Vishendor's unlikely Queen

I stood quietly, staring out the tall arched window of my chambers, the stillness wrapping around me like a cloak. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though something—or someone—waited for me just beyond the horizon. The silence was the kind I had longed for… and yet, it no longer brought peace.

A gentle knock broke the quiet.

"You may come in," I said without turning.

Darwin, one of my most trusted guards, entered with the usual crisp bow, his dark armor catching the light of the setting sun behind me.

"Good day, Your Highness," he greeted.

"What do you desire?" I asked, my tone cool and unreadable, the way it always was.

"The general has arrived, sire. I informed him that you sought his presence."

"And where is he now?"

"He waits outside, my King."

"Send him in," I commanded, my gaze never leaving the distant horizon.

Within seconds, the door swung open again.

"Greetings, my King," the general said, bowing deeply.

I finally turned from the window, my expression unreadable, carved from stone as always. "The westhern region have been breached haven't you heard?. The intruders are preparing to advance, and yet you've done nothing of note," I said, my voice edged with cool curiosity rather than anger.

The general straightened. "Your Highness," he began with measured calm, "I've sent word to Velmira. Their general has responded—he's assigned Theron Morwen to draw up a list of five hundred warriors, fully prepared for deployment."

I studied him for a long beat, offering no reaction. "And?"

"I have also reached out to the other generals. I'll discuss the reinforcement by dawn" he added.

A pause stretched between us.

Then, I gave a single nod, my voice quieter now, but no less firm. "I am pleased by your initiative. However, I want a small battalion sent ahead to inspect the western border immediately. I want eyes there before the night grows thicker."

"As you command, Your Highness," he replied with a respectful bow.

"You may take your leave. I will call for you when needed."

He bowed once more before stepping out.

And just like that, the room fell silent again. My gaze returned to the window, the mask I always wore—stoic, unreadable—settling once more over my features. Whatever waited on the other side of the horizon… I would be ready.

I was still at the window, the echo of the general's departure barely faded, when the door swung open—not with hesitation, but with the easy familiarity of someone who'd long stopped asking for permission.

Catelyn.

Phillip's wife. And one of the very few women in my life who respected me… but didn't fear me.

I turned to face her. "Good day, my lady."

She rolled her eyes with practiced grace. "I've told you not to be formal with me," she said, folding her arms. "And besides, a king shouldn't be greeting an ordinary woman."

I allowed a small smile. "But you're not ordinary. You're the wife of my closest friend. That makes you family, Catelyn."

She gave me a look—the kind that always managed to disarm me more than any weapon could. "Still. You're the king. I shouldn't have to remind you not to lower yourself with pleasantries."

"Very well, my lady," I said with a quiet chuckle. "What does your royal highness desire from her sovereign?"

Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile. Not fully. "I came to check on you," she said simply. "Phillip told me what happened at the meeting."

I waved a hand, brushing off her concern. "There's no need. As you can see, I'm still standing."

She didn't respond right away. She just studied me with that calm, unwavering gaze of hers—the one that always seemed to see beyond the crown and into the man beneath it.

"If you ever need someone to talk to," she said at last, her voice soft but firm, "I'll be here."

She bowed slightly—not out of obligation, but out of love and respect—and turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And the silence returned.

But it no longer felt quite so heavy.

----

The Dravaris estate was a picture of elegance draped in early autumn's warmth. Ivy curled over ancient stone, and lanterns swayed gently in the morning breeze. Anna stepped from the carriage, the weight of her new title clinging to her shoulders like an unfamiliar shawl. Her heart pounded with something close to anticipation—and dread.

Lora met her at the steps, all smiles and soft affection. "I thought you might not come."

"I promised I would," Anna said, managing a smile.

Lora squeezed her hand, her tone light. "He's in the study."

Anna hesitated. Lora noticed.

"You'll be fine," she whispered, her gaze soft. "He hasn't stopped talking about you."

With a blush creeping across her cheeks, Anna nodded and made her way inside. The hall was quiet, filled with books and portraits, and a kind of noble stillness that pressed against her ribs.

---

The study was quiet, the morning light filtering through tall glass panes like spun gold. Shelves lined the walls—lined with knowledge and time—and in the center, near the window, stood Varen.

He didn't speak right away. He didn't have to. His presence filled the room like a hush before the rain.

Anna hovered by the door, fingers clasped tight in front of her. She had told Lora she would return today, but she hadn't expected to see him so soon. Or alone.

"Anna," Varen said softly, turning to face her.

She dipped her head in greeting. "Your Grace."

His brow lifted faintly. "Please don't call me that."

She blinked. "I—I just thought it was respectful."

"It is," he said, taking a step forward. "But I'd rather hear my name from your lips."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure if her voice would betray her thoughts. He noticed. Of course he did.

"I make you uncomfortable," he said, his tone not wounded, just observing.

"No," she answered too quickly. Then quieter, "Not exactly."

He waited.

"It's just..." she hesitated, her voice fragile in the room. "You're the Duke of Morveth. Your name is sewn into banners."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering that.

"Do you think that matters to me?"

She looked up, startled by the sincerity in his voice.

"I know what people see when they look at me," Varen continued. "The crest. The estate. The title. But you… You don't look at me that way. And I don't want to force you."

Anna's throat tightened. "Why not?"

"Because," he stepped closer, his voice a breath now, "if you ever look at me like that, I want it to be by choice. Not fear."

She held his gaze, stunned by the honesty in his words. No command. No entitlement. Just… Varen.

"My father used to say nobility is what you carry in your heart, not what you're born with," she whispered.

He smiled at that. "Then I suspect he raised you better than most kings raise their heirs."

Anna's cheeks flushed. She glanced down, unsure what to do with the way his presence made her feel—like something delicate yet steady was blooming inside her chest.

"Varen," she said at last, carefully tasting his name.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, then softened.

"There," he said, "was that so difficult?"

She gave a quiet laugh, barely a breath, and shook her head.

Outside, Lora's footsteps echoed faintly from the corridor.

But in that moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.