In the evening, the Imperial Palace stirred with grandeur and anticipation. Velvet banners bearing the sigils of noble houses fluttered in the cold breeze, while enchanted carriages—drawn by mystical steeds of varying breeds—arrived one after another, their wheels clicking over cobblestone with rhythm.
Palace attendants lined the steps, bowing as nobles descended with poised elegance and concealed ambition.
Just beside the main courtyard, a small reception chamber had been transformed into the Registry Hall, where noble families gathered to submit their names and preferred mode of participation: bonded pair, arranged match, or the rare and unpredictable fate rune.
The air inside buzzed with murmurs, rustling silk, and the occasional flare of enchanted parchment sealing with soft glows.
Three crystal desks shimmered along the eastern wall, each manned by scribes from the Imperial Archive. Their quills hovered, recording names in silver ink that shimmered briefly before vanishing into enchanted ledgers. Above, floating markers identified the three divisions: Bonded Couple, Arranged Marriage, and Fate Rune.
An elderly scribe with moon-rimmed glasses gestured to the line. "State your house and intent," he called evenly.
A flushed couple stepped forward, fingers entwined.
"Arden Thorne of House Thorne, and Lira Devane of House Devane," the young man said. "We request bonding through the engagement rune."
A glowing orb above the bonded column pulsed in acceptance, and their names glimmered on the registry board. A quiet cheer spread through the nearby crowd as they were led toward the ceremony path. Lira clutched her fiancé's sleeve, trembling with nervous delight.
At the next table, Lord Bryn of House Talvar stood stiffly beside his intended—a quiet girl in sapphire robes.
"We were matched by our elders. Arrange us under our fathers' will," he said curtly.
The scribe gave a short nod. "Arranged match. Noted."
Further down, a slender young woman stepped forward alone, her chin raised despite the many eyes on her.
"Lady Isolde of House Myrren," she said coolly. "Fate rune."
The scribe's quill faltered, if only for a breath—long enough for whispers to ripple behind her:
"Another one going in blind?"
"She's hoping for a political match."
"She's from a crumbling house. It's desperation, not romance."
Isolde ignored them, her posture unflinching. The glowing scroll confirmed her entry. She stepped aside with quiet dignity.
A group of academy peers watched from a corner, scribbling predictions in their leather-bound books. One girl with cropped hair and a mischievous smirk whispered, "Lady Aveline's name hasn't appeared yet. Either she's late… or planning something dramatic."
The board shimmered again, revealing the current participant count:
Bonded Couples: 17
Arranged Matches: 24
Fate Rune Participants: 6
The crowd began to thin—but the air only grew heavier. Everyone waited for names not yet spoken.
Then, a final scroll descended slowly, suspended by magic. It was sealed in black wax and bore a silver crest.
House Vellore.
The room fell silent.
"She's here," someone whispered.
---
Within the Inner Quarters
Empress Seraphina sat at the center of a crescent-shaped table, her porcelain teacup cradled between graceful fingers.
Across from her stood Consort Ella of House Throne and Consort Sophia of House Marvale, both attired in rich silks and jeweled combs, cloaked in the poised elegance expected of imperial consorts.
"You're late," Seraphina said mildly, eyes still on her tea.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," Consort Ella replied smoothly. "Morgan wished to consult his tailor one last time before the ceremony."
Sophia offered a composed bow. "I was reading letters from the twins, and preparing a few gifts for when they return."
Seraphina finally looked up, her gaze unreadable. "Yes… especially since they'll be back soon."
A silence stretched, filled with unspoken weight.
Ella was the first to speak again. "There are rumors the cursed prince will appear today. Is it true?"
The Empress set her teacup down with a soft clink. "Kael is still a prince of Solandor, no matter what whispers say. And yes—he will attend."
Ella raised a brow. "After all these years? Why now?"
"Because the emperor has deemed it necessary," Seraphina said, her tone sharper now. "And because some of us still honor the promise made to Kael's parents before he ever stepped foot in this palace."
Sophia's brows drew together. "That old oath still holds weight?"
Seraphina's voice turned cold and firm. "To me, it does."
There was a pause before Ella leaned in, her voice low. "And what of Lady Vellore? Surely you don't support her entry into the ceremony?"
"I do," Seraphina said simply.
Sophia pursed her lips. "She's dangerous. Cold. There's talk—"
"Let them talk," Seraphina cut in, rising to her feet. "Selena Vellore was my dearest friend. Her family stood when others fled. If Aveline steps into that courtyard, she does so with strength no one else can match."
Ella's tone darkened. "Even if it risks the princes?"
Seraphina turned toward the window, watching banners flutter in the courtyard.
"Fate doesn't choose lightly," she said at last. "And neither does Aveline."
She turned back, gaze sweeping over the consorts. "Today we bear witness—not to who they are now, but who fate decides they must become."
Sophia asked, almost in a whisper, "And if fate chooses… her?"
Seraphina offered a slow, enigmatic smile.
"Then the empire had best be ready."
She paused, then shifted her attention to Ella. "Is Morgan participating this time?"
Ella sighed. "I hope so. He's twenty-three now, the age I always expected him to begin seeking a match. But he's said nothing."
The Empress nodded. "I wish Leonhart had someone. I truly don't know who he takes after."
Sophia smiled slightly. "There may be surprises tonight."
Seraphina set aside her teacup and straightened her shoulders. "Come. It's time."
---
The eastern corridor of the Imperial Palace was cloaked in stillness. Indigo carpets lined the floor, and stained-glass windows cast shifting colors of sapphire and ruby across polished obsidian.
Guards in ceremonial regalia stood like statues, halberds gleaming in the twilight.
Then, the great doors opened.
Emperor Eldric Solandor stepped into the hall, draped in a high-collared cloak of midnight blue, embroidered with golden sigils. A silver circlet rested on his brow—simple, but heavy with history.
Behind him followed his assistant, two senior ministers, and the Lord Chancellor.
The bells tolled once.
"Has the Third Prince arrived?" the emperor asked, his voice low and commanding.
The assistant bowed slightly. "His carriage passed the South Gate not long ago. He should be arriving at the inner hall within the hour."
Eldric nodded, eyes unreadable. "And the others? Leonhart. Morgan?"
"They are preparing in the western chamber with their retinues. Crown Prince Leonhart has requested additional seating—for the delegation of guests."
"Hmph. Of course he has," the emperor muttered.
His pace slowed as they passed beneath a vaulted arch, sunlight painting color across his stern features.
"And Lady Aveline Vellore?"
"She is expected shortly. A missive confirms she'll enter through the north gate. She travels light—only her assistant accompanies her."
Eldric was silent for a long moment.
"Selena's daughter," he said at last, more to himself than to the others. "Never one for spectacle."
He paused beneath a towering window, its stained glass depicting the first rune-binders of Solandor. Beyond the glass, nobles shimmered in jewel-toned silks, converging on the courtyard below.
The emperor's gloved fingers tightened around the edge of his cloak.
"The cursed child returns," he murmured. "And the frost-heir steps before the fate rune. The old pact… and the broken one." A pause. "We're testing fate, Chancellor. Or perhaps… fate is testing us."
The Lord Chancellor bowed his head solemnly.
"Your Majesty—the empire is watching."
Eldric inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
"Then we give them something to remember."
As the doors flung open, light flooded the corridor.
The ceremony was about to begin—
—and with it, the unraveling of secrets too long buried.