Rhyssand groaned as the sunlight pierced through the curtains of his chambers. How was it brighter down here than in heaven? He turned over, burying his face in the pillow, but there was no escaping the relentless pounding in his head. But the smell of his… soon-to-be wife made it all worth it.
"Good morning, celestial."
Rhyssand cracked one golden eye open to find Arthur standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered across his face.
"Why are you here?" He mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"To make sure you are alive," Arthur replied. "And to remind you that if you screw this up, Father will probably kill you. Or worse, keep you alive just long enough to pluck every…last… feather." He tilted his head, "Like a chicken; To the slaughter."
Rhyssand cut him off with another groan, sitting up slowly. His wings ruffled behind him as he rubbed his temples. "Well, your father should've warned me about the strength of Pendragon wine."
"He wouldn't," Arthur said with a smirk. "It was another test."
"How many—"
"No one knows. Best advice is to learn as you go and take notes."
Rhyssand chuckled weakly, shaking his head. "Noted. Now, if you don't mind, I need 5 more minutes of sleep, then prepare to marry your sister and somehow look like I wasn't just run over by a celestial chariot."
Arthur clapped his hands together, looking all too pleased, "Good luck with that. The ceremony starts in an hour."
"WHAT–"
Artizea stood in her chambers, the morning sunlight dancing across her ornate gown.
The fabric, spun from threads of gold and adorned with jewels from her father's treasury, clung to her form with regal elegance.
Her hair, now grown past her shoulders, was silky smooth.
Elaine worked with careful precision, pinning the last jewel into place. "You look like a goddess," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.
Artizea smiled at her younger sister in the reflection of the mirror. "I am marrying the king of heaven. I suppose I should try to look the stunning part."
"Stunning doesn't even begin to cover it," Arthuria said, stepping back to take in her daughter. Her expression softened, pride and love shimmering in her eyes.
"You are radiant, Artizea. Your father will cry,"
Artizea laughed softly, her fingers brushing against the sapphire diamond earrings that her mother had gifted her for something blue. They were the first gift she had ever expected from the king.
"If he can manage to stay upright after last night, I will consider it a miracle."
Elaine raised a brow, grinning. "So I heard. Arthur said something about leaving him in your care until the end of time?"
"Don't remind me," Artizea muttered, shaking her head.
Arthuria stepped closer, adjusting a stray curl and gazing at her daughter with unspoken emotion. "You are ready," she said, her voice steady but laced with emotion.
Artizea nodded, her fingers brushing against each other again. "Thank you, Mama."
Arthuria cupped her daughter's face, a rare tear slipping down her cheek. "You have made us so proud, Artizea. Never forget that."
Elaine pulled them both into a hug, her voice muffled. "We are all going to cry at this rate."
Artizea laughed softly, a sense of calm settling over her. "Let's not keep the men waiting, then."
Elaine leaned closer with a mischievous grin. "I bet Rhys is nervous."
Artizea smirked, her eyes drifting to the window. "Rhys? Nervous? Hardly."
In one of the castle's grand lounges, Rhyssand sat surrounded by Artizea's brothers. His head in his hands.
"Here take this—" Eugene offered a paperback. "You blow into it—"
Rhyssand snatched it, blowing in and out. Though it did little to help. The panic did not budge. Around him, Artizea'sbrothers watched with a mix of entertainment and reluctant sympathy. Arthur, arms crossed, while Eugene fidgeted with the hem of his mage's robes.
"You are about to marry my sister like that?" Arthur finally said, his tone both teasing and pointed.
"Oh, piss off, Arthur—" Rhyssand grunted
Eugene snorted, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, Piss off, Arthur," he said with a pout, then paused in horror.
Arthur rolled his eyes, though a small smirk betrayed his approval. "I could give you the antidode—"
"Antidote…" Eugene corrected.
Arthur shrugged. "Whatever."
Rhyssand lowered the bag. "…Antidote for what…"
Arthur's smirk widened. "Father spiked the wine with Mother's herbs."
"She doesn't label because 'all labels are mortal lies,' Eugene added helpfully, "And also because no one is stupid enough to touch her things."
Arthur gestured at Rhyssand. "Until now.."
"What the fuck…" Rhyssand whispered into the paper bag.
Arthur crouched and placed a wooden box on the low table between them. Inside weretiny vials, all unlabeled. "Here we have 45 antidotes…" he stressed cheerfully. "One of them is the lucky winner."
Rhyssand stared. "And the other forty-four?"
"If you take all 45, your heart will stop," Arthur said.
Rhyssand blinked. "Right… And if I take none?"
"Your heart will also stop." Arthur smiled sweetly. "And yes, it works on celestials."
Eugene sighed sadly. "In father's defense, it is seen to wash away the sins of your former self. Our father means well, but—"
"No, he doesn't," Arthur cut in. "This is purely for his own personal assessment."
Rhyssand exhaled through his teeth. "Let me get this straight. This is a—family tradition…?"
Arthur nodded proudly. "Mother did it to Father. Father survived. So now It is a rite of passage for any foreigner who wants to marry into the Pendragons."
Eugene added under his breath: "But only the men."
Rhyssand leaned back into the couch. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Well then…"He rolled up his sleeves. "Let's get started."
Arthur pointed a stern finger. "No cheating."
Rhyssand snorted. "You have my word."
Eugene clapped him on the shoulder, eyes sparkling with both fear and fondness. "Good. Now hurry up so we can get you married."
Arthur muttered, "Or buried, but—yes. Marrie, Preferably…."
Rhyssand stared at the vials and whispered to himself, "For them," And picked up the first one.
The grand hall was transformed into a stunning venue for the ceremony.
The guests began arriving, their elegant attire and ornate masks creating a vibrant display of color and culture.
Gathering in the Rows of seats lined the marble floor, facing an altar adorned with cascading flowers and celestial crystals that shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows.
For the first time in history, Representatives from each Clan of he human realm mingled with celestial dignitaries, all eager to witness the historic union.
While the ceremony was held on the grand palace overlooking the city of Babaloniya.
At the pinnacle of the ancient structure, an altar was adorned with golden flowers, sacred relics, and twin thrones—one for heaven, one for earth.
The crowd cheered as their crown princess ascended the steps to meet the king.
Her gown shimmered like the stars, her emerald pin glinting against the fabric.
She looked radiant—divine.
When they met, he smiled at her. She beamed
For a moment, Gilgamesh simply stared at his daughter, his golden eyes softening. His throat tightened, and to his surprise, tears welled up in his eyes. "It is not too late," he muttered. "I can cancel all this shit before those doors even open."
Artizea smiled softly. "Father… I love him."
Gilgamesh stared at her, searching for hesitation, for doubt. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, a warm smile blooming on her face. "I am."
He sighed deeply—reluctant, but moved. "Very well…"
She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."
Then she heard it, a Sniffle.
Artizea blinked in surprise, glancing up at her father. "Are you crying?"
Gilgamesh cleared his throat, trying to reclaim his usual regal demeanor. "Nonsense. The air is acting up my sinus ."
Artizea smiled, her hand squeezing his arm. "You don't have sinus issues, Father."
He huffed, " And so I don't." brushing a hand across his cheek. "You have grown into a remarkable woman, Artizea. I am… proud of you. More than words can say. Whatever happens, I just want you to know I am your Dad and you shall always be my little girl—"
He was cut off by a hug from Artizea, "I love you too, Father." Her smile faltered, tears glistening in her own eyes. "Thank you for everything."
When they finally pulled apart, He smiled, motioning for her to take his arm, one last time.
And she did just that.
The grand hall was abuzz with anticipation, the light of countless candles dancing against the golden walls. As they neared, he leaned toward Artizea, his voice low. "I wonder how many bottles it took for him to realize what a real hangover was…"
Artizea stifled a laugh, her nerves settling with her father's dark humor."Ready?" she asked
"Ready."
Music swelled—a celestial chorus, joined by the voices of the local temple priests and breathless anticipation. Down the long aisle, ten children emerged—little boys and girls from the orphanage Artizea had funded after she accidentally burned down part of the city during her transformation. They wore garments in soft gold and white, each holding petals and lanterns. One small boy, wide-eyed and brave, stepped ahead and held out a single flower to the groom.
Rhyssand crouched slightly, his expression gentle. "Thank you," he said with a warm smile, ruffling the boy's dark curls. He tucked the flower into his sleeve like a badge of honor.
When the doors opened, Gilgamesh stood beside Artizea, his arm steadying her as she prepared to walk down the aisle, or the other way around. The music swelled, and all eyes turned toward the entrance. The room seemed to hold its breath as she began her walk down the aisle alongside.
Rhyssand stood waiting at the altar, dressed in ceremonial robes of white and gold, his wings folded neatly behind him, but he met her fiery eyes. They softened as he watched her in awe as she began their walk down the aisle. He felt the tears ready to fall, but if he wished to live to see such happiness, he would keep them in.
When they reached the altar, Gilgamesh turned to Rhyssand. For a moment, the two men locked eyes, a silent exchange passing between them. Finally, Gilgamesh placed Artizea's hand in his gently.
"I have my eyes on you…" He said quietly, though the weight in his voice was unmistakable.
"I know," Rhyssand replied, fighting a smile.
When she reached him, Rhyssand stepped forward. He placed the flower just behind her ear, brushing her hair gently aside. Then took both her hands in his. They turned toward the altar as the high priest stepped forward, and beside him was the celestial scribe of the heavens—two realms represented, side by side, as sacred witnesses to the union.
Gilgamesh smiled as he stepped back from his role as protector, knowing his first child would finally know what he and Arthuria had found in each other. Finally, he retreated to his seat beside Arthuria. As he sat, Arthuria leaned over, a playful smile on her lips. "You cried," she whispered. He groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Treasonous accusations." Arthuria chuckled, slipping her hand into his.
"Today," the priest intoned, voice echoing across the summit of the palace, "We gather beneath the heavens and above the dirt of the earth, to witness the binding of two realms—joined by love, and sealed by destiny."
Rhyssand's gaze never left hers; he found himself lost as to which part of the ceremony they were at until she started to speak her vows.
"I vow, before the highest authority, that I—Artizea Pendragon—shall love you with a fire that does not dim, even when the world tries to smother it. I vow to walk beside you, not behind you, not ahead of you—beside you—through war, ruin, and rebirth. I vow to be your sword when you are unarmed, your shield when you are wounded, and your home when you are lost. And even when the stars forget their light…I will never forget you, for in every universe I have always known you, and you have been my Rhys."
A collective awe swept through the rows.
Arthur rolled his eyes, "You met him last Spring," he muttered under his breath,
"At least her partner wants to marry her." Eugene cut in
Arthur chuckled nervously, "She just needs time."
"If you say so, Big brother," Eugene replied, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Arthur smirked, "At least I'm not virg—"
"Behave…" Gilgamesh rumbled, without even looking at them.
Elaine pressed her fingers to her lips to hide a giggle; at the same time, Arthuria tried and failed to stifle hers.
But before he could speak, something shifted. A pressure. A weight. A presence. It crawled up his spine like a whisper made of iron, dragging his eyes—against all reason—toward the royal dais. There, Gilgamesh sat with his arms crossed, his jaw rigid. Choose your next words very wisely.
Rhyssand's throat tightened. His senses, sharp as they were, did not fail to register the deliberate stillness in the king's body, or the way his finger tapped his arm, like a ticking boom. Beside him, Arthuria calmly laid a hand over her husband's clenched fist. Her fingers curled gently, grounding him.
"Gil," she whispered, leaning in with a barely-there smile, "You are scaring the poor boy."
Gilgamesh did not blink. "Good," he rumbled, eyes still locked on Rhyssand.
Rhyssand inhaled slowly, centering himself once more. He turned back to Artizea, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. "I vow, before all who breathe and all who ever will, that I—Rhyssand Rimat—shall love you in every version of myself that has had the grace to share your air…I vow that when you rise, I will rise. Where you fall, I will be there to catch you. I vow to protect you from all evil, and share with you all that is good in this world," he began again, his voice finding its rhythm. "I vow to walk beside you every day, every hour, every second, even should you not wish me there, I will be there with you—not ahead, not behind. Always at your side. As your king—"
A deliberate grunt echoed from Gilgamesh's direction. A ripple of stifled laughter broke through the tension, including from Artizea.
Rhyssand smiled. "As your equal," he amended with a wink, "I will welcome your challenges. Wait on your defiance. Whether I stand in heaven or on earth, I will always return home, wherever you may be… because you are my home." His voice broke, just slightly. "I love you so much… Artizea. My Artizea."
Arthur made a dramatic gagging noise.
"Is there anyone who may find these two incomparable—" The priest asked
Arthur's hand instantly shot up. Before a single syllable could leave his mouth, Eugene and Elaine lunged like seasoned professionals, each grabbing an arm and dragging him straight to the ground with practiced sibling training. His hand was still awkwardly raised despite being pinned. Rhyssand did not dare look in their direction, for if he did, he would laugh.
"Speak now or forever—" The priest continued.
Artizea gave her family a thin smile that did not reach her eyes. Arthur's hand finally sank to the floor.
"—hold your peace."
Gilgamesh pretended he saw nothing. "Proceed." He simply said.
"Very well, Do you, Artizea Pendragon, take this man to be your life partner, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, until the end of your days?"
Artizea's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I accept."
The celestial scribe spoke now, "Do you, Rhyssand Rimat, relinquish your name given at birth and be reborn into the line of Pendragon?"
"I accept."
"Then do you take this woman, Artizea Pendragon, to be your life partner, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, until the end of your days?"
"I swear it," Rhyssand said, his voice cracking as a single tear slipped down his cheek.
Artizea reached up, brushing it away with the gentleness only she could offer.
Now came the moment of a new custom—one that no king before Gilgamesh had ever faced. Until now.
The high priest turned toward the royal throne. "And now we call upon the supreme authority—His Majesty, King Gilgamesh Pendragon. To give his blessing to his firstborn child, his blood, to this union? Shall they be allowed to live in harmony, peace, strength, and prosperity, until the end of their days?"
All eyes turned to he royal balcony, where Arthur now sat back up in his seat, arms folded so tightly, while Elaine smoothed her skirt with the dignity of a princess and Eugene nonchalantly flicked a bit of nonexistent lint off his ceremonial robes.
Everyone leaned forward in silent anticipation. Arthuria's hand rested once again on her husband's, as if steadying the final decision. Gilgamesh simply breathed, long and low, his voice like a distant thunder when he spoke.
"…It is."
The court exhaled in unison. Relief swept the palace like a passing breeze as when the rings were placed upon their fingers—gold for the bride's city, silver for the groom's—their right hands were brought together, palm to palm, and a sacred cloth, woven with ancient threads, as old as time, wrapped around their joined hands. Binding not just skin, but soul.
The celestial scribe stepped forward, lifting a ceremonial dagger—its hilt carved from obsidian, its blade tipped with a single red jewel that pulsed faintly, as if alive with the breath of the gods. Artizea reached for it first. Her fingers curled around the hilt, steady and sure. Rhyssand held out his hand. Without hesitation, she pressed the blade to his palm and drew a clean line of blood. He did not flinch. Then he took the dagger from her and returned the vow in kind, drawing a crimson line along her palm. Their blood mingled on the sacred cloth as the couple took their wounded hands and clasped them together, right hand to right hand, entwined together.
For a moment, all was still. Then the priest added, solemn and final, "From this moment on, only they may unbind themselves. No One else has the right. So, by the power entrusted to me by the highest authority," he declared, "This union is sealed. Let no god-fearing man, nor all-powerful deity, tear them apart."
As the final word was said, the enchanted cloth loosened, unraveling like silk caught in the wind, fading into light between their hands.
From the balcony, Elaine whispered to Eugene. "Where has it gone?"
He merely said, "What one can not see with their eyes, does not mean it is not there."
Elaine slowly turned her head, "You could have just said It is something to do with magic. I would have believed you all the same…" she assured him.
He rolled his eyes. "I don't know why I bother…" He mumbled.
Back at the altar, Rhyssand allowed himself the smallest breath of relief; he could not wait any longer. He swept her into a kiss—not the soft kind, not the shy kind, but the kind one would wait 500 years for and more. The kind that, and the crowd erupted—cheers echoing like thunder down the ancient stones of the palace, rising into the heavens themselves. And then—low at first, rising like a tide—A chant began. One voice. Then two. Then hundreds, until the sound shook the heavens:
"All hail the future queen!— From Fire she came—From Ash she will rise—May her reign never die—!"
Artizea turned toward the crowd, smiling with tears, but they were not done.
"Long live the Future King—"
Rhyssand's brow arched, eyes darting instinctively toward Gilgamesh—only to find the king smiling. Genuinely. A slow nod followed, solidifying the blessing.
From Wrath he came —To peace he will guide—May his rain never die—!
Then, louder—joined by every voice in the court and beyond.
"All hail the future King and Queen—Crowned in wrath and fire —-May their rain never die!"
Artizea turned toward the sea of voices, then to Rhyssand, her eyes gleaming with unspoken wonder. Down the aisle, royal guards raised their blades high in honor, forming a glowing arch of steel and light. One by one, the Pendragonfamily rose—Gilgamesh first, then Arthuria beside him, followed by each sibling an unspoken send-off of pride and legacy.
Artizea turned to Rhyssand and whispered, "Are you ready?"
He smiled, his gaze steady on hers. "For anything."
Together, they ran down the aisle—her hand clutching his, the other lifting her train as laughter spilled from their lips. She was finally happy. And Gilgamesh saw it. He saw that she was no longer just his daughter. She was one step closer to becoming the realm's future Queen.