Evening settled softly over Valkoron, The walls of the chamber glowed faintly with the warmth of sunset, soft and golden. The distant crash of the sea echoed faintly against the cliffs, though the sky above remained calm....no storm tonight, only the whisper of the wind and the scent of salt drifting through the open windows.
In her chamber, Aurelia sat before the mirror, her reflection framed by the dying light of day. Gwen stood behind her, brushing her long hair with slow, deliberate strokes.
The air smelled faintly of lavender and the sea. Neither woman spoke at first. It was the kind of silence that said everything and nothing at once
"No matter how many times I look," Aurelia murmured, eyes fixed on the woman in the glass, "I still can't get used to seeing her staring back at me."
Gwen paused, the brush mid-stroke. "Her? You mean yourself, my lady?"
Aurelia gave a faint, humorless smile. "If she can still be called that. Once, I knew every inch of my reflection...the tilt of my smile, the fire in my eyes. Now… it feels like looking at a stranger who borrowed my face and forgot to give it back."
Gwen met her gaze in the mirror, her voice soft. "You're still you, Aurelia."
"Perhaps." Aurelia lifted a hand, brushing her fingers against her scarred cheek. "But life has a cruel sense of irony. I never thought, not in a thousand years, that I'd one day be married to the Storm Lord of Valkoron."
"You didn't plan for this," Gwen said quietly.
"I didn't even imagine it," Aurelia replied. "I thought I'd die in Ashmere, still clinging to Neris like a fool. I was so sure that no other man could matter." She let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "Strange, isn't it? The way fate mocks our certainties."
"Yes," Gwen said simply. "It is."
Aurelia's lips curved faintly. "And now I'm dressing for a dinner that's nothing more than a battlefield disguised as civility. Even before Vaelric warned me, I already knew."
"You always do," Gwen said with a grin, setting down the brush. "So, who are your allies tonight, Commander?"
"The polite kind," Aurelia replied wryly. "His mother, his sister, and the prince. The rest?" Her tone hardened slightly. "They'll learn soon enough that I'm not someone to toy with."
Gwen laughed softly. "It's good to be polite, my lady, but not too polite. If they sense hesitation, they'll take it for weakness."
"Oh, don't worry," Aurelia said, meeting her own reflection again. "The only reason I'll be polite is because they're his family. And because…" Her voice trailed off before she whispered, "Because I still feel guilty."
"Guilty?" Gwen echoed, surprised.
"That Valerian had to marry someone like me," Aurelia admitted. "Cursed. Deformed. "He could've had a woman of beauty, a noble born without stain or curse. Instead, he's bound to me."
Gwen rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And yet, he chose you. "You shouldn't apologize for surviving."
Aurelia's lips curved faintly. "Perhaps not. But it's difficult not to feel like the uninvited guest at your own wedding."
Aurelia's eyes fell, soft and distant. Then, after a long silence, she inhaled deeply and straightened her back. "Anyway. One step at a time, yes?"
"One step," Gwen agreed, smiling faintly as she moved to the wardrobe.
"Speaking of steps, you'll need to walk into that hall looking like the queen you are."
She drew out a gown wrapped carefully in silk....a dress of deep forest green, embroidered with golden butterflies that shimmered as they caught the evening light.
"It came earlier," Gwen said, holding it up for her to see. "The butler brought it this evening," Gwen said. "Said His Majesty wanted you to have it for the dinner."
Aurelia stood slowly, the fabric glinting like sunlight through leaves. "It's beautiful," she said quietly. Then, a bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. "Ironic, isn't it? A beautiful dress wasted on an ugly woman."
"Don't say that," Gwen chided gently. "Beauty isn't only in the face, my lady. Sometimes, it's in the way a person carries what life has broken."
Aurelia said nothing, only reached for the gown. As Gwen helped her dress, the silk flowed over her like liquid dusk, the embroidery catching the candlelight in quiet bursts of gold.
When Gwen stepped back, her eyes softened. "You look… regal."
"Regal," Aurelia repeated, almost tasting the word. "I suppose I must be. I'm a queen now."
"Yes," Gwen said softly, "and one who deserves to be seen."
Aurelia turned toward her trunks. "Fetch me my veil."
"The long one?" Gwen asked, already reaching for the folded silks.
"No," Aurelia said. "The shorter one. I don't want it dragging over my meal like some curtain of tragedy."
Gwen smiled faintly and chose the veil Aurelia favored...thin enough to let her eyes be seen through the gauze, short enough not to hinder her. She pinned it gently into place, her fingers deft but tender.
Then came a knock.
Both women turned as the door opened to reveal the Storm Lord's butler, tall and polite as always, his posture impeccably formal.
"My lady," he said, bowing low. "The royal family has gathered. His Majesty requests your presence."
Aurelia inclined her head. "Tell His Majesty I shall be there shortly."
"Of course, my lady." He bowed again before retreating, his footsteps soft against the stone floor.
When the door closed, Gwen turned back to Aurelia, her expression somewhere between pride and worry. "Ready?"
Aurelia looked at herself once more in the mirror. For a heartbeat, she saw the woman she used to be...the fierce general of Ashmere's fire courts, her soul unyielding, her gaze unbroken. Then the illusion faded, leaving the veiled reflection before her. But this time, she did not flinch.
"Yes," she said finally. "I'm ready."
"Then go show them what kind of queen Valkoron has," Gwen said softly.
The corridors beyond were hushed, their lamps glowing faintly along the stone walls. Servants she passed lowered their heads, whispering as the queen went by....a woman with a veil, a curse, and a spine straight as steel.
Gwen followed a respectful pace behind, her heart swelling with both pride and fear.
At the end of the hall, the herald stood waiting before the great doors. When he saw her, he straightened and struck his staff once upon the floor.
"My lords and ladies," his voice rang clear, "Her Majesty, Lady Aurelia of Ashmere...Queen of Valkoron."
The doors opened.
Aurelia drew one last breath and stepped through. Her head held high, her steps measured and calm.
And she entered....head held high, shoulders steady, every inch the queen she had become, even beneath the veil. Whatever waited for her inside....the stares, the whispers, the silent judgment of a royal table...she would meet it without flinching.
If this was another kind of war, then she would fight it as she always had.
Unflinching,Without fear. Unbroken. Without apology.
And this time, she would not burn.