The palace stirred long before the sun crested the horizon. Light seeped slowly into the Throne room, catching on polished stone and fresh garlands of winter orchids strung along the pillars. Incense drifted through the corridors. Servants hurried in hushed steps, their arms full of silks, oils, and sacred trinkets. It was clear : the wedding day had begun.
In the west wing, The Queen's chamber glowed softly with the faint light of dawn barely peaking through. Lyssia pushed the door open with her hip, balancing an armful of folded white fabric. Mirra followed behind, her hands full of jewelry laid carefully across a velvet cloth.
Orielle, unsurprisingly, was still sleeping—curled tightly beneath the sheets, her breath steady and untroubled.
Mirra blinked at her, both brows rising. Such a peaceful sight. She set her tray down gently, pity tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Poor thing. There's been no rest since the funeral. And Today will be nothing but a whirlwind... Then there's the king, well… let's just hope he's calmed down after the last few days. Snapping at everyone, refusing half the wedding preparations, pacing like a caged beast.
Lyssia caught Mirra's expression and exhaled softly. "She looks peaceful at least," she murmured, setting down the folded tunics. But her thoughts were far less calm.
Too peaceful. She was radiant at the feast, glowing even. The morning after, still bright. And yet these last two days… quieter. Focused. No nerves. No fear. Is this her normal behaviour?… almost as though she's bracing herself.
She placed a hand on Orielle's shoulder and tapped lightly.
"Time to wake, my lady. The wedding's today, and there's much to do."
Orielle stirred, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She rose slowly, stretching, the image of tranquility itself.
"Already?" she murmured, but a soft smile followed the word.
Mirra watched carefully, baffled. Not scared? Not even a tremble? She was a nervous wreck before all this. Oh… gods… is this what love does? Turns terror into bliss? If so, truly, the gods are cruel and kind all at once.
"Yes, my lady," Mirra said gently, unable to hide her fondness. "We've finally arrived at the wedding day. After today, things will settle a bit. No more planning of big events. After this it will just be queenly tasks... but you'll learn it quickly!"
Orielle laughed lightly as she rose. "Thank goodness… though learning to be queen won't be easy either."
Lyssia shook her head, her voice carrying that steady certainty. "Nothing of value is ever easy, my lady. But you were chosen. That means the gods saw no one more suited for this path."
She reached out to help Orielle up, and Orielle accepted the gesture gladly. Together, the attendants guided her to the bathing chamber, where the stone floor was warm and perfumed steam curled from the silver basin.
They washed her carefully, reverently, Orielle calmly excepted it... She's grown more accustomed to being bathed and taken care of the last few days, though some awkwardness could show itself ever so often.
After the bath, the real work began.
The maids dressed her in the first attire of the day. The Tunica Recta, woven from soft, white wool. Simple, yes, but elegant. Silver and gold vines embroidered the hem and sleeves. Lyssia wove her hair into an intricate crown of braids, sliding silver string through the strands so they caught the faintest glimmer of light. Mirra placed a thin veil over her, hands trembling with excitement more than fear.
"You're a vision, my lady," Mirra whispered, almost breathless, tears threatening to escape from her eyes. "The court will be speechless. The king… too."
Orielle smiled, warm and genuine, her fingers brushing against her dress. "You've both been so good to me. You'll still be my maids after the wedding… won't you?"
Lyssia's heart fluttered. Gods, this girl... has no idea how loveable she is does she?
"Yes, my lady," she said quickly. "We've been assigned to you permanently. Only the king could take us away." She laughed lightly to ease the tension she felt rising in Orielle's shoulders.
Orielle smiled, growing more excited as the time for the official ceremony to start.
Across the palace, that could not be said for the king.
TIRIAN'S CHAMBERS
Where Orielle's room hummed with gentle warmth, Tirian's chambers had an atmosphere that was more volatile than a gladiatorial arena before the final blow...
Tailors darted around him like frantic sparrows. The king stood stiff as a statue, arms held out as they tugged and pinned and adjusted the gold-trimmed white tunic. His eyes were bloodshot from a nights of patrolling rather than sleeping, shadows carving sharp angles into his face.
He felt every nerve in his body twitch.
Almost done. Just today left. Then it's all over… He kept thinking to himself, as a tailor attached a sash to his side. He took a deep breath,"Could they not have chosen a simple tunic..."
He clenched his jaw, then unclenched it—twice—trying to regain some patience.
Torvax watched from the side, leaning against the wall with the resigned expression of a man who had seen many versions of Tirian—this one he hasn't seen since Tirian was a child. Clearing his throat,
"My lord," he said carefully, "the ceremony begins in an hour."
Tirian huffed, shoulders tensing. "Finally. And how much more of this ridiculousness is planned for the day?"
His voice was sharp, but beneath it was something Torvax rarely heard from him—strain. A warrior bracing for a battlefield he couldn't punch or slice his way through.
Tirian took a deep breath. And then—
A laugh. A sharp, frustrated, half-mad laugh.
The attendants froze.
Did he just… laugh? one tailor thought, horrified. Oh gods. That's worse than shouting.
Tirian turned his glare to Torvax. "Tor. Tell me truly. Do I need all these outfits? Can I not wear one? Or... two at the most?"
Torvax exhaled a soft chuckle. He's the same as when he was a boy—unable to stay still long enough for anyone to fix a collar. But that boy has been buried beneath so much stone these last years... it's good to see a crack in the armor every now and then.
"My lord," Torvax began, approaching with a ceremonial sash, "we already pared it down to four stages. The priests insisted they are essential."
Tirian grunted. "Essential for who? Certainly not for me."
Torvax let out a low, amused breath. "Every piece marks a stage of the union—sacred to Eldoria and to the prophecy. You need to know what's ahead so you don't look lost."
Tirian crossed his arms, irritation flickering. "I already know all this. Why repeat it?"
Torvax didn't bother hiding the sigh that followed. "Because you never listened the first three times."
Tirian turned sharply. "And how would you—"
Before he could finish, Torvax lifted the ceremonial sash between two fingers.
"Do you even know what this is for, your majesty?"
Tirian stared at it. Blinked once. "Of course I—"
One look at Torvax's raised brow silenced him.
Silence...
Tirian exhaled sharply, scowling. "Fine. Just get it over with."
Torvax fought the urge to laugh outright. He launched into the explanation, pacing slowly.
"The wedding reception has already begun. Guests are greeting each other in the great hall. Neither you nor LadyOrielle will attend that portion as one normally does, you'll fetch her from her chambers and walk together to the base of the throne for the formal rites."
Tirian grumbled but listened.
"The first attire, the one you're wearing, is white for purity, gold for the strength of Eldoria. After the rites, you both sit on the twin thrones to receive the blessings. Fewer guests could attend due to the rushed timing. Mostly locals, knights, wealthy traders and vintners."
Tirian's shoulders eased the slightest bit. Good. Fewer people.
"During this, and each guest will offer a blessing—gifts, not of wealth but of meaning. A flower for peace, a fruit for fertility, things like that. You'll thank them, and the court will watch to see your unity, and sincerity... No doubt will Lady Orielle achieve that part."
Tirian glared. "I can be sincere."
Torvax lifted a brow in silent disagreement but continued on.
"This sash," he said, lifting it between his hands, "symbolizes honor and loyalty to both the kingdom and the Holy Circle. Both of you will wear it."
Tirian withheld a groan. Yes... alright I see it's importance, do you have to continue this?...
"After blessings comes the wedding meal. Lighter attire. Then the final stage—the Rite of Union, the dance which you had to practice many years ago. After that priests will guide you to the temple baths for purification. Myrtle. Olive oil. Lastly the wedding chamber."
Tirian muttered, "Four outfits… ridiculous."
Torvax waited for an acknowledgment but received none.
Then Tirian grabbed his sword and strode toward the exit. His muttering continued down the hallway.
"So… I'll just fetch the girl and get this over with... Could've just given simple orders instead of all the meanings behind it, what a waste of time..."
His voice echoed, followed by a dry, humorless laugh.
Torvax smiled faintly once the king vanished around the corner.
He'll be fine. Haha, the day will be tiring though... very tiring.