The great doors of the royal cathedral stood open, spilling the flicker of candlelight into the cold gray dawn. Duke Adrian Valemont stepped through them in silence, his boots echoing against the marble floor. The scent of lilies and wax filled the air—sweet, suffocating, like a memory that refused to fade.

Before him stretched a sea of shadow and gold. Tall arches rose into darkness, banners hung motionless, and rows of candles burned low. At the far end, beneath the painted dome, lay the casket of Prince Thalen. White roses surrounded it, petals scattered across the stone like fallen snow.

Adrian stopped for a moment. His throat tightened. He had imagined this moment a hundred times since that storm, yet nothing had prepared him for the sight of his friend sealed away in silence. He bowed his head, the black fur of his coat brushing against the gold embroidery of his uniform.

And then he saw her.

Queen Seraphina.

She stood beside the casket, her small figure half-drowned in candlelight. Her mourning gown was velvet black, heavy with gold trim that caught each flicker of light. Her pale hands rested on the casket’s edge, her crown tilting slightly as though the weight of it pressed her down. Her red hair was drawn up in an intricate knot, a few loose strands damp with tears.

When she looked up and saw him, her composure broke.

“Adrian,” she breathed—barely a whisper, but it cut through the vast hush of the cathedral. She took a few steps forward, then more, faster, until she was running. He barely had time to open his arms before she was against him, trembling, clinging to him as if she might fall apart otherwise.

For a long while, neither spoke. The only sound was her quiet sobbing, the muffled toll of bells somewhere beyond the cathedral walls. He held her close, feeling the delicate shudder of her breath against his chest, the chill of her fingers clutching at his coat.

When her tears slowed, she drew back just enough to meet his eyes. Her own were bright and swollen, green as glass under the candlelight. “You came,” she whispered.

“Of course I came,” he said softly. “He was my brother in all but blood.”

Her lips trembled. “He always said you were more than that.” She looked past him toward the casket, her voice breaking. “He said—he said if anything ever happened to him, I should protect you. That you were the only one who truly understood him.”

Adrian swallowed, unable to answer. The promise echoed cruelly in his mind.

She took his hand suddenly, pressing it between her own. “They’re already pressing me,” she said. “My advisors. They want me to choose a husband before the mourning is done. They speak of alliances, of politics—as if Thalen’s body isn’t even cold.”

“Seraphina—”

“I can’t marry a stranger,” she continued, desperate now. “I can’t let them use me like that. Thalen wanted me to be free—to rule without fear.” Her gaze searched his face, trembling with an emotion he couldn’t name. “And I promised him I would keep you safe. The only way I can do that is to marry you.”

Adrian froze. “Marry me?”

“Yes.” The word came like a confession. “If I make you my consort, they cannot touch you. You would be protected. You would have influence again—your house restored, your father’s name cleared. It’s what he wanted.”

He looked down at her—the young queen who had once followed them through palace gardens, laughing and tugging at their sleeves. Now she stood before him draped in grief and duty, a crown weighing on her brow, asking him to bind his life to hers for reasons she barely understood.

“Seraphina,” he said quietly, “you don’t owe me that. You’re grieving, and they’re pressuring you. But this—this isn’t what Thalen meant.”

Her eyes shone with tears. “Then tell me what he meant, Adrian. Tell me how to keep his promise. Because I can’t lose you too.”

The words broke something inside him. He lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing away a tear. “You won’t lose me,” he murmured. “But don’t give your crown away to keep me safe.”