Two guards stepped forward to flank her; they were not dungeon soldiers, but palace men, silver-armored and sword-bearing. Between them, a third figure emerged. He was younger and slightly taller than the others. His face was unmasked, and his eyes were fixed on her for the briefest moment. He moved like someone used to discipline.
Before she could speak, he looked away and offered a clipped nod.
"Escort the Eclipse Bride," he said.
The title stung more than shackles. They led her through the courtyard, down a processional path flanked by braziers and obsidian statues of past kings. She kept walking. Somewhere in the high galleries above, a noble spat. A murmured prayer followed.
"May the King consume her swiftly."
Nyra smiled.
"Let him try."
The guard, the one who had lingered for the briefest moment, then motioned her forward again. They reached the entrance of the throne hall, tall doors carved with scenes of the first eclipse, when the gods supposedly struck their pact and demanded a bride every hundred years. And then the doors began to open.
The throne hall swallowed her whole. Vaulted ceilings soared above like an open jaw, the frescoes on them obscured by shadow. Every step echoed, too loud. Nyra did not falter.
Her bruises still throbbed, but she lifted her chin and made her silence into defiance.
Court officials lined the sides of the great aisle: priests in white and silver, noble lords in eclipse-masked regalia, the Oracle draped in smoke-gray silk. Not a soul looked at her as a person. They saw her as a symbol, a vessel, a soon-to-be memory.
At the far end of the hall, the throne of Solaria stood empty. The King himself sat beside it, on a lower dais: a calculated gesture of humility before the divine.
He wore black robes trimmed in radiant gold, a circlet of nightglass on his brow. His beard was streaked with silver now, but his posture was as straight as ever. He did not stand. He did not smile. He only gestured.
A priestess stepped forward. Her face was painted white, her voice like flint against silk.
"Before the Kingdom of Solaria, before the gathered Houses, before the Witnesses of Sun and Moon, we offer this vessel."
Nyra stood very still.
"She has been cleansed of her former name, her crimes, her fleshly past. She shall walk the eclipse path and carry our devotion."
The priestess turned to Nyra.
"Kneel."
Nyra did not move.
The guards beside her tensed. One reached for her shoulder. But the scarred one, the young man, gave the slightest shake of his head. The guard hesitated. Nyra's gaze swept the room. Nobles murmured behind masks. Whispers rose like dust in sunlight.
"She's not kneeling."
"Of course she isn't. Filthy rebel."
"Cursed girl."
"She should thank them for the honor."
Nyra spoke then, her voice low, but clear enough to carry.
"I remember your fires," she said. "I remember who lit them."
The murmurs stopped. She took one step forward and turned to face the court.
"You call it a blessing," she said. "But I know a cage when I see one dressed in gold."
The priestess's face did not change.
"Do you refuse the naming?"
Nyra's heart thudded against her ribs. It was not but fury.
"I don't refuse," she said. "I remember."
Then the priestess lifted a silver circlet, eclipse-shaped, and held it high.
"Then let it be known: the girl formerly called Nyra Vale is now the Eclipse Bride."
The hall echoed with ritual words. Witnesses spoke them in unison, trained and hollow.
"She shall walk the moon's path. She shall enter shadow. She shall not return."
Some in the crowd cheered. Some did not. Nyra stood in the center of the hall, white shift glowing like bone. She did not kneel. She did not thank them. She only stared straight into the eyes of the King. And he looked away first.
She was then led to a private chamber prepared for the Eclipse Bride. It was dimly lit, haunted with memories. The heavy doors shut behind her with a final, echoing clang.
Nyra stood still for a moment, letting the silence press against her. The room was beautiful, in a cold and empty way. Silk banners hung from the ceiling like soft nooses, dyed in the royal eclipse colors: ash white, void black, deep crimson. A single oval mirror faced the bed, its frame carved with celestial glyphs. The bed itself was low to the floor and draped in gauze, more ceremonial than comfortable.
Joren stood outside the Eclipse Bride's chamber, his armor gleaming faintly under the flickering torchlight. He hadn't volunteered for this post. But he hadn't refused it either.
Inside the room, all was still. No sobbing, no prayers, no begging to be let out. That alone made her different. The other girls, those chosen before, had always wept through the night. Their cries had haunted this hallway for years, long after they were gone.
But this one? She hadn't made a sound since the doors shut.
Nyra Vale.
He remembered her name. Everyone did. Once, her voice had echoed in the central square, bold and furious as she called for justice, reforms, rights for those the sun forgot. Even some in the palace had whispered approval, quietly. He had watched her trial from the back of the great hall. She hadn't flinched then, either.
The torch beside him popped, casting erratic shadows across the stone walls. He leaned closer to the door, not enough to make noise, just enough to hear. Still nothing.
He felt uneasy, restless. From down the hallway, another guard approached; Joren recognized him by his stride alone. Lannis, a man who enjoyed this duty far too much.
"She's quiet," Lannis said with a grin. "Already accepted her fate?"
Joren didn't reply. Lannis leaned in, his voice low.
"They always scream in the end. Even the brave ones. Especially the brave ones."
Joren's jaw locked. Lannis waited, then chuckled and walked off, his boots loud in mockery. Once the corridor returned to silence, Joren turned his gaze back to the door.
Meanwhile, inside the chamber, she stepped forward and ran her fingers across a velvet cushion. Dust clung to her skin. No one had used this room in a very long time.
"How many brides have slept here?" she whispered. "And how many never left?"
No one answered. Not the walls. Not the gods. Not the mirror. She turned away from the reflection.
At the center of the room, a ritual altar had been prepared. A scroll rested on its surface, its parchment the same color as bone, stamped with the royal seal. A stylus and ink waited beside it. Nyra knew the story.
Each Eclipse Bride was meant to write her vow the night before the ritual. Not read aloud. Not dictated- something only the gods were meant to see. A private promise before public death. Nyra sat before the scroll but didn't pick up the stylus.
Outside, the city had grown loud again. She could hear the sound of low drums, flutes. The people were celebrating, drinking, preparing to say goodbye to a girl most of them didn't even know. Her fingers hovered over the ink.
"I will survive," she murmured. "I will not be forgotten."
She dipped the stylus into the ink, hesitated, then began to write. The vow was not long, but it was sharp. When she was done, she did not read it again. She rolled the scroll and pressed her thumbprint to the seal. Then she rose, turned to the bed, and lay down; not to sleep, but to wait.
Outside, the moon climbed higher. The eclipse was coming, but Nyra was no longer afraid.