The wedding procession slowly faded into the distance, leaving a trail of flowers along the cobblestone road now lit by oil lamps. The cheers of the townsfolk dimmed into low murmurs, then vanished altogether, swallowed by the whisper of the evening wind that grew colder.
The sky had turned a deep shade of purple, and the last rays of the sun lingered on the horizon like a wound that refused to heal.
Yet in the midst of these changes, Riven and Ashtoria did not move.
Ashtoria was still leaning against his chest, holding him tightly as if the world might snatch him away at any moment. Her grip did not loosen, it grew stronger. Her head rested on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as though it was a song she could never forget.
Riven stood motionless, one hand resting lightly on her back, letting her remain there. He did not know what to say. Perhaps nothing needed to be said. Their presence was enough. Even silence felt meaningful that night.
But as time passed, a dull ache crept across his shoulder, down his arm, and into his back. He shifted slightly, trying to ease his posture without disturbing her. Yet Ashtoria did not move.
She still held him.
And Riven could not bring himself to push her away.
He exhaled softly, turning his head just enough to notice Melly seated nearby on a bench facing the square. She rested her chin on her palm, staring at them with an expression that hovered somewhere between boredom and amusement. When their eyes met, Melly raised one eyebrow as if to say, "Are you two done yet?"
Riven answered only with a faint nod and a helpless smile. Melly rolled her eyes and leaned back, idly twirling a twig in her hand to pass the time.
Meanwhile, Ashtoria remained silent. But it was not an empty silence.
Her shoulders trembled ever so slightly. Her breathing was not steady. There was still a storm raging within her, and Riven could feel it, as if that embrace was the only anchor keeping her from being swept away.
He lifted his gaze to the night sky now studded with stars, then lowered it again to the woman's blood-red hair spilling over his shoulder. He spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
"Your Highness… we should part ways now."
Ashtoria did not move. Her body clung to his as if fused to him. In fact, if Riven had been more aware, he would have felt that her hold tightened, more desperate, as though her very soul rejected the reality he had just spoken.
Riven drew in a breath, then gently touched her shoulder.
"Your Highness," he said again, firmer this time, "we must part now. Both of us have our own lives we must return to."
The words slid into Ashtoria's chest like a thin blade. She did not cry out. She did not weep. Yet within her silence, something tore—slowly, deeply, and unbearably.
Her head bowed. Her grip weakened. The fingers that had clung so tightly to his shirt lost their strength, finally slipping away… like someone losing hold of the one thing that kept them alive.
But when she lifted her gaze to his face, only an inch away from hers, Ashtoria's eyes shimmered. Not with tears, but with emotions too vast for a mortal body to contain.
"Do not call me 'Your Highness,'" she whispered, so faint it was almost lost to the wind. "Call me… by my name."
Riven froze. His eyes flickered, searching the face of the woman standing before him in a silence that felt fragile yet resounding.
"Say my full name," Ashtoria repeated, more firmly, more earnestly, though in her gaze now stirred a strange intensity. It was not mere affection. It was a hunger for recognition. A possessive need.
Riven glanced away briefly, his heart trembling for reasons he could not explain. After steadying his breath, he finally answered softly, "…Ashtoria."
And when the name left his lips, it surged through her veins like a current of fire. That voice… that name… spoken by him… it was unlike anything else. It was different from when he called her Aria as he always had.
Ashtoria—her name had always been uttered with fear, with reverence, but never with tenderness.
"Say it again," she demanded quickly, almost without thought.
Riven looked at her in confusion, but her expression left him no choice. There was something in her eyes now, difficult to describe. A mix of joy, pain, and an obsession blooming like a sweet poison.
"Ashtoria," Riven said again.
And this time, the world stopped for her.
Her heart raced, too fast. Her face flushed. Her breath caught. Something churned inside her chest. Not just love. But certainty. A terrifying conviction that this man was hers. That in no world could she ever let him go.
Riven lowered his head slightly, stifling a sigh as his chest tightened. Then he spoke in a low but sincere tone:
"We should part here, Your Highness. Thank you… for treating me and my sister with such kindness. I hope one day we can meet again… in better times."
The words struck Ashtoria like cold rain on a fragile bloom. Her face, once composed and regal, fractured. The mask cracked, porcelain split from within. Her eyes went hollow for a heartbeat—then began to tremble, holding back a storm too great to name.
Riven, watching the change, felt something stir uneasily inside him. But he knew if he hesitated now, he would never leave. So without waiting for her reply, he turned, forcing his steps to remain steady.
He had barely taken a step when a warm, trembling hand seized his wrist. The movement was swift, almost reflexive, but it carried an emotion too heavy to ignore.
Riven stopped, exhaling slowly, then turned his head.
Ashtoria stood there, staring at him with wide, wounded eyes and trembling lips.
"I told you…" she said, her voice lower, more fragile than before, "do not call me Your Highness. Call me… by my name."
Even Ashtoria herself was startled by her action. Yet when she saw his back beginning to drift away from her, something inside her screamed wildly, refusing that reality. Her hand had moved before her mind could stop it.
Riven regarded her, puzzled yet calm.
"Ashtoria… what is it? Why did you stop me?"
The question cut deep. Ashtoria lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Inside her, another voice whispered: I cannot part from you. I cannot bear it. I want to keep you. To lock you away. But… will you hate me for it?
At last, in a soft voice, she asked,
"Why are you in such a hurry to leave…? Do you truly not wish to be with me? Were all your words just now… nothing but lies?"
Riven froze.
Her words pierced him. He felt offended, even angered. For Riven had never toyed with anyone's feelings, least of all hers.
"Do you think I was lying?" he asked, his tone deep and firm.
Ashtoria shook her head quickly.
"That is not it… I only… I only want to be with you a little longer."
Her admission warmed Riven's chest, softening him for a fleeting moment. He lifted his head, studying the woman before him. In his heart, he wondered: Why is she acting this way?
Then Ashtoria spoke again, her voice low.
"What about the carriage you left behind? You wish to retrieve it, do you not?" She paused briefly to steady her breath, then continued.
"The western lands are dangerous now, far from safe."
Riven remained silent. But before he could answer, Ashtoria pressed on.
"If you travel there on foot or by carriage, it will take three or four days. But if I go with you…" Her eyes locked onto his with a warmth that felt almost suffocating,
"…you will reach it in a single day, and I will protect you along the way. So why not come with me until this chaos subsides?"
Riven weighed her words. Something within him whispered that he should refuse. That this closeness was veering toward something… unnatural. Uneasy. Yet when he met her gaze, he felt…
…even if he refused, she would never let him go.
And perhaps, a small part of him did not want to be left behind. Did not want to say no.
At last, with an unsteady heart, he answered,
"Alright."
The word was simple. Yet it carried the weight of change.
Ashtoria smiled. Slowly. Softly. Yet in that smile lurked something unsettling. Something burning quietly in her eyes like embers, an obsession that would never fade.