*thud* *thud* *thud* the floor boards cracked as they met the nervous steps of a young girl, who was striding from wall to wall in circles.
Princess Ilyra showed signs of hesitation. Her hands cupped her cheeks, her expression distant and tangled in thought. She was beautiful, striking black hair that swayed every time she turned around to walk back to the opposite wall. Her hair was brushed back; only two strands of hair remained on either side of her face, which reached level with her shoulders. Piercing blue eyes that found you before they looked at you, pearl, like the sky that day.
Light peered through the open window, curious about what the girl was up to. Red curtains framed the window. A tall mirror leaned against the far wall, the one she kept gravitating toward. Floral wallpaper decorated the room, golden roses scattered throughout. Three maids stood by the door, silent and awaiting dismissal.
A woman sat confidently in a chair facing Ilyra. She wore a blue-and-white dress and had her arms crossed. Unlike the Princess, she was calm, sat straight and proud like the banners on the castle. She had brown hair that matched her daring eyes. She appeared to be in her late thirties.
"You'll ruin your new shoes before the wedding" The woman was growing impatient; this had been going on for a while.
"Mother, that's not helpful," Ilyra huffed, lifting her head to glare at Queen Selene Pyralis.
The queen stayed silent, observing her daughter.
"I never expected this day to come so early. I have never even met this boy! And I'm supposed to be okay with this because everyone tells me it's for the good of the nation. NO!-No, I can't accept this. Let the war continue, I don't care anymore!" Her voice cracked into a full-bodied outburst.
Her mom, the queen, understood her daughter. That's why she didn't give out about her foul language, like she usually did.
"Oh, please, you overreact." The Queen brushed aside her reasoning with a flick of tone. "Besides, I married your father because my parents decided so. I didn't know much about the young prince back then, either" The Queen remembered her past while looking at the window before standing up and approaching Ilyra.
"B-Bu-but that's different!" Ilyra looked away from her mother as she approached. "How?" Selene was shoulder distance apart from her. Ilyra stayed silent. "For generations, women's opinions have been cast away without care. So I understand you, I really do. But we must stay strong, Ilyra. Especially now." Her hands slowly advanced towards Ilyra's face. "The Nations grow restless, a single refusal from you could ignite an even bloodier war we cannot control".
Ilyra's breath hitched. "So I'm a tool now?"
"No," Selene said sharply, then softer, "you are a pillar, and pillars can't crumble. Not when a kingdom leans on them". Ilyra looked up at her mother, "I never asked to carry this kingdom". Selene brushed a strand of hair from Ilyra's face and dragged it behind her ear. "Neither did I," she muttered.
"I don't love him, Mother", Ilyra gazed at her mother. 'That determined gaze-her father's, her brother's.' It stirred a quiet amusement in Selene. She released her daughter's face.
"You will learn to love", Selene gently hugged her daughter. Ilyra returned the hug, "I'll be strong, Mom. For our family" A tear ran down her cheek and glimmered as it landed on the floorboards.
...
Bells chimmed in The Old Faith Cathedral. The oldest structure in all of Emberhold, it had witnessed wars, weddings, coronations, and calamities across centuries. The Cathedral's warm, weathered face was crowded with carved figures, each one frozen mid-story. Above them, a big rose window, arched corner to corner. Large dark-oak doors guarded its organs. Standing before it, one felt the weight of centuries gathered in its walls.
The Inside was more breathtaking than the outside. A long white carpet stretched down the middle aisle, splitting the cathedral in half. A balcony wrapped around the perimeter, guarded by a wooden railing carved with intricate patterns.
Round wooden pillars held the balcony's weight. Atop the balcony, knights stood up straight, searching for any possible danger.
Below the knights sat the nobles from many houses of Astreavon. Some from Kythera were there too.
Hanging on the right wall, between the windows, were the Pyralis crest banners. A crimson banner split by a bold black band, within what looked to be a golden phoenix and eagle cross of a creature, rose with wings on full display, covering the width of the banner. Its flame-like feathers exerted heat. Its talons gripping a crossed sword and torch, symbols of battle and tradition. Below the mythical creature, the Pyralis house motto could be read, "through flame, we endure".
On the opposite wall, hung Veylor banners. Deep midnight-blue. At its centre coiled a silver serpent. Poised, its body slithered in s-shapes. Below it, the Veylor motto "By mind, by blade".
As you reached the end of the carpet, a priest stood with a small book in hand. In front of him, to the left, stood Prince Riven Veylor. He wore a robe of sea-blue trimmed with gold.
The prince's dark-blond hair was styled like parted curtains, revealing a clean forehead. His thick eyebrows guided by his brown eyes. he was tall and composed. He wore a ceremonial crown and his house crest on his back.
A few steps behind Prince Riven stood his personal knight, Sir Theodore Macen. His shiny armour reflected light, hitting it. Looked to be in his late thirties. Had short brown hair. His brown eyes scanned the room while keeping an eye on the prince. He carried a long sword at his belt.
Beside him stood Riven's uncle, Lord Haedric Vaylor. He came representing the king, as it wasn't safe for him to do so.
Opposite them stood Sir Kaelus Pyralis, the king's younger brother. He became a knight at the age of twenty-six against his father's wishes and now commands the royal guards.
His polished armour glinted under the cathedral light. He had a sword on his back. He left his shield with one of his trusted guards to keep safe. His sharp glare swept over his guards, ensuring none dared to slack.
Beside him, Prince Kaelen Pyralis stared at him intently, not to miss any of his movements. His heartbeat skittered for no reason he could name. Kaelen wore a black velvet doublet. His hair was neatly slicked back. His black trousers were intentionally plain. It was tradition to wear plain clothes to a wedding and not outshine the bride and groom. His pockets were sewn to stop him from putting his hands in them. A bad habit he had picked up recently.
A few steps beside Kaelen stood the Queen.
Selene now wore a forest green dress with red patterns, symbolising her old house, House Aureliane. And her current house, Pyralis. She looked at the nobles, smiling whenever she met eyes with one.
A few steps behind Kaelen and Selen stood Sir Aldric Vaunt, in light plate armour. He disliked thick armour, claimed it made him slow and restricted his movements. He carried two swords: a larger blade at his hip and a shorter one sheathed horizontally across his lower back. Most people would have a small blade back there, but due to Sir Aldric's height, he was able to carry a short sword.
In line with Sir Alric stood Sir Jorvan Varyn, the king's guard. He was in his mid-twenties and stood with rigid pride. There were a lot of eyes on him, mainly because of his over-the-top shiny armour that covered him from head to toe, but also because he was big. In height, he only reached about Sir Alric's nose, but he had broad shoulders and thick arms that looked like they could tear a man's limbs off.
His sword stood point-down between his feet, buried slightly in the floorboards as he rested both hands atop the rain-guard. His fingers tightened and relaxed on the hilt of his sword.
He had a big shield on his back. In total, he was carrying tons of weight, but he was used to this attire. He looked around the cathedral impatiently, not paying too much attention to anything in particular. Now and then, his eyes flicked toward the window.
Nervous.
Too nervous.
Why?
Music began to play, filling the room, and the large door abruptly opened.
Princess Ilyra wore a breathtaking masterpiece. Her dress, which started at her shoulders, creating a neckline, was shaped as though carved by a patient hand that understood both delicacy and power. Deep crimson red, outshined by the golden embroidery that copied vines and wrapped the dress, protected the Princess.
She held her father's arm. King Aramon Pyralis, he wore a similar doublet to his son's. Dark hair falling in loose waves, thoughtful eyes set beneath a steady brow. His beard was freshly shaved, and a bit of stubble could be seen.
They both walked down the aisle, gathering everyone's attention. Each step taken was a statement to the nations and their people.
The prince was mesmerised by the beauty approaching him. His mouth dropped a bit. *cough* *cough* The Prince's uncle reminded his nephew of his whereabouts. To which the Prince straightened up and shut his mouth.
Ilyra also looked at her soon-to-be husband, 'This doesn't seem so bad,' she thought. Her eyes glared towards her mother, and she released a small smile.
*Sigh*'this girl' Selene thought, as she nodded side to side.
Ilyra shifted her gaze from her mother to her brother. Her smile strengthened.
'Someone's happy, ' Kaelen scoffed to himself. 'Father looks tired, he should get some rest after this is done' his vision swapped from Ilyra to the king's.
The two reached the end of the aisle. They went up the four small steps in front of them, and they were face-to-face with the priest.
"I!... King of Astreavon!" the king projected his voice. "Bestow my daughter's hand to Prince Riven Veylor of Kythra", he softened his voice as he gave the priest a slight nod.
The priest responded in kind.
Ilyra released her father's arm and slowly turned to face Prince Riven. They both couldn't help but smile as they stared into each other's eyes.
The king took this chance to walk towards his family in the back. As he went to stand between Selene and Kaelen, he patted Kaelen's head and warmly smiled at him.
'fathers hands are soft', Kaelen noticed.
Sir Aldric's gaze flicked toward the cathedral doors, fleeting but intent.
Everyone was now in place, and the wedding was ready to start. Silence settled with an odd heaviness, as if the cathedral itself were holding its breath
The Priest began speaking as he read from his book; all eyes were on him. "We are gathe-". Something thudded outside the cathedral
*CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!*
A rock had just flown through the window on the left wall.
Shattered glass fell from the wall onto the nobles.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!", women's voices bounced off the wall.
*BANG* The Cathedral walls flung open aggressively.
Soldiers rushed in. The public calmed down.
But...
These weren't Astreavon soldiers. They carried plain armour. Unidentifiable.
The King Infuriated screamed, "What's the meani-!!!"
silence
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" A noblewoman screeched while pointing at the king.
Gasps were heard all around the crowd.
Kaelen slowly forced himself to turn his head to his father. Eyes widened as his little head turned...
A long sword pierced the king's stomach. It pointed towards the ceiling.
Kaelen followed the sword down. It felt as though time stopped.
Who held this now bloody sword?
...
Kaelen froze.
The Kingsguard stood before him.
Sir Jorvan Varyn.