Within the next few hours, the King's city changed. It didn't wake up slowly. It surged. The streets filled first. Then the courtyards. Then the halls.
Word had already spread long before the bells began to ring. Servants moved faster than usual, guards stood sharper, banners were raised higher, brighter. Every corridor carried whispers of the same thing.
An engagement. Not just any. A union between houses that shaped kingdoms. By the time the banquet hall opened its doors, the air inside was already thick with anticipation.
The first arrival was announced with a sharp, clear voice that echoed against the high stone walls. "Welcome Edmond Woodland, ruler of the First Men and of the Norsemen, Warden of the North."
The doors parted. Edmond Woodland stepped in, tall, composed, carrying the weight of the North with him. His presence was quiet, but it settled over the hall like something ancient.
Applause followed. Strong, and respectful. Not loud enough to challenge him. Then, "Welcome Robert Rendell, Warden of Iron Valley."
Robert entered with a different energy. Warmer. More visible. His shoulders squared, his chin slightly raised, his gaze scanning the hall like he belonged there.
Another round of applause..Some louder this time..Then came another. "Welcome Lord Fabio Kenwool, Warden of Ashford."
Older. Slower in step. But his eyes were sharp. Watching everything. Claps followed again, echoing in rhythm now, like the hall had found its pace.
"Welcome Lord Kelly Ezion, Warden of Green City." More footsteps. More nods. More measured glances between men who smiled with their lips but not always with their eyes.
One by one, they came..Wardens of the Nine Kingdoms. Each name carried history..Each step carried power. And with each arrival, the hall grew tighter. Not physically. But in feeling. Like something invisible was closing in.
Then, a smaller bell rang. Clearer, and higher.
The clerk's voice lifted, sharper now. "Welcome in, Crown Prince Dereek Dragarian, Warden of Dragon City, and heir to the Golden Throne."
The reaction was immediate. Everyone stood. Chairs scraped softly across the floor as bodies rose in unison. Heads bowed, some deeper than others, but none dared remain upright.
The doors opened again. Dereek walked in. Steady, and unrushed. His presence didn't demand attention. It pulled it. He moved through the hall like it already belonged to him. Like it always had.
He took his seat beside the Golden Throne without a word. Only then did the room breathe again. But not fully..Because it wasn't over. "Welcome Prince Drexo Dragarian, the engaging groom."
This time, the reaction was different. Not weaker. Just more watchful. Drexo stepped in. His robe was flawless. Rich fabric, carefully arranged, catching the light in all the right ways. Everything about his appearance spoke of preparation.
Except his face. There was no light there..No pride. No excitement. Just something held tight beneath the surface.
Something barely contained. He walked forward, each step measured, controlled. If anyone noticed the stiffness in his shoulders, they didn't say it.
But they saw it. Across the hall Friya Kenwool moved. Her gown shimmered as she stepped forward, the fabric catching the glow of the torches. She smiled, wide, bright, almost radiant.
Too radiant..She closed the distance between them, her presence confident, assured. Like this moment had always belonged to her.
Drexo stopped beside her. He didn't look at her immediately. When he finally did, it was brief.
Too brief, Then, the largest bell rang.
Deep, heavy, and final.
No one needed the clerk this time. They already knew. Still, the voice came, louder than before. "All stand before King Derion Dragarian, Third of his name. King of the First Men, the Seik and of the Norsemen. Lord of the Nine Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
The hall rose again. Faster this time. More rigid. The doors opened. King Derion entered. Power didn't follow him..It moved with him.
Behind him came Lord William, the Hand of the King, his face unreadable. Then High Priestess Helen, calm, composed, her presence almost weightless. Behind them, guards. Silent. Unmoving.
The King reached the Golden Throne and sat..Only then did the others follow.
Silence settled into the hall.
The King looked over them all, his gaze sweeping across the hall, touching each face without lingering. "I thank you all for honoring my invitation." His voice carried easily. No strain. No effort. He turned slightly. "Let the ritual begin."
High Priestess Helen stepped forward. The servants followed her, carrying what was needed. A basin of water. A flame. A sword. And q knife.
Each object was placed with care. Each movement was deliberate. She stopped before Drexo and Friya. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she dipped her fingers into the water, lifting them slowly before letting the droplets fall across their skin.
"By water," she said, her voice steady, "the gods purify." The water traced cold paths down Drexo's hand. He didn't react. Didn't move. The priestess took the torch next. The flame flickered as she raised it, circling it around their heads, one after the other.
"By fire, King Dennis Dragarian and his wife, Rheana Dragarian conquered Astarous."nThe heat brushed against Drexo's face.
Sharp. Real. Then the sword. She lifted it, the metal catching the light, reflecting it across the room in brief flashes.
"And by fire and sword, the kingdoms remain united." The words settled heavily. Not ceremonial. Binding. Then, the knife.
Smaller, and simpler. But somehow more dangerous. She turned to Drexo fully now.
"Do you, Drexo Dragarian, of House Dragarian," she began, her voice rising slightly, carrying across the hall, "swear yourself to Friya Kenwool, of House Kenwool, to keep yourself and to wife her when she is matured enough?"
The words echoed. Then faded. And left something behind. Silence. Drexo's heart slammed against his ribs.
Once.Twice. Again. Too loud. Too fast. His chest felt tight. Too tight. He didn't answer. Not yet. His eyes moved slowly qcross the hall.
Faces blurred. Voices gone. Everything was distant. Until he saw her.
Maria.
She sat at the edge, not hidden, but not central either. Her eyes were red. Not soft red. But sharp, and strained.
The veins at her temples stood out, her jaw tight, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't pretending. Her face said everything her voice couldn't.
Don't do it.
Drexo's breath caught. Just for a second. His chest tightened further. "I can't marry her," the thought came, uninvited, undeniable. "I love Maria." The word love felt different now.
Heavier, and truer.
"And I will break without her." His gaze lingered too long.
Then, he forced himself to look away..Back to Friya. She was watching him. Waiting, and expecting.
The hall held its breath. Every lord. Every guard. Every servant. Even the King. No one moved. No one spoke.
The silence stretched.
Pulled tighter. Then tighter still. Until the High Priestess spoke again. "Drexo Dragarian," Her voice cut clean through the stillness. "Do you?"