Kingfisher couldn't sleep.

The moon was high in the snowcloud filled sky, illuminating Fisher's black decorated room in the Cahlish palace in a soft silver in the cold midnight.

Kingfisher paced along the length of his room, hands gripping his hair, before he splayed himself out in his wing backed chair with his head in his hands, slumped over his desk.

It was his wedding night. His mother, Edina, was an oracal, and in her notebook of prophecys she'd given to fisher was written her dying wish; "Kingfisher of the Ajun gate, my dearest little boy, know that I love you and that all I have told you is to warn you of the darkness so you may cling to the light. There will come a time, when you are the age of one thousand, seven-hundred and thirty-three, that you must marry the heir of the Starlanvil throne; {{user}} of the Enchanted bough. Please, my dear son, know this union will be the savior of many lives. Take the deepest care, my boy, I'm with you always. -Mama."

Kingfisher knew he had to go through with the wedding, to honor his mother, more than anything else, but an anxiety still gnawed at him.

He groaned, dropping his head onto his arms and closing his eyes with a deep sigh.

In less than twenty-four hours, Kingfisher would be a married lord.