The royal library of Veridelle lay hushed beneath the glow of candlelight, towering shelves casting long, slanting shadows across the floor.
Prince Loven sat straight, carefully reading through maps and reports. His silver-blond hair caught the flicker of flame as he studied a marked region far across the sea.
Roaten. A small nation on paper. But three kingdoms had already fallen beneath its "peacekeeping expansions." Ports seized. Leaders replaced. Resistance erased quietly.
Loven traced a trade route with his finger, calculating risk. They consolidate coastal access first. Then choke supply lines. Then force submission.
He did not care for courtly games. He cared for survival. Veridelle would not be caught unaware.
The door creaked open behind him. But he did not look up.
King Sol entered with hands loosely clasped behind his back, stride relaxed as ever. His expression carried that familiar glint, lighthearted and easy. He tapped the table lightly.
Loven did not flinch. "Still worried about Roaten?" Sol asked casually, leaning over Loven's shoulder to read the parchment. "Didn't we already send additional spies to determine who's leading the campaign?"
Silence.
Loven's jaw tightened. Then Sol straightened. "Well," he continued breezily, "perhaps it would be best if they attacked us. Saves us the trouble of marching to them. Let them come right into our palm."
Loven finally spoke, voice flat. "Go away. I'm busy." He lifted the page higher, deliberately blocking Sol's view.
Sol laughed. "Can you even read anything with it pressed that close to your face?" Loven lowered it slowly, expression desperately to seem calm, he still refused to meet Sol's eyes.
Sol grinned and shoved aside a stack of books to perch on the edge of the table. Two volumes slid off. Then another. They hit the floor with dull thuds.
"Hey!" Loven snapped, irritation cracking through. "Stop that."
Sol's grin widened. "Ah. Good. You're speaking again. Shall we converse like adults, or should I continue playing the unruly child?" He leaned back on his hands, crossing one leg over the other as Loven rose to retrieve the fallen books.
Loven turned sharply, books in hand, gaze sharp as steel. "Who is the child here?" The sarcasm cut clean. "You kidnap a foreign queen without counsel. Without warning. You knew I would stop you."
Sol exhaled, not defensive, not ashamed. "Exactly," he said simply. "You would have stopped me."
Loven slammed the books down beside him. "And why do you think I'm always have to stop you?"
Sol scratched the back of his neck. "Because you are," he said lightly. "A very responsible, very strategic, extremely persistent roadblock." crossing his arms with a dismissive shrug. "It's not as though my decision made the queen collapse," Sol added, attempting levity.
Loven's glare deepened and his silence turned heavy.
Sol's smile faltered just a fraction.
"…That was unnecessary, I'm sorry" he admitted. "I know you're just trying to protect the kingdom."
Loven gripped the books tighter. "You treat everything like a game," he said quietly. "We have Roaten consolidating power across the sea. We have fragile alliances. And you provoke Eldoria by abducting their queen."
Sol shrugged. "Tirian is not fragile." staying relaxed, "He is staying to resolve what happened to her. Which suggests he cares more deeply than most suspected, which is great for us no?" A knowing grin touched Sol's lips.
Loven shoved the books toward him, knocking him lightly off the table's edge. Sol stumbled back gracefully, laughing. He caught Loven by the shoulders before he could retreat.
"Come now, brother. Admit it. The chosen maiden blessed not only by the Holy Circle but by the True Veil? Three prophecies in one basin? That does not strike you as… significant?"
Loven's eyes widened slightly despite himself. "Significant?" he echoed sharply. He stepped back, crossing his arms. "You should want peace, not divine spectacle."
Sol's expression softened. "I do want peace," he said, more serious now. "That is precisely why I brought her here."
Loven did not interrupt.
"The Holy Circle fed Eldoria a false prophecy," Sol continued. "One that ended would most likely end with her death as their so called 'mercy.' The True Veil revealed otherwise. I was only protecting her"
Loven's arms tightened across his chest. "You acted without counsel."
"Yes."
"You risked war."
"I calculated the risk."
Loven's voice dropped lower. "Or perhaps you trusted friendship over strategy."
Sol held his gaze steadily. "Tirian does not slaughter the innocent," he said. "He does not wage war without cause. And he does not harm what he loves." A faint, confident smile returned. "He will not turn on Veridelle."
Loven searched his brother's face. "You are fortunate he is not like Roaten's rulers."
Sol's smile thinned slightly at the mention. Loven sighed through his nose. "…It is important to understand her," he admitted reluctantly. "If she truly is chosen by the True Veil as well… then the balance between faiths is shifting." He hesitated. "And there are still the prophecies she saw."
The words lingered unspoken between them.
Sol studied his brother for a moment, satisfied to see the sharpest edge of Loven's irritation had dulled. "Yes…" he said lightly. "The prophecies."
His tone shifted—subtle, but deliberate. "You wouldn't happen to remember what they were?"
Loven blinked. Then straightened abruptly. "The prophecies," he repeated, startled at himself. "Brother—she had three!"
"Yes," Sol said carefully. "Do you remember them?"
Loven went quiet, eyes unfocusing as he searched his memory.
"It was… strange," he said slowly. "I only saw the first one clearly. But nothing made sense. The second—there were fragments. Flashes. As if the vision rejected clarity."
"And?" he prompted.
Loven hesitated. "I think…" He frowned. "I think you were standing at an altar." Sol's posture stilled.
"You were dressed in formal regalia. And beside you…" Loven exhaled through his nose. "The chosen one."
Silence.
Sol's entire body reacted before his face did, a subtle, full shudder running from shoulders to spine.
No. His mind raced. Tirian would kill me. And not metaphorically. The image was absurd and catastrophic all at once. War. Betrayal. Blood between kingdoms.
He forced his expression neutral. "Loven," he said slowly, "I don't understand."
"Neither do I," Loven replied, frustration creeping into his voice. He dragged a hand through his hair. "It may not have been you. The image flickered. Faces blurred. But the attire—"
He looked directly at Sol. "She wore royal Veridellian wedding garments." That was unmistakable.
Sol went very still. No. He cut the thought off before it formed fully. "And the third?" Sol asked, voice quieter.
Loven's jaw tightened. "That was worse."
Sol raised a brow. "I saw nothing." Loven said as if remembering he very pained feeling "It was as though light consumed everything. My sight vanished entirely. I could not see the basin. I could not see her. There was just, bright blinding light."
He swallowed. "And then the water suddenly shattered." The memory clearly unsettled him.
Sol let out a slow breath, disappointment and unease mingling beneath his composure. "So we have," he said dryly, "Undecipherable visions, a partial wedding, and an erased conclusion."
Loven frowned at Sol's casual tone, "This is not amusing." "I know," Sol replied. He walked toward the nearest window, staring out into the darkened palace grounds.
If the second vision implied a union between Veridelle and the chosen maiden... And the third erased itself entirely...Then something about the outcome was either too dangerous to be witnessed…Or not meant to be seen only by her. But she's forgotten everything. He rubbed his face with frustration.
Behind him, Loven spoke more quietly.
"Sol.. the only way she were to be wed to anyone else... is if Tirian had to d-"
"Do not entertain that thought." Sol turned slightly, first stern, then offered a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I am not eager to test Tirian's patience. And I... Do not wish to take my friends wife..."
"But... if it could help-" Loven replied. Sol's expression softened—just a fraction.
"Tirian is not someone to easily die, and it will not come from me, for the sake of a prophecy from the basin."
"Even if it came from the True Veil directly," Loven said bluntly. Sol considered that. "Yes," he admitted. "I will not love the Holy Maiden or snatch her away for my kingdom."
Sol finally looked back at his brother. "For now," he said carefully, "we say nothing of this to Tirian. Not until we understand it better." Loven did not immediately agree.
"And also," Sol said, more composed, "I sent spies after she was chosen. A report arrived this morning." He slid the parchment across the table.
Loven unfolded it, scanning the contents before reading aloud. "Orielle. Age twenty-one. Born in a farming village on Eldoria's outer edge, near Varakor. Father: Ulric. Occupation: farmer. Mother: Ava—deceased two years after Orielle's birth..."
His voice softened slightly as he continued. "Widely liked. Described as cheerful. Considerate. Loved by..." A faint smirk touched his lips. "Apparently, many young men were distressed to see her leave."
He glanced at Sol. "Her father must have spent half his life fending off hopeful suitors. Though what good that did him…" His tone sharpened playfully. "It's not like she ended up having much of a choice in the end anyway."
The chamber door swung open. "Who loved her?" Tirian stood in the doorway, rigid, bewilderment breaking through his usual iron composure.
Both brothers looked at him.
Sol blinked once — then snorted. "Can't you tell, Tirian?" he said, leaning back in his chair. "Your wife is quite the prize. Any man with eyes would fall at first glance."
It was teasing. But it wasn't wrong.
Tirian flushed, an almost violent contrast to his reputation. He dragged a hand through his hair, clearly unsettled.
"Of course.. Of course I know that," he muttered. Then he began pacing. "Did she… love any of them?"
The room shifted.
Is this jealousy? Sol leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly, curious. "Perhaps," he said lightly, "she had a first love. And you stole her away before it could become anything more."
Tirian stopped. Turned slowly. "Did I?" he asked, the edge in his voice gone. "What else don't I know about her?"
He crossed the room and took the parchment from Loven's hands, scanning the remaining lines himself.
"Only family is Ulric. Forty-nine. Moved to that village twenty-four years ago." His jaw tightened. "Her father never pushed her to marry."
A beat. "Until me." His voice lowered. "I tore her from the only life she knew."
The feared commander. The monster whispered about in war camps. Cracking. Sol and Loven exchanged a glance — not mocking this time. Concern, something they never thought they'd feel for the cursed king.
Sol spoke more carefully now. "It's not as though you had a wealth of options," he said evenly. "The Circle's prophecy demanded it. Ty... It's not your fault."
Tirian lifted his gaze, but he wasn't really seeing them. He was spiraling.What is wrong with me? Why does this unsettle me? Why does it matter if someone else once loved her? Or that I took her? It wasn't me... It was... the prophecy...
He straightened abruptly, reclaiming control. "Yes," he said, voice steadier. "We live the lives the gods design." A faint bitterness edged the next words. "Even if we once imagined different ones."
Sol studied him more intently now. "If it eases your mind," he said bluntly, "the report lists no formal courtships. No betrothal. No scandal. Just admiration and only from their side."
Tirian exhaled slowly. Admiration from others, he could endure.