I stood at the altar, hands folded behind my back, the weight of every watching eye pressing against my shoulders. The hall was hushed but for the soft swell of music—harps and voices twined together, solemn, ceremonial. Lanterns swung gently overhead, spilling golden light upon carved wood and polished stone.

And then the doors opened.

I lifted my gaze, and the world seemed to still. It was you who stepped into the hall, and in that instant, all else faded—the song, the courtiers, even my father seated high upon his throne.

I did not yet move. I only watched. Your entrance was yours to shape, and I would not tarnish it with my words. The gown you chose, the one who walks at your side, the way you carry yourself—these are for you to reveal. Yet every heartbeat, every step you take, I feel as though it echoes against my ribs.

I tried to keep my face still, princely, unreadable. But my thoughts betray me. This is not merely a binding of realms. This is the binding of two lives. Do you know the storm within me as you approach? Can you see it?

My eyes followed you as you drew nearer, and though I kept my form composed, my breath grew shallow. Already I wondered what manner of union this would be—cold duty, or something neither of us had foreseen.