Khavan walked over to a small table and poured two glasses of water. He handed one to Elara, his calm, cold eyes looking more serious than before.
"The announcement is made," he said quietly. "Now, the real work begins. We must send the royal messengers to your parents in the North. We will invite King Magnus and your Queen to the capital immediately."
Elara nodded, thinking of her home. "My father will be glad to see the alliance is moving forward. But he will look at us very closely, Khavan. He is a wise man; he can sense a lie."
Khavan leaned against the stone pillar. "Then we must be even better actors. But there is something more dangerous than your father's intuition. You must be cautious of the nobles."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They smile at you now because they think they have won. But they are like snakes in the grass. They will try to find a weakness in our relationship to use as leverage. Do not trust anyone in this court except for the head maid and my personal aide."
"Princess!" Anne cried, her voice full of joy. "The news has spread through the entire palace! Everyone is talking about the announcement on the balcony. Is it true? Are you truly to be the Empress of the South?"
Anne was overjoyed, her hands clasped together as she imagined the grand ceremony. "A wedding when the moon is full! It will be the most beautiful event the world has ever seen. The North and the South, finally at peace!"
Elara sat down at her vanity, looking at her reflection. She saw the "Living Light" that the public loved, but she also felt the weight of her secret deal with Khavan. She smiled softly at Anne's enthusiasm, not wanting to ruin her friend's happiness with the cold truth.
"It is true, Anne," Elara said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We must prepare. My parents are being invited, and the palace will soon be full of nobles from every corner of the Empire."
Anne began to brush Elara's hair, her movements quick and happy. "I knew it! Even the Emperor, as cold as they say he is, could not turn away from your light. You will be a magnificent Empress, my lady."
The wedding preparations were in full swing. Tailors and seamstresses arrived from every province, bringing rolls of shimmering gold silk and northern white fur. Dress stitching began in a sunlit room near Elara's chambers, where dozens of women worked day and night to create a gown that combined the styles of both kingdoms.
Outside the sewing rooms, the palace was full of busy work. Servants polished the marble floors until they shone like mirrors, and chefs began testing recipes for a feast that would last three days.
Most importantly, the messengers were busier than ever. There were countless letters flying across the empire. Invitations were sent to every high-ranking lord, while secret reports were whispered between the nobles .
Amidst the chaos, Elara sat at her desk, finishing her own letter to King Magnus and her mother. She felt like a small boat in a very large, stormy sea.
One young woman, the daughter of a powerful Southern Duke, stepped forward. She was dressed in bright crimson and looked at Elara with pure jealousy.
"The 'Living Light' finally emerges," the noblewoman said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "It must be difficult for a girl from the frozen North to adapt to our heat. I wonder, Princess, do you think a pretty face is enough to hold the interest of an Emperor who prefers the company of soldiers to his own wives?"
The other women giggled behind their fans, waiting for Elara to look hurt. Instead, Elara straightened her back and looked the woman directly in the eye.
"A face is merely a mask," Elara replied, her voice cool and steady. "But a sharp tongue is usually the sign of a small mind. If you are worried about the Emperor's interests, perhaps you should spend more time in the library and less time standing in hallways. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an Empire to help lead."
The noblewoman's face turned bright red. She opened her mouth to snap back, but she froze.
Khavan had just stepped into the hallway.
He moved silently, his cold eyes scanning the group. The air in the hallway seemed to drop several degrees.
"A 'small mind'?" Khavan repeated, his voice deep but lighter than usual. "I didn't realize the Princess of the North brought such sharp weapons with her to the South. I was prepared to draw my sword to defend you, but it seems you had already finished the battle."
He took a step closer, teasing her with a ghost of a smile. "If you keep speaking to my nobles like that, Elara, they might actually start to respect you. Or, at the very least, they will be too afraid to eat breakfast in the same room as you."
He leaned against the stone archway, crossing his arms. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him. The "Iron Sun" was showing a bit of warmth, even if it was just through a clever joke
"I simply told the truth," Elara replied, her cheeks a bit pink from his teasing. "In the North, we don't have time for games that don't mean anything."
Khavan's expression turned slightly more serious, though the amusement remained in his eyes. "Well, your 'truth' has saved me a lot of trouble. Now, since we are already here, the head seamstress is looking for us. She says the wedding cloak needs to be measured for both of us at the same time."
Khavan stepped back, his expression returning to its usual calm and cold state. He adjusted his sleeves, his curly hair falling back over his brow as he looked at the heavy doors of the sewing room.
"I have a council meeting with the ministers from the borderlands," he said, his voice once again deep and formal. "They are restless about the wedding, and I must remind them who holds the crown."
Elara nodded, smoothing her own dress. "And I must return to my chambers to finish the protocols for my parents' arrival. There is much to coordinate with the stable masters."
"Very well," Khavan replied. He gave her a short, respectful nod—no longer just a king to a prisoner, but a partner to an ally. "We shall meet again at the evening meal. Do not let the nobles tire you out, Elara."
With that, they parted ways. Khavan headed toward the high tower of the war room, his boots echoing on the stone, while Elara walked toward the quiet sun-drenched gardens of the West Wing.