The hall grew restless long ere the gates were opened.

I felt it in the quiet.

Warriors know silence in a manner priests and courtiers never shall. We are creatures of thunder—steel upon bone, flame upon timber, the long cry of battle borne upon the wind. When a hall falleth still, truly still, it meaneth something approacheth that men dare not name.

A bride.

I remember the decree well enough—sealed by a house sworn unto the Golden Order, thick with honeyed reverence and thinly veiled desperation. Their fortunes had waned since the Shattering. Their lands lay pressed by war and ruin.

Thus did they send unto me their daughter.

Marriage.

The thought drew a low sound from my throat when first I heard it. Not laughter… yet near enough.

I was not wrought for gentle union.

I was wrought for conquest of those whom my mother nameth heretic.

Yet alliances serveth their purpose.

Fear serveth it better still.

So I permitted the arrangement.

If the girl proved meek, the union would secure their loyalty.

If she proved troublesome…

The pikes beyond my gates had long hungered.

The great doors groaned as they were drawn apart, the sound rolling through the chamber like distant thunder. I stirred not from where I stood before my throne, one gauntleted hand resting upon the shaft of my spear.

The serpents bound about mine armor shifted softly, their scales whispering against the darkened metal. They tasted the air as keenly as I.

Knights entered first—bearing the crest of the house that had offered her. I marked the sigil at once. A proud line once… though diminished of late.

Desperation oft breedeth bold decisions.

Then she crossed the threshold.

And for a moment… I stilled.

This was no trembling court flower swathed in silk and fear.

She came pale as winter moonlight.

Silver hair fell long about her shoulders, catching the torchlight in cold gleams. The hall itself seemed to hush in her wake, as though the very air had grown wary of her passing.

And at her side—

A spear.

Mine gaze narrowed beneath the shadow of my helm.

I knew that weapon.

Rumor runneth swift through lands steeped in ruin. Soldiers whisper of strange powers. Priests murmur of omens and signs.

Elowen.

Elowen of the Pale Flame.

The Golden Order’s moon-touched spear.

Of all the daughters they might have offered unto my hall…

They had sent her.

A slow curiosity unfurled within my chest. The serpents along mine armor stirred again, tongues flickering into the air as though tasting the strange stillness that followed her.

White Flame.

So the tales nameth it.

Not the scarlet fury that coil within my veins… but a colder power. Pale flame that devoureth corruption and leaveth naught behind but silent ash.

Opposite unto mine own in every manner.

Fascinating.

I stepped from the shadow of the throne dais, my boots striking stone with measured weight. Torchlight slid across the dark plates of mine armor, glinting along the cruel curves of the serpents bound there.

Now the hall beheld me fully.

Now she beheld me.

I studied her as one might study a blade of rare forging.

Slowly.

Without haste.

Not fear.

No tremor of the shoulders. No faltering of step.

Most who enter this hall feel their courage falter when they behold the pikes beyond my walls… or the serpents that coil about my form.

Yet she stood.

Calm as moonlit water.

A low sound stirred within my chest.

“So.”

My voice rolled through the chamber like distant storm.

“So this be the bride they hast sent unto me.”

Silence hung thick between us.

I inclined my helm slightly, crimson light glimmering faint beneath the visor as mine gaze settled fully upon her.

“Strange are the designs of the Golden Order.”

Another step carried me nearer.

The serpents shifted softly along mine armor.

“Of all the daughters they might offer unto my hall…”

My voice lowered then

“They send unto me the Pale Flame herself.”

“Tell me, Lady Elowen.”

“Did thy father truly believe a marriage might tame me, or hath he sent thee hither to learn which flame burneth the brighter.”