The day of the ceremony arrived.
The sky above Noir Castle was gray — not storming, but heavy, as though the heavens themselves disapproved.
Inside the grand hall, nobles and knights filled the seats along the marble aisle. The banners of House Noir, deep black with silver stitching, hung beside those of House Meranth, pale white embroidered with faint blue roses — the mark of an ancient line now fading into history.
At the head of the hall stood Lord Auren de Noir.
He wore formal battle regalia — a black coat woven with threads of crimson, his sword sheathed at his side. The years and wars had carved him into a man of iron, his hair streaked with gray, his face stern but still noble. Even now, strength clung to him like a mantle.
Beside him waited Lady Seraphine Meranth, draped in a gown of silver silk that caught the faint light of the chandeliers.
Her beauty was cold, immaculate — her expression calm, detached, her silver hair tied in an intricate braid adorned with tiny pearls. No trace of joy or hesitation lived in her eyes.
Behind them stood the children of House Noir.
Darien, eldest son — tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform immaculate, the red sash across his chest marking his command of the household guard. His jaw was tense; he bowed when expected but his gaze never softened.
Isolde, the eldest daughter — serene, radiant in a dark blue dress that reflected her mother's quiet grace.Her long gray-silver hair cascaded like liquid starlight, her hands resting gracefully before her; her polite smile couldn't mask the quiet sadness in her eyes.
Valen, the youngest — only fifteen, his black hair falling just above his eyes, his clothes more formal than usual but his posture restless. He stood apart from the rest, his expression unreadable. Only the faint tremor in his clenched fist gave away the storm inside.
The priest raised his voice.
"Today, under the eyes of the divine, two Houses unite — Noir and Meranth. May this bond bring strength to both."
Auren took Seraphine's hand.
Their fingers barely touched. The gesture was hollow, ceremonial — an agreement sealed in blood and necessity, not affection.
"Do you, Lord Auren de Noir, swear to uphold this bond until your final breath?"
"I swear it."
"Do you, Lady Seraphine Meranth, accept this oath and this House as your own?"
"I do."
The priest closed the book, his voice echoing across the silent hall.
"Then before gods and men, I declare this union sealed."
The crowd rose in unison, applauding — a restrained, forced sound.
Darien bowed his head, Isolde wiped a tear before anyone could see, and Valen simply turned away.
Through the open window, the wind swept in — cold, uninvited — snuffing out half the candles on the altar.
And though no one dared to speak it aloud, everyone felt the same thing in that moment:
The House of Noir had gained an ally… but lost something far greater.
The New Morning
All the members of House Noir gathered in the dining room.
Servants had already set the table — silver forks and crystal goblets gleaming under the pale morning light. Steam rose from warm bread and roasted meat, the scent of herbs and honey filling the air.
It was a breakfast that had everything a person could desire, yet not a single soul seemed eager to taste it.
The clatter of cutlery was the only sound that filled the room.
A few small exchanges were made — simple words about the weather, about the soldiers' rations, about the wine shipment from the south — nothing more. The silence between sentences weighed heavier than the food itself.
When the meal ended, everyone rose from the table and drifted toward their daily duties.
Lord Auren met with his generals, planning for the possible war that loomed beyond the mountains.
He was a strong man — but above all, a cautious one. Even when others saw years of peace ahead, he saw only borrowed time.
"Time," he thought, "flies fastest when you need it most."
Valen and Darien inspected the soldiers' quarters, checking supplies, weapons, and training schedules.
The men straightened at the sight of their young lords, trying to hide their fatigue. Darien's commands echoed through the courtyard, while Valen followed silently, memorizing every move, every word. He was learning how to carry responsibility — not just the sword.
Meanwhile, Isolde headed toward the estate's administrative chamber — the heart of House Noir's inner affairs.
Every order, every trade, every decision passed through this room before reaching the outside world.
But when Isolde entered, she stopped for a moment in surprise.
Lady Seraphine was already there, seated by the great oak table, reviewing documents with sharp, focused eyes.
Stacks of parchment surrounded her — financial ledgers, supply manifests, and letters sealed with the Noir crest.
"You're early, my lady," Isolde said softly, hiding her hesitation.
"Habit," Seraphine replied without lifting her gaze. "The earlier you start, the fewer fires you'll need to put out later."
Her tone wasn't cold — merely practical. Isolde quickly understood that the new Lady of Noir had already embraced her role. This was the natural rhythm of the house — duty first, emotion later.
The day passed in quiet labor.
Evening came, and the family gathered once more for dinner.
This time, the conversation flowed a little easier — discussions about progress, reports, and plans for the next week.
Nothing significant, but enough to fill the silence.
When the plates were cleared, one by one they left the table and returned to their rooms.
Valen lingered a while longer.
He watched Lady Seraphine from across the hall — her calm, composed movements, the way she carried herself like someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.
He couldn't stand the sight of another woman sitting where his mother once sat.
But he wasn't a foolish child anymore. Deep down, he understood.
His father had made his choice not for love — but for survival.
And so, Valen swallowed his resentment like bitter wine
( If you're enjoying Valen's journey, please add it to your Library — it helps a lot! )