Darian
The palace corridors were already alive with quiet urgency as I made my way toward the dining hall, the faint scent of polished stone and beeswax drifting under the high vaulted ceilings. Servants moved with discreet precision, carrying trays of silverware, steaming urns of tea, and platters of delicate fruits. Every detail demanded attention, yet my mind wandered, as it inevitably did, toward the morning's delicate arrangement: the ball, the formal presentation of my queen, and the woman herself, who had now been with us barely a day.
As I approached the dining hall, the doors opened to a scene of familial domesticity I rarely permitted myself to observe. There, seated at the long mahogany table, were my younger brother Alexander and his wife Fiona, their laughter soft yet genuine, weaving through the stately room. Across from them sat Elowen Ashbourne, composed and demure, her posture impeccably upright, hands folded lightly in her lap, gloved fingers brushing the edge of the table. Her gaze, though calm, flickered with a quiet excitement—Fiona had already shown her the private gardens, and the conversation seemed to have left her delighted with the serenity and beauty she had found there.
Alexander looked up as I entered, his smile polite, measured, and entirely without the weight of kingship. "Brother," he said, inclining his head, "you are early. The kitchens assure me the first service will be ready shortly."
Fiona rose slightly, curtsying her hands together, eyes alight. "Your Majesty," she greeted warmly, "Elowen and I took a stroll through the gardens this morning. And I am pleased to say, I have found the perfect attire for her for tonight's ball. It is both traditional and befitting her elegance."
I inclined my head once, acknowledging her without breaking my composure. My gaze fell briefly on Elowen. She had allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smile to touch her lips at Fiona's words, a subtle acknowledgment of delight that nonetheless preserved the dignified composure I expected. She had already begun to understand the rhythms of this household, the ease with which one might move through its rituals without losing oneself entirely.
"Indeed," I said, my voice even, controlled. "You will have time to prepare, and every detail will be attended to. The ball must proceed without flaw. Every eye will be upon us, and particularly upon our queen."
Elowen inclined her head, subtle, graceful, and calm, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed the tiniest spark of emotion. "I shall do my utmost to respect your guidance, Your Majesty," she murmured.
I allowed a slow, measured nod, then stepped further into the hall. Every detail of this morning was observed—the fine porcelain cups, the glint of polished silver, the muted light upon the tall windows, the way her hair caught it just so—and I committed it all to memory. Soon enough, the entire court would bear witness to her presence, and I would see, in every gesture and glance, whether she could bear the weight of such scrutiny.
My eyes lingered on her one last moment before duty demanded I move on. Orders awaited my attention; stewards, musicians, and heralds all required final confirmation. Yet even as I turned, the image of her—graceful, composed, and disarmingly alive—remained, threading through my thoughts. The ball would be tonight. Every arrangement had been finalized. And in a few hours, all of Valmora would see the queen I had chosen.
The ballroom doors swung open, and my gaze fell upon her first, yet the moment was eclipsed by the sight of my own reflection in the polished marble—a king in his full ceremonial, warrior-like regalia, prepared to claim the night.
I wore a harness of tanned leather crossing my broad chest diagonally, embossed with motifs of northern beasts: wolves, stags, and bears, each symbolizing the strength and cunning of my people. Fur trimmed the shoulders, soft yet commanding, a relic of northern hunts, and a heavy belt of layered leather and braided cords encircled my waist, cinching the loose-fitting trousers that fell to my boots with precise folds. Every fold, every strap, carried both utility and show—signaling the power of a ruler who could command armies yet entertain a court. On my wrists, thick bracers of embossed metal caught the flickering candlelight, engraved with scenes of battles past, a subtle reminder of victories that had defined my reign.
She moved then, a vision in contrast yet harmony with my own wild regalia. Her gown shimmered like a cascade of twilight stars. The top, fashioned almost like a crop, clung elegantly to her form, embroidered with delicate silver floral patterns that traced the line of her shoulders and collarbone. The silk beneath was sheer, almost translucent, flowing in layers that hinted at the curve of her waist and hips while maintaining the decorum of a queen. The built-in skirt moved fluidly with each step, the royal purple fabric catching the light with every turn. It was audacious and regal all at once—a display of feminine power and beauty meant to dazzle as much as it concealed.
A jeweled belt encircled her waist, cinching the layers of silk and adding weight to the gown so it moved like water rather than wind-blown fabric. Her hair, arranged by Fiona into a soft crown of braids and jewels, sparkled with every step, and the faint scent of lavender and rose followed her into the room. She was royalty incarnate, but there was a vitality, a presence that commanded more than deference—it demanded awe.
As she approached, I noted the subtle contrast between us: my bare-chested, fur-lined armor exuding primal strength, hers shimmering with refined elegance and subtle daring. Where I was the wild north made flesh, she was the civilized court made exquisite. And yet, together, we were undeniable—a harmony of ferocity and grace, power and beauty, strength and delicacy.
The moment stretched, unspoken and electric. Her gaze swept over the assembly, yet returned to me, steady and fearless, acknowledging the bond our positions now demanded, even before ceremony or law had claimed her title. The court bowed instinctively, but my eyes never left hers. Every detail—the strap of my harness, the burnished leather of my belt, the sway of her sheer skirts, the sparkle of her jewels—etched itself into memory.
Even as we walked side by side toward the center of the ballroom, the weight of tradition and expectation pressed around us. And yet, beneath the glittering chandeliers and the hush of the assembled nobility, we carried a presence that was wholly ours—untamed, royal, and profoundly alive.
The moment the music swelled, I claimed her hand as if it had been mine from the beginning of time. My queen. My Elowen. She looked at me with those eyes that stripped me bare, eyes that could undo even a man forged in blood and war.
Her skin was warm beneath my palm as I set my hand at her waist, guiding her into the rhythm of the dance. The silk and shimmer of her attire brushed against me like fire and temptation, every step dragging me closer to the edge of control. I was not a man made for such restraint, not when she stood before me clothed in starlight and royal fire, her scent flooding my lungs.
The world blurred — Fiona's laughter, Alexander's voice, the echo of the court's applause — none of it existed. It was only her. Her pulse beneath my touch. Her breath feathering against my lips when we drew too near.
She smiled, soft and deadly, and I nearly lost myself right there in the middle of the ballroom. My queen was breathtaking, yes — but she was more than that. She was ruin. She was salvation.
And as I led her through the steps, my jaw clenched, my grip tightened ever so slightly, and I prayed no one saw the hunger burning in my gaze. Because the truth was simple: this dance was mine. She was mine. And if I let go for even a heartbeat, the kingdom itself might crumble beneath the weight of what I wanted to do.
As the final notes of the music faded, I slowed our steps, my hand reluctant to leave the curve of her back. Guiding Elowen away from the centre, I felt the lingering warmth of her hand in mine, a tether I wasn't ready to break.
Almost instantly, the crowd's attention shifted. My brother, Alexander, swept Fiona onto the floor with all the confidence and ease of a man born for an audience. They moved as if they had rehearsed every step—the room alive with whispers and admiration at their grace.
I stood at the edge with Elowen, watching them claim the spotlight. For once, I was glad. Their presence drew every pair of eyes, granting us a fragile pocket of quiet in the chaos of the celebration.
I glanced at her then, the way the light caught the soft curve of her face, the way her breath still rose a little quicker from our dance. The hall might have been full of people, but for me, it was only her.
I never thought I'd fall for her so soon.
The music fell silent, replaced by a hushed expectancy that seemed to ripple across the hall. Rusty stood tall at the centre, his voice carrying over the gathered lords, ladies, and dignitaries.
"By the will of the crown, and the blessing of the realm,"The high priest began, his words steeped in the weight of tradition, "it is time to unveil the one who shall stand at His Majesty's side—not only as consort, but as Queen."
A shiver coursed through me. The word Queen rang against the marble walls, sharp and undeniable. My gaze slid to Elowen, standing just a step behind me, her gown catching the candlelight in glimmers of gold and ivory. She looked every inch the sovereign, though I could see the rise and fall of her breath, the nerves hidden behind her poise.
I extended my hand to her. She placed hers atop mine, fingers delicate, yet steady.
Rusty lifted a velvet-draped circlet that shimmered with the crest of our house. "The crown is not merely a jewel," he intoned, "but a bond—between ruler and realm, between King and Queen."
At that, the attendants pulled aside the silk veil that hung before the dais, revealing Elowen fully to the hall. Gasps rose, followed by the swelling sound of applause, reverence bowing heads in unison.
I leaned closer to her, my words meant for her ears alone. "They see you now, Elowen—not as a mystery, but as their Queen."
Her eyes flicked up to mine, luminous and unyielding, and for the briefest moment, the world narrowed to just the two of us.