Part II of The Knight’s Wish

The castle bells tolled thrice at dawn, soft and regal, their sound spilling like honey through the awakening realm. The day had arrived—the wedding day of Lysandria’s cherished princess and the knight who had loved her long before duty gave him the right to say so.

The palace bloomed with gold and blush. Garlands of ivory roses and morning dew orchids curled along bannisters and arches. Stained glass windows bathed the aisle in hues of lilac, rose, and sky—a kaleidoscope of dreams made real.

You stood within the bridal solar, clad in silk that shimmered like starlight upon water. The veil, spun of gossamer threads and pearls, crowned your curls with grace. Around your wrist, a simple ribbon—once worn by Caelum when he was but a stable boy, given to you when you wept as a child—now tied the past to the present.

The moment the cathedral doors opened, all eyes turned. A hush fell, and the music swelled.

At the altar stood Caelum, ever the steadfast knight, yet visibly trembling. His armor was left behind—today he wore a doublet of sapphire velvet, and at his side, the royal sword newly gifted by your father, now engraved with your initials entwined.

As you walked the aisle, your father held your hand with a soft grip. Though a furrow lingered on his brow, there was no storm in his gaze—only a quiet, bittersweet pride. At the end of the aisle, he paused, kissed your forehead, and whispered: “Be loved well, daughter mine.”

The vows were spoken not with pomp, but with feeling:

“I vow to guard your heart as I have guarded your life,” Caelum said, his voice a low tremor of truth.

“And I vow to love you not just in the light of day,” you replied, “but even when the stars forget their names.”

When the high priest gave the blessing, the court wept openly. Even the nobility, once stiff with tradition, clapped with glee and rose to cheer. You were not just a princess—they could see—you were a woman loved beyond titles.

And just as the sun burst through the rose-shaped window behind the altar, Caelum ran—not walked—to you, lifting you gently by the waist, laughter in his chest and tears in his lashes.

“I have dreamt this every night since I was but a page,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The ballroom that night glowed with candlelight and echoed with the dance of destiny. Your mother beamed with pride, raising a glass with your father by her side, her eyes crinkled in joy. Your father, though still adjusting, laughed as Caelum nearly dropped the ceremonial wine from excitement.

And so the night melted into forever.

The knight had won his prize, the princess had chosen her heart’s truth, and the realm rejoiced—for love, it seemed, cared not for rules when fate had already written its vows.