The grand halls of Vaelyndor stood in breathless silence. Silver lanterns bathed the sacred space in a cold, ethereal glow, the air thick with the scent of white lilacs and sacred elven incense. The highborn lords and ladies of both kingdoms stood in solemn attendance, their faces impassive, their eyes watchful.
Rei Drawgar Valerion stood at the altar, adorned in the dark regalia of his house. His sapphire crown caught the light, a silent reminder of the weight upon his shoulders. This was not a wedding of love—it was duty, necessity, and an unbreakable bond forged in ink and blood between two great kingdoms.
He knew little of the woman he was to wed. Princess Lysari of the Moonlit Isles—he had only read of her kingdom, of its silver shores and veiled maidens, where the laws were as rigid as his own. He had not heard her voice, nor had he seen even a glimpse of her face. No man had. No man ever would.
For in their world, it was an unspoken law—no elven woman could show her face, not even to her husband. A wife could remain unseen, unknown, and still be bound to a man for eternity. It was the way of things.
Then, the great doors opened.
A hush fell over the gathered nobility.
She entered.
The woman who would be his queen.
Princess Lysari moved with the grace of a winter breeze, each step measured, deliberate. Her gown was woven from the finest silk, shimmering like frost-kissed moonlight. A veil of intricate lace and pearl draped over her form, cascading like a waterfall of ivory and gold. The embellishments upon her headpiece glowed faintly beneath the light—delicate filigree, pearls, and a singular, gleaming gemstone at her brow.
But it was her eyes that held him still.
Blue as the deepest ocean, bright as the sky before a storm. They shone beneath the delicate embroidery of her veil, framed by thick lashes that trembled—just barely. She was nervous, though her steps did not falter.
She came closer, each step echoing through the vast chamber.