The reply from the North came faster than expected.
It arrived at dusk, when the sea winds howled against Sareen's towers and the light in the throne room turned the marble floors the colour of blood.
King Malek sat propped on his chair, wrapped in furs despite the warmth. His eldest daughter, Maria, stood beside him, silent and unblinking. The messenger knelt before them, holding a sealed letter marked with a black sigil: the crowned wolf of Eldrath.
"Read it," Malek ordered, his voice brittle.
The herald's hands trembled as he broke the seal and began to speak:
To His Majesty Malek al-Rahim of Sareen,
I, Aedric Veyne of Eldrath, acknowledge your offer and the terms of alliance you propose.
The North has no need of another war, nor do I seek a crown built on another king's bones. Yet, I recognize the worth of peace when it is honest and of loyalty when it is costly.
If your eldest daughter is indeed as you claim: learnt, steadfast, and unafraid of duty, then I will receive her as queen of Eldrath.
Send her north before the next moon wanes.
May our gods, though different, witness our accord.
The herald lowered the parchment. Silence filled the hall.
Maria's heartbeat roared in her ears. The words felt final, sharp, cold, and inevitable.
Her father's hand reached for hers, papery and trembling. "He agreed, my child. You've secured Sareen's future."
"Secured," she echoed softly. It sounded like a curse.
That night, the sea's whisper wouldn't leave her. She stood in her tower again, her white hair unbound, drifting like fog over her shoulders. The air was damp and electric. the way it gets before something breaks.
On her desk lay the letter, the ink still smelling of iron and ash. She ran her fingers over his signature.
Aedric Veyne of Eldrath. The name itself felt heavy, distant, and dangerous. She tried to imagine his face and failed.
Fear crept in like a shadow behind her ribs.
For years she had kept her magic hidden, her light dimmed beneath silk and obedience. Her father knew she carried a kind of magic the North feared most, Sareen's old power, but he had spent her whole life warning her to hide it. They burn women like you in the North, he had told her once. They drown them in rivers and call it justice.
And yet here she was, bound for a kingdom that hunted her kind.
She could have accepted it. She could have folded herself into her fate like a sacrificial lamb. But Maria had never been meek. She had the kind of stillness that made people forget still water can drown.
So she lit a single candle, its flame trembling in the dark, and drew a circle of salt upon the floor. From a locked chest she took a mirror round, ancient, framed in silver roots. It had belonged to her mother.
The glass shimmered faintly, as if recognizing her touch.
She whispered a prayer only she understood, letting the candlelight dance across her hair, across the white strands that seemed almost to glow in the dark. Her reflection wavered, and she felt the hum of her own blood, the pulse of power kept hidden all these years.
Maria's hands traced the mirror's edges. She could not see the future, but she could feel the storm. And somewhere in the shadows of the room, the familiar figure lingered, always watching, always waiting.
She exhaled slowly. Tonight, she would practise her magic, feel it pulse beneath her skin, and remember: though the North awaited her, she was not yet theirs to claim.
The news of the bride-to-be spread through Eldrath like wildfire. Courtiers whispered in the torch-lit halls, their voices bouncing off stone walls.
"Have you heard? The king takes a southern princess," one murmur floated from corridor to corridor. "They say she is pale as moonlight, her hair white like the first snow."
"White-haired," another whispered, eyes wide. "A creature of beauty and quiet cunning. The southern houses will tremble when she arrives."
In the war hall, Aedric Veyne stood over the map table, arms folded, watching the men scurry like ants around banners and reports. The northern winds rattled the windows, carrying the first hint of winter's frost.
"Send the knights to Sareen," he said, voice low but commanding. "Escort her back. Let the southern lords see that the King of Eldrath does not wait for guests."
Lord Varin, his right hand, inclined his head. "A hundred men, my lord. The eastern garrisons are ready to ride. The roads cleared. The southern kings will know our intent before she departs."
Aedric's grey eyes glinted, hard as iron. "Good. We will welcome her with the cold she cannot imagine."
Varin hesitated. "And the lords?"
"They will watch, they will murmur, they will envy or fear," Aedric said. "Let them. A king's bride is never only a woman. She is a message, a symbol. And I intend for all to understand that Eldrath bends no one."
Outside, the courtyards were already alive with movement: horses being readied, banners hoisted, and soldiers sharpening blades. In every corner, the whisper ran: The North king takes a southern princess. Aedric Veyne claims his queen.
Aedric turned back to the table, tracing a finger along the northern borders, his mind already planning the ceremonies, the halls, and the introductions. She is a southern jewel. Pale. Clever. Untested. And she will quickly learn the cost of living under my roof.
A servant entered, bowing low. "My lord, the heralds from Sareen report the princess is prepared to depart."
Aedric's lips tightened. "Good. Let her cross our lands with nothing but the knowledge that she has no choice. She will learn obedience quickly... or she will learn fear."
Outside, the wind roared through the iron spires, carrying the promise of snow and the coming bride. The court buzzed with curiosity, excitement, and even fear. Yet in the cold heart of the hall, the king remained still, unmoved, watching the horizon as though he could already see the white-haired girl crossing it and the moment she would understand that the North answers only to strength.
The day of departure arrived under a sky that bled gold and crimson. The palace of Sareen was a hive of activity: servants bustling, banners being folded and packed, horses being brushed until their coats shone like polished bronze. The scent of saffron and cardamom hung thick in the air, mingling with dust and horse sweat.
Maria stood in her chamber, white hair braided neatly this time, a silk gown of pale blue clinging to her shoulders. She had not spoken much that morning; every movement felt heavy, as if the walls themselves were pressing her toward the door she did not wish to cross.
Her father, King Malek, entered quietly, furs draped over his thin frame. His eyes were weary, lined with the weight of the choice he had forced upon her. He did not smile.
"You must go," he said softly, voice almost a whisper. "There is no other way."
Maria's hands clenched at her sides. "No other way?" she repeated, anger and desperation rising.
"All my life I have served this palace, obeyed its walls, its customs, its shadows and for what? That a man who knows nothing of me should claim me? That my life is a gift to be bargained for?"
Malek's jaw tightened, the sorrow in his eyes almost breaking his stern mask. "It is not desire that drives this, Maria. It is duty. Sareen survives only because it must. I survive only because I must. And you... you are the last hope of both."
She shook her head, lips trembling. "I am your daughter! Not your soldier, not your bargaining piece! You cannot give me to a man as if I am an object!"
He stepped closer, placing a trembling hand on her shoulder. "I cannot give you anything else. You would have no throne, no future, if we wait for what is fair. Only this path remains."
Maria turned sharply, fury burning in her chest. "Then I will not go willingly! I will not bow to the North, to that tyrant!"
Malek's shoulders slumped. "I would not ask this of you if it were not the only way," he said, voice low, breaking beneath the weight of his heart. "You have strength, Maria, more than most men in these halls. But strength alone cannot keep a kingdom alive. You must go."
Maria rested her hand against the cold glass. "They are sending me to him," she murmured. "The North... the snow, the cold, the man... all of it."
The shadow leaned in, a soft warmth threading through the air. "I cannot stop them," it said, voice low, almost a caress. "But I can watch. I can wait. And when the time comes, you will not face it alone."
She exhaled slowly, the faintest flicker of resolve crossing her features. Not acceptance, not yet. But for now, she would endure. She would hide what must be hidden. She would survive quietly, silently, like a candle in a storm.
The desert had barely kissed the horizon before Maria and her small escort departed Sareen. Her cousin, Kael, rode beside her, tall and steady, his dark eyes scanning the dunes with the vigilance of a hawk. He had been tasked with what no father could do himself: give her away to the North. Beyond the dunes, out of sight but never absent, Eldrath's knights waited to fall in behind her like winter itself.
"Are you scared?" Kael asked, his voice soft. He was the same boy she had carried on her back, the one she had made soar through the air with laughter, and now the young man destined to inherit the throne in a few short years.
Maria's hands rested in her lap, the silk of her gown creased from travel. Her eyes, pale as frost, stared at the southern sands fading behind them. She did not answer, only allowed herself a shiver as the wind tore across the saddle.
Her father and her people bid her farewell as if she was going to some paradise, not to some place that may or may not be her end.
Kael leaned slightly toward her. "You will survive this. Remember that. And remember... do not trust their silvered tongues. Not even for a second."
"I have no choice," she whispered, voice tight. "And yet it feels like the end of everything I have known."
Hours passed in silence, the sun sinking like a blood-orange coin behind the mountains. The first frost of the northern plains began to cling to the edges of the road. Maria pulled her cloak closer, the chill biting her fingers.
At last, the city of Eldrath rose over the horizon. Its towers were jagged and dark, spires like broken teeth reaching for a sky grey with storm. Snow dusted the walls, and the river that ran through the city was slow and black, reflecting the stone like a mirror for shadows.
When the city of Eldrath came into view, its dark spires rising against the pale northern sky, Maria's breath caught. The streets were lined with citizens, curious and awed, faces pressed against the stone walls. The southern princess, pale and white-haired, drew their gazes like sunlight on frost. She rode with quiet dignity, Kael's hand brushing hers subtly as their knights formed an honour guard around them.
The clatter of hooves echoed off the walls as they approached the palace gates. Citizens murmured, whispers of awe and speculation following her through the courtyard. "The northern king's bride... pale as the snow... beautiful beyond words..."
Maria straightened, hands folded neatly in her lap, the silk veil framing her delicate features, her pale eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and resolve. Kael's presence was steady, a quiet shield that spoke of unshakeable trust.
Inside the palace, the air was colder and heavier, the torchlight casting long shadows across stone floors. Aedric awaited them in the main hall, his figure tall and imposing, expression unreadable. The northern king's grey eyes swept over the procession, lingering briefly on Maria before turning back to Kael.
The great doors of Eldrath Keep groaned open, their hinges echoing through the marble hall like distant thunder.
Kael stepped forward first, every inch the southern noble. His posture was proud, his voice steady as it carried through the vaulted chamber.
"Kael ibn Rashad of House Qasira," he announced, bowing his head slightly.
"Cousin to Princess Maria of Sareen, heir to the Sapphire Throne and Guardian of the Southern Gates. By decree of His Majesty King Malek al-Rahim, we come in peace, bearing the promise of alliance."
Aedric sat upon the dais, a dark shape framed by firelight. His armour caught the glow, black steel chased with silver, and his grey eyes regarded them with the cool, patient detachment of a wolf sizing up trespassers.
"Welcome to Eldrath," he said at last, his voice low and resonant. "May your journey not have wearied you too greatly."
Kael bowed again, measured and courteous. "The road was long, Your Majesty, but my cousin endured it with grace. The South is honoured by your hospitality."
At his gesture, Maria stepped forward.
The hall seemed to still. Even the fire quieted, its crackle fading into a hush that rippled through the northern courtiers. The southern princess moved with practiced composure, her gown trailing like spilt moonlight, her veil glimmering faintly in the torchlight. When she reached the base of the steps, she lowered her head, gathering her silks between her hands in a flawless curtsey.
"Your Majesty," she said softly. Her voice was calm, but her heart pounded like a drum beneath the layers of silk.
Aedric rose slowly. For a breath, the world seemed to narrow, with only the sound of the wind against the windows, the faint shimmer of her veil, and his gaze fixed on her. He had expected beauty, perhaps fragility, but what stood before him was something else entirely. There was steel in her stillness. Fire in her quiet.
Her eyes lifted just enough for their gazes to meet through the thin veil. Grey met green. A moment too long passed between them. Aedric's jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, and he turned his attention back to Kael.
"Your cousin honours my hall," he said, his tone unreadable. "Rooms have been prepared for you both. You will dine with me tonight."
Kael inclined his head, though there was a flicker of something defiant in his eyes. the kind of subtle challenge only another leader would catch.
"Eldrath's courtesy does the South great honour. My men and I thank you."
The king's right hand, Lord Varin, stepped forward, his expression less welcoming. "His Majesty's table is small. Choose your words carefully when you sit at it, Lord Kael of Sareen."
Kael smiled faintly, polite but edged. "I've found the sharpest tables often belong to men who fear them most."
Varin's lips twitched, but Aedric's hand lifted slightly. a quiet command that silenced the exchange.
"Rest," the king said finally. "You'll need your strength. The North is not kind to those who come unprepared."
As they were led out, Maria turned once, her gaze returning to the king's, fleeting, uncertain, and electric. His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind the frost of his gaze, a shadow of recognition, or perhaps curiosity.
Outside, Kael exhaled, adjusting the clasp of his cloak. "You did well," he murmured, guiding her toward the guest chambers.
Maria's voice was barely a whisper. "He looked at me as if he already knew me."
Kael's steps slowed. "Men like him look at everyone that way," he said quietly. "As if deciding whether you're worth keeping alive."
But Maria didn't answer. For in her chest, something cold and unspoken had already begun to stir. a memory of a shadow's promise whispered beneath moonlight.
The guest chambers were draped in northern splendour, cold beauty carved from stone and silence. Frost glazed the windowpanes, and the fire burnt low, reluctant to touch the corners of the vast room.
Maria barely saw it. The air was icy, and the fire in the hearth was too small to fight the chill of the vast stone room.
The moment the servant closed the door, Maria let out a huge, dramatic sigh.
"Finally."
She pulled off her fur-lined shawl and veil and threw it toward a nearby chair. It missed and landed on the floor. She didn't care.
"I'm sorry, Kael," she announced, heading straight for the enormous bed. "This whole trip, the sitting, the smiling ughhhhh!"
Maria practically collapsed onto the edge of the bed, not bothering to remove her heavy outer dress, and kicked off her velvet slippers.
Kael walked behind her, picking up her shawl and veil neatly. "I thought the North would be... rougher," he mused, glancing toward the balcony where snow sifted like ash. "Turns out it's just colder. And more haunted."
Maria burrowed slightly into the blankets, eyes half-closed. "You've only seen the palace. All these polished floors and uncomfortable high-backed chairs. Wait until we go outside. The city looks like it was carved out of old bones. I bet the King just wants us to be tired enough to agree to anything."
Kael snorted, leaning against the mantel. "You sound like one of your old nursemaids."
She didn't move her head, but her eyes glinted as she looked up. "And you sound too relaxed for someone standing in a tyrant's den. Are you already sizing up the guards for a fight?"
"Ah," he said, a small, teasing grin on his face, "so you believe the stories? That the King is secretly a snow monster?" He chuckled softly.
"I believe what I see," she murmured, finally sitting up slightly. "And I saw a man who hasn't laughed in years. He looked like he chews on granite for fun."
Kael sank into the chair across from her. "Maybe he doesn't need to. Men who can kill a dozen lords with a word don't waste breath on laughter. They probably just grunt."
Her gaze softened. "You're not scared of him."
"Aedric Veyne?" He tilted his head. "No. He bleeds like anyone else. He just has a bigger chair." Then, quieter, "But I am afraid of what he might make of you. You already look like you're ready to fall asleep in his presence."
She looked away, giving a small, weary sigh. "So am I. I just need one night of real sleep before I have to look terrified and capable tomorrow."
Before Kael could answer, a knock echoed through the chamber. A servant bowed low at the threshold. "The king awaits you in the dining hall. Dinner is served."
Maria groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillows. Kael just laughed, a light, genuine sound.
"Well," he said, extending a hand to help her up. "Time to go pretend we're not about to fall asleep in our soup."