His soul curled in on itself, the question slithering through his mind like smoke: What have I done?
Fool, he thought. You should've done this in private. The moment stretched, her silence echoing louder than any refusal, and his mind spun with every cursed misstep that led him here.
He cursed himself quietly with venom. Not for loving her — but for turning something sacred into a spectacle. For kneeling under chandeliers and shadowed banners when he should have done it in the hush of their private chambers. He hated himself for not asking her if this was something she even wanted. She was mortal. Young. Newly powerful. Still learning who she was. And here he was, binding her with politics and prophecy and—
The temptation to take it back bloomed like panic in his chest.
He opened his mouth —breath drawn to speak —to take back the moment before it shattered everything between them.
Maris moved forward, the haze of his torment shattered as her presence cut through it — light in the middle of his self-made purgatory. She leaned in , close enough for only him, her breath brushing his cheek.
“Yes,” she whispered, softly.
For a moment, he didn't breathe. Didn't move.
The word hung in the space between them —small, fragile, and yet it struck like thunder.Yes.
Kael blinked, as if unsure he'd heard her right — so used to darkness and doubt, couldn't yet accept the light.
Then it hit him.
The joy came like a flood — sharp, overwhelming. His chest rose on a sudden breath, something cracking wide open behind his ribs. A sound escaped him — half laugh, half exhale. He reached for her — his hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheek like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world, his body trembling with the force of something he'd never let himself want too deeply.
Bliss— real, unfiltered and his.
"I'll never deserve this," he whispered against her skin, voice shaking, "but gods I promise to worship you."
She smiled brightly — gentle and radiant.
"You don't have to deserve it. ' she whispered, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. "You just have to stay."
That was all it took.
Kael surged upward, pulling her into his arms with a choked laugh. He kissed her deep and shameless. He spun her — arms around her waist, her laughter breaking free as the court erupted.
Cheers rang through the grand hall, a flood of applause rising like a tidal wave. Nobles stood, stunned and clapping, some faces lit with rare joy, others frozen in shock— the older bloodlines, pale and blinking as if trying to make sense of the king they thought they knew.
But Kael didn't see them, he only saw her.
And then, as though it had been waiting for this very moment, the orchestra struck up again, sweeping notes blooming into music that made the chandeliers tremble and the shadows pulse with rhythm.
Kael didn’t look away from her even as the court exploded into motion around them. He lifted one arm without glancing back and gave a lazy, sharp-fingered flick, his signal to the orchestra, but also a silent command.
Let the feast begin.
The great banquet tables came to life with clattering silver and goblets filled by enchanted decanters. Dishes began arriving dusted venison, roasted figs, bloodwine warmed just below a boil. But Kael could only see her.
Maris. His bride-to-be.
She was not the girl who had trembled in his throne room, eyes wide with fear. She was becoming something more. And now she was his.
He kept a hand on her throughout the feast: her back, her hand, the curve of her arm — as the nobles came, one after another. Courtiers in robes of midnight. High born fae with silver skin and pointed ears. Vampiric elders with eyes like red moons.
Each offered their congratulations. Some masked it in flattery. Some in veiled political maneuvering. Others like the twin generals —their wives—even Valea and Lord Draeven simply gave nods of approval, curt and clean.
Kael didn’t care.
He barely noticed the words, the titles, the bows.
