The great chamber of Halemond was unusually quiet.
Sunlight poured through the high arched windows, catching on dust motes that danced over ancient stone. Two chairs had been placed before Lord Velmorn's table — stiff-backed, carved from black mountain oak — and before them stood the daughters of House Velmorn: Kara and Neriah.
Lord Velmorn regarded them both with the weary sternness of a man who had ruled too long and slept too little.
"You kept me waiting," he said.
Neriah bowed her head. "Forgive us, Father. We came as soon as we were told."
Kara said nothing.
Velmorn's eyes lingered on her. Then, with a sigh, he gestured to the chairs. "Sit. Both of you."
They did.
"I won't waste time with ceremony," their father said, folding his weathered hands before him. "What I'm about to say concerns the future of this House... and the future of the Bannerlands."
The girls exchanged a glance. Neriah's heart skipped. Kara only raised a brow.
Velmorn continued, his voice low but sure. "The Crown has sent word from Arkenfall."
Kara shifted in her seat.
"The King — Damon Dragarth — has requested a bride."
The air changed.
Neriah blinked, barely breathing. Kara stilled. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Velmorn leaned back. "He has asked for a noble daughter. Halemond has ever been loyal to the Crown. Our banners stood with his in the war, and our bloodline is one of the oldest in the realm. He has chosen our House."
Kara's mouth parted. "You… You're joking."
"There is no jest," Velmorn said sharply.
"To wed King Damon? The Storm Lord?" Kara's tone rose. "That butcher? The Skull-Drinker? The man who gutted his own brothers and wears their rings on his belt?"
Neriah flinched. "Kara—"
"No," Kara said, eyes wide. "You've all gone mad. Have you seen the letters from the court scribes? He's a monster. They say he sleeps with his sword. They say he's old, withered, and mad from war. I won't do it. I won't be sent to die in some stone palace just so Halemond can curry favor."
Velmorn's jaw tightened. "You forget yourself."
"I remember myself too well," Kara hissed. "I'm not some doe-eyed girl to be bartered off for alliance. I won't wed that beast."
"You are the heir of this house," Velmorn said coldly. "Your duty is not for debate."
"My duty? Most times I detest those duties," Kara shot back, rising.
"Kara!" Neriah gasped.
But Kara was already gone — storming from the chamber with fire in her eyes and no regard for who saw her go.
A long silence followed. Neriah sat frozen, eyes lowered, heart thudding. She could still feel the heat of Kara's anger in the air.
"I'm sorry, Father," she said quietly.
Velmorn sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "No. You are not the one who needs to apologize."
He looked at her then, not unkindly. "Your sister has always had a wild heart. It has been her greatest charm... and her deepest flaw."
"She doesn't mean to shame you."
"I know." His voice was tired. "But she must understand that this is not about what she wants. The Kingdom stands on fragile peace. The King offers us not just a marriage — but a place at the center of the realm. We cannot refuse."
Neriah swallowed. As much as she knew very little about politics, she knew her father was right.
******************
The sound of something breaking echoed down the stone corridor.
Neriah flinched outside her sister's chamber before hastily pushing the door open. The heavy oak creaked as she stepped in, and the sight that greeted her made her heart sink.
Kara was in a frenzy.
Silken cushions had been flung across the floor, her hairbrush lay snapped near the hearth, and her golden mirror — the one their father gifted her last year — was cracked down the middle. Kara herself stood by the open window, still in her court dress, tugging at the jeweled clasps with shaking hands.
"I can't do it!" she shouted, as if the walls themselves were listening. "I won't do it, Neriah!"
"I know," Neriah said softly, closing the door behind her. "I heard the echo down the corridor."
Kara spun around, eyes burning. "Don't jest with me."
"I'm not." Neriah walked in slowly, careful not to step on the broken glass. "But throwing a fit won't stop the King's decree."
"Decree," Kara spat, pacing like a caged hawk. "As if I'm a pawn on some scroll. You heard him, didn't you? 'The King requests a bride.' And of all the houses, all the noble girls—"
"He chose Halemond," Neriah said gently.
"He chose me," Kara snapped. "Because I'm firstborn. Because I wear the right jewelry and know the court dances. Not because I want this. Not because I have a say."
Neriah moved to the hearth and sat on the edge of the low bench. "Kara…"
"You don't understand," Kara seethed, grabbing a goblet from her vanity and hurling it into the wall. It shattered, wine staining the stone. "You don't know what I know."
"What do you mean?"
Kara hesitated. Then her shoulders sagged, and she crossed the room toward Neriah with a bitter laugh. "I wasn't just with any lover this morning."
Neriah stiffened. "Kara, if Father hears—"
"He won't. Not unless you tell him. And you won't." Kara dropped onto the settee beside her. "It's Desmond."
Neriah blinked. "The one in the King's Guard?"
Kara nodded. "He's been posted at Arkenfall for months. He's seen him — the King. Seen the throne room. Seen the things that happen behind those polished stone walls."
"And?" Neriah asked warily.
"He told me awful things," Kara whispered. "That Damon Dragarth is no man — he's a beast. Cold, cruel. He kills not with anger, but with silence. He speaks in riddles, and when he doesn't like a man's answer, he has them removed from court. No trial. No mercy."
Neriah was quiet.
"And he's old, Neriah," Kara added fiercely. "Older than they say. He's not some warrior prince — he's a relic. He walks with a sword in hand and ghosts at his heels."
Neriah glanced down. "Rumors don't always hold truth."
"They do when they come from someone who's seen it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft snapping of firewood.
Then Neriah said quietly, "Even if all that is true… it's still your duty."
Kara shot up. "Oh, spare me the sermon."
"I'm not preaching," Neriah said, standing too. "But you know how rare this is. How many lords would kill for this chance. Halemond has never sat so close to the throne. Father would never have agreed unless it meant something."
"And what about what I want?" Kara's voice cracked. "What about my life?"
Neriah's expression softened. "I understand, Kara. I do. But sometimes… sometimes duty weighs more than desire."
Kara looked at her then — really looked — and for a moment, her eyes softened too.
Then she turned away and whispered, "If you want this marriage so much, maybe you should go in my place."
Neriah didn't answer.