TragicMate

The morning sun painted the fields in golden hues as Alaric trudged toward the village square, his heart heavy with unease. The herald's words from the day before replayed in his mind like a haunting refrain: The prince will be accompanied by his betrothed, Lady Seraphina. Her name carried the weight of a dream he could not shake, and now, the stark reality of her impending union loomed like a dark cloud.

His father's warnings had echoed through the night, a grim reminder of the dangers that came with noble attention. But Alaric's resolve was firm, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. He couldn't let this go, couldn't let her become just another untouchable figure in a story he was forbidden to write himself into.

As he entered the bustling square, the air buzzed with anticipation. Villagers moved about with hurried steps, their conversations punctuated by nervous laughter and speculative whispers. Preparations for the royal visit were well underway, with banners and garlands being hung along the main thoroughfare. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat wafted through the air, a cruel contrast to the tension that lingered beneath the surface.

Bram spotted Alaric from across the square and bounded over, his youthful exuberance undiminished. "Did you hear? They're saying the prince will arrive tomorrow! There's going to be a feast and everything."

Alaric managed a faint smile, his thoughts elsewhere. "A feast for them, perhaps. For us, it's just another reminder of where we stand."

Bram's face fell, his excitement dampened by his brother's somber tone. "You're always so serious. Can't you just enjoy it for once?"

Before Alaric could respond, a commotion erupted near the center of the square. A small procession of soldiers marched through, their polished armor gleaming in the sunlight. At their head was a man clad in a deep crimson cloak, his bearing regal and commanding. The villagers parted like waves before him, their whispers growing hushed.

"That must be one of the prince's advisors," Bram whispered, his eyes wide with awe. "Look at him. He's like a hero from the old tales."

To Alaric, the man was no hero. He was a harbinger of the power that crushed men like him underfoot. But he kept his thoughts to himself, his gaze shifting past the soldiers to the figures trailing behind. And there she was—Seraphina.

She walked with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly, her burgundy gown flowing like liquid fire. Her hair caught the light, a cascade of gold that framed her delicate features. But it was her eyes that held Alaric captive, their emerald depths betraying a hint of sadness that seemed to mirror his own.

For a fleeting moment, their gazes met. The world around them blurred, the noise of the square fading into a distant hum. Alaric felt a jolt in his chest, as if the very air had been stolen from his lungs. But just as quickly, the moment was gone, and she turned away, her attention claimed by the man in crimson.

Alaric's fists clenched at his sides, a mixture of longing and frustration coursing through him. She was so close, yet impossibly out of reach. The realization stung, but it also fueled the fire within him. He couldn't let this be the end.

Later that evening, as the village settled into uneasy quiet, Alaric found himself drawn to the edge of the forest that bordered the estate where the nobility were staying. The towering trees cast long shadows in the moonlight, their branches swaying gently in the cool breeze. He had no plan, no clear idea of what he hoped to achieve. All he knew was that he needed to see her again.

He moved silently through the underbrush, his footsteps careful and deliberate. The estate's grand silhouette loomed ahead, its windows glowing with the warm light of chandeliers. Laughter and music drifted through the night, a stark reminder of the world that separated him from Seraphina.

As he approached the outer gardens, he spotted a figure moving among the hedges. His heart leapt when he realized it was her. She walked alone, her steps unhurried, her expression thoughtful. Alaric hesitated, fear and desire warring within him. What was he doing? If he were caught, the consequences would be dire.

But then she turned, her gaze falling on him as if she had sensed his presence. Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. For a moment, neither of them moved, the space between them charged with unspoken emotion.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice low but steady.

Alaric stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I… I needed to see you."

Seraphina's brow furrowed, her gaze searching his face. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If anyone sees you…"

"I don't care," he interrupted, his voice firm. "I had to tell you. I can't stop thinking about you. Every time I close my eyes, you're there. And I know it's foolish, I know we come from different worlds, but…"

"Stop," she said sharply, her tone laced with both fear and frustration. "You don't understand what you're saying. This can't happen. It… it will only bring pain."

"Pain is all I've ever known," Alaric replied, his voice softening. "But you… you make me believe there could be something more. Even if it's just for a moment, I'd risk everything for that."

Seraphina's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her composure wavering. She looked away, her hands gripping the folds of her gown. "You're brave, Alaric. Braver than anyone I've ever met. But bravery won't save you from the world we live in. It won't change the way things are."

"Maybe not," he said, taking a step closer. "But it's worth trying. Isn't it?"

She didn't answer, her silence speaking volumes. And then, without another word, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the garden. Alaric stood there, his heart heavy but resolute. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with peril, but he couldn't turn back now.

For better or worse, his fate was tied to hers.