward the thrones, he added with a wry grin, "To our wine-sipping king and his fire-hearted queen."
Luciane clinked her glass against his with a reluctant chuckle.
"To balance."
And the halls of Faolinshire rang with joy.
The castle lay quiet under a velvet night sky.
The festivities had long faded into silence, lanterns flickered low in the distant corridors, and the world outside their chamber stood still—like the kingdom itself had paused to give them this moment.
Their bedroom, now the royal quarters, was touched with the silver hue of moonlight cascading through the high arched window. Soft curtains swayed with the breeze as the fragrance of white lilies from the gardens drifted in.
Catherine stood near the open balcony, wrapped in a sheer robe of ivory silk, her scarlet-blonde hair cascading down her back like molten gold. Her gaze was drawn to the stars, distant but glowing—like the dreams she once thought impossible.
She didn't hear his steps, but she felt his presence before his arms slid gently around her waist.
Brooklyn pulled her back into his chest with quiet strength, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Tired?" he asked softly, voice low with warmth.
"A little," she whispered.
They stood like that for a moment, letting the night hold them.
Then slowly, his fingers traced a line up her arm—light, teasing. A touch that was neither rushed nor hesitant. She shivered slightly, more from the memory than the chill.
"You're doing it again," she said, half-turning her head.
"What?"
"Drawing stars on me like I'm parchment."
He grinned against her skin. "You're better than parchment. You actually respond."
She elbowed him lightly, but he caught her hand, kissed the back of it, then her wrist, then her shoulder.
He turned her gently to face him.
She looked up, those emerald eyes soft and luminous.
His hand came to her cheek, then he leaned down—slowly, like he was trying to memorize every inch of her before their lips finally met.
It was a kiss unlike the ones before. Not hurried, not fiery, but heavy with peace, with promise, with everything they'd endured to reach this moment.
When they parted, he kept his forehead against hers.
"I still wake up afraid sometimes," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "That I'll open my eyes and find myself back there."
"You won't," he whispered, brushing her hair back. "Never again."
"You promise?"
He took her hands, then brought them to his chest—right over his heart.
"I swear, Catherine. For as long as this heart beats… you'll never be alone again. No pain, no chains, no silence. Just us. Always."
Tears shimmered in her eyes. She nodded slowly, then whispered, "Then I promise too. No matter where life takes us, I'll walk it with you."
They stood by the window for a while, wrapped in one another, bathed in moonlight.
Two broken souls once lost in war, now healing, whole, and together.
Not a fairy tale.
Something far rarer—earned joy.
------
Ten years had passed.
The kingdom of Faolinshire stood strong—its skies open and peaceful, its streets safe, its people happy. The scars of the past had faded into memories and songs, told by old men in taverns and young girls chasing legends.
But within the castle walls, the heart of the realm beat gently—its pulse found in laughter, warmth, and love.
In the royal gardens, golden with late afternoon sun, Brooklyn sat back lazily on a carved marble bench, one leg crossed over the other. He was older now—his face held a faint crease near his brows, and a fine scar ran just above his cheekbone. But his amber eyes still burned with that same fire, calmed only by the woman beside him.
Catherine.
Her scarlet-blonde hair was longer now, pinned elegantly with pearls, though a few mischievous strands always escaped. A faint smile curled her lips as she looked out at the rosebushes—her expression unreadable, as always, but her aura softer than ever.
"So," Brooklyn drawled, "you still think I'm more difficult than Sebastian?"
She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head mockingly. "Only on days that end in 'Y'."
He scoffed, feigning injury. "Cruel woman."
"Terrible man," she replied, hiding a grin.
Brooklyn reached over and tugged her braid playfully. "You know, back when I proposed to you, I had a fleeting moment of doubt. Not about marrying you—about surviving you."
"Should've listened to that moment," she quipped. "You poor fool."
They both laughed—quietly, deeply.
Until the doors to the garden burst open.
"Mama! Papa!"
Two figures sprinted down the stone steps—one a little girl in a sea-green dress, her braid bouncing, and the other a boy not more than eight, his brown curls wild and untamed.
Catherine turned at once, rising just in time to catch the girl mid-leap into her arms.
"What is it, Azelie?" she asked, lifting her daughter with a giggle.
"Come see!" the child squealed. "It's a rainbow!"
"And the sky looks like a painting!" added the boy, Lucas, pulling at his father's sleeve. "Come quick!"
Brooklyn groaned dramatically. "Why must you two always ruin my rare peaceful moments?"
"Because you said peace is boring," Lucas replied with a grin that matched his father's.
Catherine extended her hand to him. "Come on, your majesty. Let's go admire your boring kingdom."
He took her hand without a word, stood, and then leaned to whisper in her ear, "Ten years later and you still command me like a general."
She kissed his cheek "Ten Years Later and you still make me blush like those days"
He said "Well then Little kitten, Let's Entertain The Kids"
She Smiled "Sure!"
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