Kael didn't sleep.
He sat by the fire long after the embers began to fade, his coat still damp from the lake breeze, his gloves forgotten on the floor. He hadn't even taken off his boots.
The palace was quiet at night — the kind of quiet that never reached him during the day. But tonight, even that quiet felt too loud. Too empty without her beside him.
Her voice still echoed in his head. Her smile still lingered in the curve of his thoughts. And the way she looked — standing under the lanterns, gold in her hair, warmth in her eyes — it was seared into him now. Permanent. Irreversible.
He touched his fingers to the armrest of the chair, then to the place where her ring had once been tucked against his heart. It no longer sat in his pocket.
It was hers now.
As she always should have been.
And yet, even now, there was still distance. Still protocol. Still waiting.
That wouldn't do.
He reached for parchment.
Not for a decree. Not for a royal seal.
Just a letter — written in his own hand.
---
My Seraphina,
I should be sleeping, but I'm not. I doubt you are either.
I still see you in every flicker of the firelight.
I'm going to request an audience with my father the moment the sun rises.
We're not going to wait anymore.
No more ceremony. No more long engagements for appearances' sake.
You said yes — and that's enough for me.
I will come to your estate at noon today.
Formally. As your intended. Not with titles, but with truth.
Tell your mother if you like. Or don't.
Either way, I'll be there.
Try to get some rest.
I clearly won't.
—K
P.S. If you're already rereading this by dawn…
I miss you too.
The letter was gone before the sun rose — sent by his most trusted courier, a quiet man who had delivered messages in war zones and secret missions. He said nothing, only bowed and vanished into the gray light.
Kael dressed with precision.
Court clothes — black, silver trim, no embellishment. His father hated drama. So Kael would give him clarity instead. Strength. Purpose.
He walked to the throne room before the ministers had even gathered.
The chamberlain looked startled when Kael approached. "Highness—"
"Announce me," Kael said. "Now."
"But the Emperor isn't—"
Kael gave him a look.
The doors opened.
The room was colder in the mornings. The high windows spilled blue light across the stone. Emperor Asterion sat alone at the great marble table, looking over military papers with a face carved from discipline.
He didn't look up. "You're early."
"I didn't sleep," Kael said. "We need to speak."
The Emperor set his quill down. "This better not be about the engagement again."
"It's not," Kael replied. "Because it's no longer an engagement."
Now Asterion looked up. Eyes narrowed. Silent.
Kael stepped closer, chin high. "I came to end the delay. She said yes. There is no reason to wait months. We've fought together. We've survived assassination attempts. Magic trials. Solvenya. A cursed forest. Fire. Prophecy."
He exhaled slowly. "And I've known for a long time now that I would marry her. Now everyone else will."
The Emperor didn't blink.
"And what of tradition?" he said.
Kael's voice was calm, but firm. "This family exists because two people once made the right decision at the wrong time. I don't care for tradition if it means losing her to it."
Asterion folded his hands. "And if I say no?"
Kael met his gaze directly. "Then I'll marry her anyway."
A long silence followed.
At last, Asterion sat back in his chair.
"You're stubborn."
"I learned from you."
"Hm." A pause. "So be it. But I expect you to tell your mother."
"She already knows."
"And the court?"
Kael's mouth curved slightly. "They'll find out. Loudly."
Meanwhile for Seraphina the morning sun had barely warmed the stone windowsills of the Rubienne estate when the knock came.
It wasn't hurried. It wasn't loud. But it carried weight — as if the person on the other side knew that what they carried wasn't just parchment, but something that might shift the air around it.
Seraphina was in the garden, curled on the small bench beside the phoenix roses — their flames flickering gently in the breeze, not burning, just glowing. She hadn't slept much either. The night had felt too full. Her mind had been racing. Her heart still fluttered as if the proposal hadn't truly ended.
A servant approached with a silver tray and a single scroll sealed in navy wax — Kael's personal mark.
She blinked. "Already?"
The servant bowed. "Delivered with urgency, my lady. By the prince's courier."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal.
Then she read it.
Slowly. Twice.
By the end, her breath had caught in her throat.
She clutched the scroll gently to her chest and stared at the roses without seeing them.
He was going to end the engagement and ask for marriage — properly. Boldly. Before the Emperor. Before the court. Before the world.
Seraphina didn't cry. But something in her chest softened like melted wax.
She stood, still barefoot, still in her simple morning dress, and let the scroll roll back into her hand. Her cloak trailed behind her as she returned to the estate — her steps slow, almost dreamlike.
By the time the midday sun crowned the sky, she was dressed in velvet again — this time in silver-blue, soft as cloudlight, trimmed with delicate embroidery that shimmered like frost. Her hair was pinned with mother-of-pearl combs, and her only jewelry was the ring he had given her the night before.
She didn't know what to expect. She only knew she wanted to see him again.
And then… the gates opened.The gates of House Rubienne opened with a slow groan, the creak echoing across the sunlit courtyard.
Seraphina stood at the top of the stone steps, her cloak draped over her shoulders, fingers curled loosely around the edge of her sleeves. The morning breeze played gently with the loose strands of her golden hair.
And then she saw him.
Not just Kael.
The Crown Prince of Eldoria.
A sleek, dark carriage with silver embellishments rolled through the gates, escorted by a formation of imperial guards in navy and gold. Behind them followed two additional carriages — filled not with people, but with gifts.
Crates of silk and fur, rare books and carved jewelry boxes, enchanted roses still blooming from distant provinces, and a snowglass case holding a phoenix-feather quill — one of the last in existence.
But it wasn't the treasures that made her breath catch.
It was him — as he stepped from the carriage.
Kael wore a formal imperial coat in deep obsidian, embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like constellations. A sapphire brooch was pinned near his collar, and his hair had been neatly combed back, not a single strand out of place.
No sword. No crown.
But power clung to him all the same.
He descended from the carriage slowly, eyes locked on her — and for a moment, the entire procession, the guards, the weight of his title… faded into background noise.
Because the only person he saw was her.
Seraphina blinked slowly. "You brought an army."
"I brought manners," Kael said, finally standing before her. "And apologies in the form of entirely too many presents."
She glanced behind him at the second and third carriages.
"Kael, is that a—"
"Miniature phoenix sculpture. Carved from soulwood. Enchanted to sing lullabies."
"Why?"
"In case your library gets lonely."
She stared at him.
He offered a slightly sheepish smile. "Also, your mother terrifies me and I'm trying to impress her."
Before Seraphina could reply, the doors behind her opened — and Celestria Rubienne emerged, flanked by her son Lucien, the heir of the dukedom.
Celestria did not smile. But her gaze swept over Kael and the entire presentation with unmistakable precision.
"Your Highness," she said coolly.
Kael bowed, low and with full formality. "Duchess Rubienne. Lord Lucien. I thank you for receiving me on such short notice."
"We were told to expect you," Lucien said, his tone unreadable.
Kael gestured toward the gifts. "I've come not only as Seraphina's suitor, but as Crown Prince. With respect to your house and all its legacy. And to ask, not for a season of waiting, but for your blessing — to marry your daughter."
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
Lucien arched a brow. "That's a rather sudden shift, isn't it?"
Kael didn't flinch. "I have learned the hard way that the Empire does not grant the luxury of time. I have no intention of wasting mine pretending that this is not already decided in my heart."
Celestria studied him in silence.
Then her eyes flicked briefly to her daughter — and perhaps for the first time, Seraphina did not look like the cursed girl the Empire once feared.
She looked like the future.
Celestria exhaled, very softly.
"Then come inside, Crown Prince," she said. "Let us speak not as rulers, but as family."