Serena sat on the cold stone throne she had claimed, its carved armrests depicting coiling serpents and grimacing gargoyles. The afternoon light, muted by the thick stained-glass windows, spread fractured patterns across the chamber floor. At her feet—kneeling in iron shackles—was Lucien Vaeral, the late lord's son. His wrists and ankles bore fresh bruises from his recent struggles against captivity. Though he had calmed since the public announcement of their forced engagement, the hatred in his eyes glowed no less fiercely.
She studied him for a moment, elbow propped on the throne's arm, chin resting on her closed fist. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but steeped in a steely undertone.
"I'm curious, Lucien," she began, leaning forward slightly. "Tell me, what is it about me you hate so deeply? I've done nothing wrong."
A bitter laugh, hoarse from fatigue, tore from his throat. "Nothing wrong?" he repeated, coughing once as if the very words had strangled him. "Is that what you think? Or have you convinced yourself it's true?"
She tilted her head. A faint frown tugged her mouth downward. "I fail to see how restoring Celestafell, weeding out corruption, and sparing your life—" she arched a brow "—makes me the villain in this story."
Lucien tugged at his chain, the iron scraping against the marble floor. "You call it 'sparing,'" he said, voice taut with anger. "I call it torture. Humiliation. You've shackled me, you force me to bow, and you talk of marriage as if I'm a prize in a game."
She let out a low, dismissive hum. "You would prefer I devoured you, as I did your father and his sycophants?"
His eyes flashed. "Prefer it? Perhaps not. But it would at least be honest." He glared hard at her, fists tightening. "Keeping me alive just to toy with me… that's cruelty, not mercy."
Serena inhaled slowly, drumming her fingertips on the armrest. She regarded him as one might study an intriguing puzzle. "You think so?" she said at last. "I see it as giving you a purpose. An opportunity."
"Opportunity?" he spat back, shifting painfully in his shackles. "You took everything from me—my home, my title, my father. You destroyed our family's legacy, then paraded me in front of the city like some captured beast." His voice dropped to a trembling hush. "All I have left is my hatred for you."
She gave a measured shrug, tracing the serpent engraving on the throne's arm. "Hatred can be a powerful motivator," she said, almost wistfully. "Yet, it surprises me you cling to it so strongly, given how your father ruled these people." She paused, letting that thought settle. "Surely you saw the bribes, the cruelty, the corruption."
Lucien's jaw flexed, color rising in his cheeks. "He was my father," he managed, though the defiance in his tone weakened briefly. "You can't understand. You don't get to just waltz in here and judge him, or judge me, as if you know the whole story."
Serena exhaled, regarding him with a look that bordered on curiosity. "I don't claim to know your entire story—only enough. Enough to see how badly Celestafell needed real change."
Her words made him flinch, as though physically struck. He lowered his gaze, teeth clenched in frustration. "You say you've done nothing wrong," he repeated, voice wavering between anger and something else—grief, perhaps. "But you came in, murdered whoever stood in your way, and declared yourself ruler. Do you think the people will truly trust you in the long run?"
She almost smiled. "I think they'll learn they have much to gain under my rule." A pointed glance swept across the ornate tapestries, the new guard uniforms, the improved stockpiles of resources she'd seized. "You might call my methods ruthless, but I see them as necessary. Sometimes, to save something, you must raze what's rotten to the ground."
At that, Lucien jerked his head up. "You see? It's that." His face twisted with raw frustration. "That self-righteous stance. You call it 'necessary,' but you're only cleaning up the city so you can bask in its power."
She pushed off the throne's arm and leaned forward, letting him see the flicker of annoyance crossing her eyes. "You assume a great deal."
A bitter chuckle escaped him. "And what about me, hmm? What do I get from this grand purge of yours, other than chains and 'marriage' you flaunt for your own ends?"
She inclined her head thoughtfully. "You'll stay alive. You'll witness Celestafell's transformation firsthand. Perhaps, in time, you'll even take some pride in it."
His jaw tightened, hands curling into fists over the iron cuffs. "What if I don't want to live like this?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly at his question. "That's your choice, I suppose," she said, voice suddenly cool. "I could remove that choice as easily as snapping my fingers." She demonstrated by raising a hand and flicking it in a mock snap. "But for now, I find your defiance… interesting. It reminds me that not everyone accepts the inevitability of my rule."
Lucien flinched at the suggestion but forced himself to square his shoulders, meeting her gaze unwaveringly. "So, there it is. You do enjoy this. You relish the power you have over me."
Her expression grew detached, as though she was mulling over a fine detail. "I enjoy the clarity of it," she corrected. "The knowledge that, for better or worse, I can enact real change."
"And if that 'real change' involves more bloodshed?" he threw back. "What will it take before you realize you're no better than the tyrants before you?"
Serena tilted her head, letting her gaze roam his face as she measured her next words. "I may be a tyrant, yes. But I'm a tyrant who'll defend Celestafell—my city now—and push it to heights it's never known. In the end, if the people benefit, does it matter how we got there?"
Lucien choked out a mirthless laugh. "You talk like the ends always justify the means."
She shrugged, a wry half-smile ghosting across her lips. "They often do, in a land like this—especially when one stands as a Dark Messiah, not merely a mortal with petty scruples." She paused, letting a faint silence stretch between them before adding, with quiet finality, "I did nothing wrong, Lucien. I did what had to be done."
He looked away, fury simmering in his expression. A muscle in his jaw flexed as he forced himself to speak past his anger. "And I suppose you think saving the city gives you the right to claim me, too."
Serena let out a slow breath, leaning back in the throne. "I claimed power, Lucien. You just happened to be part of the old order. Whether you like it or not, I have uses for you."
His gaze snapped back to her. "I hate you," he said, voice low and trembling with raw emotion. "I despise every breath you take, every smug word out of your mouth."
She considered him, unflinching. "Good," she said at length, the ghost of a smirk curling her lips. "Keep hating me. It'll remind me that not everyone bows willingly. Maybe, in that hatred, you'll find something worth living for."
Silence fell, thick and suffocating, as neither of them broke eye contact. Outside, somewhere in the castle, new guards patrolled under Serena's banner. Within the throne room, the tension between captor and captive pulsed like a live wire. Finally, Serena turned her attention away, crossing one leg over the other as if dismissing his presence.
"I have a city to run," she said coolly. "You, meanwhile, can contemplate your hatred. At least it means you still feel something."
She flicked her hand, signaling to a guard at the doorway. The guard, stiff-backed, advanced to escort Lucien away. Even as chains clanked and he was hauled to his feet, his glare seared into her, a burning testament to his undying hatred—and the complicated, precarious bond between them.
As she lounged upon the broad throne in the main hall, the lingering echoes of her latest audience still drifting through the vaulted space. Slender columns framed her view of the open doors, where hazy afternoon light seeped in, catching motes of dust in golden halos. Though she remained a picture of dark regality, a pensive air had settled over her features.
In the corner of her vision, the faint shimmering of Great Sage flared to life. Its placid, echoing voice resounded in her mind:
"My Lady, with your recent announcement of impending matrimony to Lord Lucien Vaeral, would you care to schedule the ceremony?"
A hint of amusement flashed in Serena's crimson eyes. She shifted her posture, crossing one leg over the other in languid confidence. "I hadn't given it much thought yet," she admitted softly, her tone laced with the barest trace of wry humor. "It hardly seems pressing when my bridegroom can hardly speak to me without a glare in his eyes."
Great Sage glowed more brightly at her periphery.
"Traditionally, a wedding of this caliber would bolster your image as the undisputed ruler of Celestafell. Public ceremonies cement alliances, dispel doubts, and offer an outward show of stability. With your unique situation, it might also quell or at least redirect Lucien's supporters, should any remain."
Serena exhaled a low breath, drumming her fingertips on the ornate armrest. "He was hardly afforded a chance to gather 'supporters' after he inherited that worthless man's legacy. Not that he wants anything to do with them—or me—if given a choice," she added, letting an ironic twist tug at her lips.
The Great Sage's orb pulsed.
"That may be so, but there are practical considerations for the wedding itself. Would you care for traditional marriage guidance, My Lady? I am equipped with knowledge of various ritual customs—both mundane and arcane—that you might find beneficial."
An outright laugh, cold and edged, escaped her. "Guidance, huh? And what would that entail? Selecting floral arrangements? Sampling decadent pastries? Trying on lacy gowns?" She shook her head at the thought, her expression torn between amusement and a slight grimace.
"Such ceremonies often involve a public vow, an exchange of tokens, and in certain traditions, a symbolic bonding—sometimes an enchanted ring or a shared magical binding," Great Sage continued, unperturbed. "Additionally, feasts are customary, as is the forging of alliances through distinguished guests."
Serena tapped her gauntleted fingers against her chin, entertaining the notion for a moment. "A public vow—how droll. No doubt the people would eat it up, so to speak. A grand feast might let them forget the city's woes for a while… keep them from questioning my rule."
A shimmer of agreement emanated from the orb.
"Precisely. And after the ceremony, it would be customary for the newlyweds to preside over a festival. You might consider commissioning local artisans for decorative works, or enlisting your alchemists to brew celebratory potions. Even small gestures can heighten morale."
Serena arched an eyebrow. "You paint quite the grand picture. But I'd hardly call it a typical union—unless the definition of marriage in this world includes forcibly chaining your spouse to your side."
"In most traditions, the chaining part is omitted," Great Sage replied with measured calm. "However, the theatrics of his shackles may still serve a symbolic purpose, if you desire it."
A wicked smile curved her lips. "Yes… how delightfully perverse that would be." She paused, considering. "Fine. We'll stage the ceremony soon. Let the people witness my might, my mercy, and my command of tradition… all in one fell swoop."
Her eyes flitted to a side door, beyond which lay a corridor leading to the chambers where Lucien was no doubt wrestling with his anger. "Though I doubt he'll be receptive to any of this."
"He need only be present, My Lady," Great Sage assured her. "And the city will accept the union as law, sealing your absolute authority. Shall I proceed with a recommended date and compile potential rituals for you to choose from?"
Serena nodded thoughtfully. "Do it. Compile all you have on wedding customs that might strengthen my hold over Celestafell. As for the date, I'd prefer it soon—no reason to drag it out."
The orb flickered, data streaming in an unseen cascade of knowledge.
"Understood, My Lady. I will present a curated list of recommended wedding rites, decor styles, enchantment possibilities, and feast menus by dusk."
Straightening in the throne, Serena allowed herself a slow, satisfied grin. It was not the wedding she ever imagined having—but then, she had never pictured herself as a Dark Messiah either. "Very well. Prepare everything. I shall decide what best suits the Vengeful One."
"As you wish, My Lady," Great Sage concluded, its voice quietly echoing in her mind, leaving Serena to contemplate the spectacle she was about to unleash upon Celestafell.