The Kingdom of Vayrana stood adorned in hues of gold and garnet, its sandstone courtyards swept and perfumed with the scent of marigolds and jasmine. The entire capital pulsed with anticipation, like a beating heart awaiting its next breath.
From the tallest balconies of the palace, one could see the grand processional road, lined with fluttering banners of crimson and ivory — the royal colors of Thamur. Horns blared in the distance, steady and regal, as the foreign entourage finally arrived at the gates of Vayrana.
The king himself, Rajan Vaelith of House Vayrana, stood at the center of the marble terrace overlooking the receiving courtyard. His presence was a monument to Vayrana's strength — tall, sharp-eyed, with robes of deep gold and a turban crowned with a sapphire as blue as riverfire. Beside him stood his heir, Crown Prince Aresh Vaelith, stoic in a dusky red sherwani that bore the emblem of the river serpent. At his side, the younger princesses stood, veiled and poised.
And between them all, a single soul trembled quietly in her slippers.
Princess Serenya.
The chain of pearls draped from her veil shimmered faintly in the sun, her head bowed as her heart thumped with a nervous rhythm. This was the third man — not including her father and brother — that she would ever meet.
Her palms were slightly damp, tucked delicately beneath the long sleeves of her rose-gold gown. Her breath, though steady, was shallow. She had been taught poise, silence, grace. But no lesson could calm the wild bloom taking root inside her chest.
"The prince approaches," murmured her brother Aresh beside her, his voice quiet but steady.
The grand doors opened with ceremonial flare.
Prince Kael of Thamur entered surrounded by a retinue of Thamuri guards in burnt-orange armor and bronze silk. He walked ahead of them all, a man in his prime — tall, composed, wrapped in a tunic of twilight gray with gold embroidery that caught the sunlight like fireflies. A narrow sword lay sheathed at his side, ceremonial and untouched. His features were strong, eyes keen, lips curved in the faintest smile that did not quite reach his eyes — but softened when they finally met hers.
Serenya's breath caught.
She had seen paintings. She had read his letters. But nothing had prepared her for this.
Her hands trembled, ever so slightly.
Kael stopped several feet before the royal family and bowed low with the grace of a seasoned courtier. "Your Majesty," he greeted the king. "It is an honor to stand in your court, and to meet the daughter who will soon bind our houses in peace and promise."
King Rajan's eyes were calm, unreadable. "Welcome, Prince Kael. May your journey be remembered in joy, not weariness. Vayrana welcomes you."
The prince turned next to Aresh and inclined his head. "Crown Prince."
Aresh nodded, but his stance remained protective beside his youngest sister.
And then... Kael turned to her.
His gaze held no mockery, no arrogance. Only warmth. Interest. And something else she couldn't name.
He lowered his head, placing a hand on his chest. "Princess Serenya. It is... an honor to meet you at last."
She blinked slowly beneath her veil, barely managing a nod. Her lips parted, unsure what to say. Her training whispered to her: speak softly, offer grace, and never meet his gaze too boldly.
"Your Highness," she said, her voice soft as temple bells in the wind.
It was the only reply she managed.
Kael smiled. Not wide. Not boastful. But sincere.
There was a ceremonial hush as one of the Vayran ministers stepped forward. "As decreed by tradition," he intoned, "the prince shall offer his mark of promise to the bride, should he accept this betrothal before the eyes of the court."
Kael turned briefly, and one of his guards stepped forward, carrying a velvet cushion upon which rested a gleaming chain of silver and moonstone. At its center was a carved charm — the emblem of Thamur's phoenix crest.
Serenya's breath hitched.
The chain.
Her mother had told her: if he truly accepts her as his future wife, he will mark her not with a ring, but with the chain upon her right ankle — a symbol of possession, of loyalty, and tradition. She was not to remove it until her wedding night, when the prince himself would do so. It was sacred.
Kael knelt before her.
Her eyes widened. The entire court fell silent.
He met her gaze briefly, then looked down. Carefully, he lifted the hem of her robe just enough to reveal her right ankle. She was barefoot, as was custom.
Without a word, he clasped the anklet around her delicate limb. It clicked into place with a sound too soft for the ear — but Serenya felt it in her bones.
It was done.
He rose and stepped back, bowing once again.
"With this, I accept the bond of betrothal," he declared. "And vow to honor it."
Applause followed, gentle but respectful. A few emissaries from other kingdoms — Delmira, Ardenya, Lunavaal — nodded in approval. Even a quiet figure from the Imperial Court, dressed in black and crimson, observed from the far end. No words were spoken from them — only notes recorded.
Serenya tried to breathe. Her heart refused to calm.
Her father nodded, and Queen Ishara, seated nearby, gave the smallest of smiles behind her veil.
After the formalities, the royal family and the visiting prince retired to the Garden of Lotus Blush — an enclosed courtyard fragrant with pink water lilies and towering marble columns. It was here that the betrothed were granted private time to walk and speak.
Serenya stepped lightly, her newly adorned foot feeling foreign and precious.
Kael walked beside her, a respectful distance between them. He glanced at her several times but didn't speak immediately.
Finally, after a turn around a bed of singing riverbells, he said, "Do you always walk so silently? Or is it me?"
Serenya glanced at him, startled.
His tone was teasing, but gentle.
She swallowed and looked down. "I was taught to be... composed."
He stopped. "And are you composed now, Princess?"
Her cheeks burned. "I am trying."
Kael smiled softly. "You don't have to try. I already find you... radiant."
Serenya bit her lower lip, hiding a smile beneath her veil. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. "Thank you, Your Highness."
"Kael," he corrected. "If I am to call you Serenya, then you must call me Kael."
She hesitated. "...Kael."
The way she said his name — careful, soft, sacred — made something flicker in his eyes.
"Tell me," he said, as they paused near a white peacock fountain. "Do you like poetry as much as you write it?"
She nodded. "Poetry helps me breathe when I cannot speak."
"Then let us walk," he said gently. "And speak the words we dare not write."
And so they walked. Beneath carved archways and veiled columns, through gardens where hummingbirds kissed lotus flowers and the world smelled of spring.
And though Serenya spoke little, her glances, her silences, the small flutter of her lashes — they all said enough.
Prince Kael of Thamur, warrior and diplomat, had seen many beauties.
But none like this.
None like her.
And somewhere, high above the clouds of Vayrana, a shadow passed over the sun.
The Empire would soon stir.
But for now, only two hearts beat loud enough to be heard.
And the chain upon her ankle glimmered softly, singing of promises yet to be kept.