The immortal's bride

The great council hall echoed with silence. No whispers. No murmurs. Just the steady beat of Aelia's heart in her ears as she watched the heavy iron doors creak open.

Two palace guards entered first—followed by Elira.

The girl looked pale and disoriented, her wrists bound before her, hair matted to her temples. Her eyes darted across the room, wide with fear. A hush fell over the chamber as the mark on her arm—silver and glowing faintly—caught the dim torchlight.

"Bring the accused forward," ordered High Lord Vareth, seated at the center of the long table of councilors. His ancient eyes peered down beneath the gold-plated arch of the king's seat. For this hearing, King Kael sat to the right—his jaw taut, hands clasped in his lap, expression unreadable.

"Stop," Aelia said suddenly, stepping into the aisle. The clack of her boots on the black marble echoed across the hall. "You will not parade her like a criminal."

Lord Vareth frowned. "This is not your place to interfere, Princess."

"It is now," she said. "I invoked the Right of Voice. You cannot deny me audience."

Murmurs rose from the gathered nobles and lesser lords observing from the shadows. The Right of Voice was an old law—almost never invoked by anyone but ruling blood. That Aelia knew of it was shocking enough. That she dared to use it... even more so.

"Elira is no threat," Aelia continued. "She has lived here peacefully. She's been kind, loyal, and has never harmed a soul."

"She bears the Veilfire mark," Lady Soraya said coolly, her fingers draped in rings tapping the table. "An ancient sigil tied to bloodlines that once defied the gods. You claim she is harmless, yet she hides her own blood."

"She didn't even know it existed!" Aelia cried. "She didn't ask for it. She didn't choose it. She's just a girl."

"Power does not wait for permission," Vareth said. "And when power awakens—especially of that lineage—it can devour cities."

"And yet," came a sudden voice, deep and final, "you forget one thing."

All eyes turned to the king.

Kael stood slowly, his cloak brushing the steps as he descended to the floor. He did not look at Aelia. He didn't need to. His voice cut through the chamber like steel.

"She is under Aelia's protection," he said. "And therefore—under mine."

A stunned silence followed.

Kael faced the council directly. "You may fear the past. But do not make war against a child because of what you do not understand. Elira is not to be harmed. Nor is she to be questioned, detained, or marked further."

"Your Majesty—" Lady Soraya began.

"This is not a debate." Kael's voice turned cold. "It is a command."

Aelia looked up at him, startled.

He still didn't glance her way. His face remained unreadable, carved from stone—but his words had weight. And that weight—just for a moment—had protected her.

The council fell silent. The final blow had been dealt.

And Elira… she cried. Silently, shoulders shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks as the guards released her binds.

---

Later that evening

Elira sat beside the fire, wrapped in a wool cloak too big for her. She hadn't spoken since the hearing. Aelia handed her a cup of warm broth, kneeling beside her.

"I didn't expect him to say anything," Elira said softly.

"I didn't either," Aelia admitted. "But I think—maybe—he knew he had to."

Elira stared at the fire. "They hate me."

"No," Aelia whispered, brushing her hair back. "They fear you. That's not the same."

"But fear turns into hatred," Elira said. "I've seen it. In their eyes. In the way they looked at you too."

Aelia nodded. "Then let them look. Let them scowl and whisper. As long as I stand between them and you, they won't touch you."

The fire crackled, and outside the wind howled softly.

But inside, something like a promise settled between them.

---

Midnight

Aelia stood on her balcony, the air cold against her skin.

She replayed Kael's words again in her head. His tone. The stillness in his face. He had spoken not with kindness—but duty. Like a king, not a man.

She didn't know what it meant. And perhaps that was the cruelest part.

There was a knock.

She turned.

A raven perched on her window ledge, a scroll tied neatly to its leg. The bird tilted its head—unnaturally still—its eyes glowing faintly silver.

Aelia untied the scroll and unrolled it. The paper was soft, old, ink smeared in places. But the message was unmistakable.

> "One child shielded by a bride not yet broken.

But the fire will come.

And with it, the truth.

You wear no mark… but you were chosen all the same.

The Veilfire remembers."

Her stomach turned. At the bottom of the parchment was the symbol—the same mark Elira bore. But it was not in silver.

This time... it was drawn in blood red.

And it was addressed not to Elira.

But to her.

---