"Your Grace… they've arrived, Your Grace! The cavalry… the knights—no, wait—the Prince! He's on his way to the castle!" A petite young maid panted, her feet barely skimmed the cold marble stone floor. Her grin was wide, and her voice rang with the joy she could not hide.
Elara turned to her maid, raising a brow. "Lyla, don't be hasty! Calm yourself," she ordered, though her own heart raced, and her breath hitched in her throat.
She had waited nearly four years for this moment, yet now that it had finally arrived, a mix of joy and worry tangled within her.
The cheers of the crowd outside the castle echoed through the chamber. Elara walked to the grand, ornate window, her eyes drawn to the main gate of Ravenswood Castle, where the crowd gathered.
"Long Live the King, Long Live the Queen, Along the seashore, Valloria rise to soar."
The knights' captain led the Kingdom chant, their voices echoing along the main road of Ravenswood, followed by the joyful cheers of the crowd.
She gripped the side of her embroidered silk gown, her fingers trembling slightly. After a moment, she turned and took one last look at herself in the mirror before striding toward the door.
"Let's greet them."
…
The crisp scent of dry leaves across the garden lingered in the cold air, tugging at Elara's anxious thoughts about how she should greet Prince Reynand, her husband.
They had married out of convenience four years ago, just seven days before Prince Reynand set off to war, a campaign that lasted until ten days ago.
After the long, grueling battle, the East Wing Army, under his command, emerged victorious. It was a rare thing in the Valloria Kingdom for a prince to take up the mantle of general, yet Prince Reynand stood as living proof that the royal heir was more than just a figurehead.
This war was a struggle for control over the eastern border of Valloria against the enemy kingdom, Gravalon. They wielded dark magic, a forbidden power that consumed the souls of its victims. For Valloria, this victory was eagerly awaited, and Prince Reynand arose as a hero to the people.
Elara halted in the middle of the garden, biting her lower lip, her hand pressed firmly to her chest as if trying to hold back the pain.
For the past two years, ever since she turned twenty, a sharp ache would occasionally stab at her left chest. She kept it to herself, too afraid to burden anyone with it, though only her maid knew.
"What's wrong, Your Grace? Are you alright?" Lyla's voice was thick with concern as she grasped Elara's arm.
"I'm fine, Lyla. There's no need for a fuss. It's just... I'm too excited."
"Shall we return to the castle and wait inside?"
"No. What will people say if I don't greet him when he steps into the castle after such a long war?"
"But you look pale. I'm worried—you have been refusing to see the physician."
Elara's gaze hardened as she spoke, a trace of frustration in her voice. "Would you take responsibility if people spoke of... how their Marchioness failed to uphold the tradition of presenting the Marquess with the flower wreath?"
Lyla nodded, her voice quiet but obedient. "As you wish, Your Grace." She bowed her head, clearly no longer wanting to argue, and silently followed Elara to the gates.
At the gates, guards formed a barricade, shielding her from the throngs of people. Through the sea of faces, she spotted him—Prince Reynand, atop his horse, flashing a smile and waving to the crowd lining Ravenswood's main road.
Her heart beat in time with the crowd's cheers, quickening with each stride his horse took toward her. She gripped Lyla's arm, fighting to steady herself.
She could not tell if the pain in her chest was from excitement or weakness, but she refused to appear fragile, not today, not in this moment.
As he dismounted, their eyes locked. Her hands trembled as Lyla passed her the wreath meant for the Prince. Elara tried to step forward, but her legs felt stiff, as if frozen in place.
The crowd's cheers faded, replaced by a quiet hum, all eyes on the coming ritual—the moment Elara would drape the wreath around Prince Reynand's neck.
His cold blue eyes met hers, sending a shiver down her spine. Yet even in that coldness, there was an irresistible pull—just like four years ago, when every fiber of her being came alive.
Then, as if drawn by fate, Prince Reynand moved toward her. Her heart pounded louder, drowning out the sounds around her. The world blurred, her focus narrowing on his every step as the guards parted to make way.
The solemn atmosphere and hushed cheers made her heartbeat echo in her ears, but all she could see was his piercing eyes, sharp nose, burgundy hair tousled by the wind, and his jawline, dusted with rough stubble.
Her pulse raced, yet she could not look away. His rugged form only amplified his magnetic presence.
She was spellbound, not realising they were inches apart. His cold, brooding expression softened slightly as he stepped closer, a faint, forced smile tugging at his lips.
"I am home, wife," his deep and velvety voice cut through her, snapping her out of her daze.
Though his tone was indifferent, hearing the word 'wife' from his lips awakened a sense of belonging. There had never been love between them, and Elara dared not even dream of such a feeling.
But those words reminded her of how faithful she had been all these years. Yes, she was his wife, she belonged to him, and... that was enough.
A warm sensation spread throughout her body, and her eyes threatened to well up. She clutched the flower wreath tightly before draping it over Prince Reynand's neck.
"Congratulations, Your Grace," Elara's voice trembled low, though Reynand still heard her clearly.
Reynand tilted his head slightly, ensuring Elara didn't have to stretch too high.
Despite the wreath being full of roses, a soft hint of jasmine lingered in the air, and he knew it was her scent—a scent he still could not forget, one that added a heaviness to his heart and made him uneasy about the words he would soon have to speak.
He let out a deep breath, his expression heavy with the weight of a burden, a stark contrast to the cheerful cheers that erupted again behind him as the other knights received their wreaths from the maidens.
"Is she… the Marchioness of Ravenswood, Princess Elara?" A soft, melodic voice came from behind Reynand, prompting him to turn and reveal a beautiful, elegant woman clad in battle robes, her black hair tied in a high ponytail. The sight before Elara made her blink in confusion.
"Yes, Your Highness. This is Princess Elara," Reynand introduced her to the woman.
"You're just as charming as they say, Princess Elara. I'm Trisha." She lowered herself in a respectful half-bow, which Elara awkwardly returned with a quick dip of her head, still bewildered.
Seeing Elara's confused expression, Reynand let out another sigh.
"Elara… this is Princess Trisha, daughter of the Corsaria King." Reynand paused for a moment, his jaw clenching. "She is… the one I'm bound to marry."
"W-What did you just say?" Elara's eyes widened in disbelief, staring at Reynand as though he had just spoken a foreign language.
His gaze lingered on her before lowering his head with a weary sigh. The exhaustion from his long journey paled in comparison to the strain of facing Elara.
"I'll explain inside." With a brooding expression, Reynand turned and walked toward the castle, Princess Trisha following close behind.
The lively chatter of the crowd and the knights' laughter faded into the background, leaving a heavy thud in Elara's ears, the sting of Reynand's words still echoing in her mind.