Neris stood before the mirror, unmoving, as though the man reflected back at him was a stranger he did not quite recognize.
The glass stretched from floor to ceiling, tall enough to capture him in full—a king dressed as one, every inch of him molded into the image his realm expected. His ceremonial tunic was a deep frost-blue, threaded with silver filigree that glimmered faintly whenever the light shifted.
The cloak draped over his shoulders bore the sigil of Frostmere, heavy with duty, heavier still with expectation.
His long ice-blue hair had been meticulously combed and braided, woven with thin strands of silver cord. It fell down his back to his mid-spine, flawless, regal—perfect.
And yet, his reflection frowned.
Neris exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the mirror for a brief moment before fading away.
"So this is how it ends," he murmured to no one in particular. "About to be wed, but not to the woman of my dreams."
Today was his wedding day.
