A Silent promise

The ceremonial hall shimmered beneath a canopy of golden chandeliers, casting soft reflections on the polished marble floor. Nobles and royals whispered among themselves, their curious eyes turning now and then toward the man standing at the altar.

Elric Thorne stood tall and composed in his deep navy ceremonial uniform. The crisp lines of his collar and the glint of his family crest pinned to his chest reflected the burden of his role. But his eyes—cool, unreadable—remained fixed on the great double doors at the end of the aisle.

Beside him stood Caelan Vire, his most trusted friend and head of personal security. Dressed in formal black with an impish smirk tugging at his lips, Caelan leaned slightly toward Elric and whispered, “You sure this is a wedding and not a funeral? You’ve been still as a statue for ten minutes straight.”

Elric didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. A slight glance, quiet and steady, was enough for Caelan to chuckle and straighten up, muttering under his breath, “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

But then the music shifted.

The soft swell of strings filled the room. The murmurs quieted. The doors slowly opened.

Elric’s breath caught. Just for a moment, the air around him stilled.

Maelin Elora stood beneath the archway, draped in a gown spun from moonlight and starlight. Her wedding dress shimmered with countless diamonds and rare crystals, each facet catching the light like frozen fire. It clung to her with elegance—graceful yet commanding, a mirror of who she was.

Every step she took was confident, yet her gaze held caution, strength wrapped in distance. Her head held high, Maelin walked not like a bride entering a new chapter—but like a queen walking into a battlefield she refused to lose.

Elric stepped forward slowly, each movement measured.

He held out his hand.

Maelin hesitated for the smallest fraction of a second before placing hers in his. The moment their skin touched, a strange wave passed through him. Her fingers were soft—far softer than his own, which bore the roughness of training, of war, of discipline carved into flesh. Yet she… she felt like calm wrapped in fire.

She didn’t look at him directly. And he didn’t force her to.

They stood before the monarch, as ancient words echoed through the hall.

When it came time to seal their vow with a kiss, a hush fell.

Maelin turned slightly, her face still unreadable.

But Elric, quiet as ever, took her hand gently and lowered his head.

A soft kiss upon her knuckles.

Gasps rippled through the audience, not in shock—but in awe. Not a display of passion, but one of respect. Of reverence.

Maelin blinked, just once, surprised by the gesture. He hadn’t spoken a word, and yet somehow, she had been heard.

As the applause began and the ceremony moved forward, Elric gave her his arm. She took it—not as a sign of surrender, but as a step into unknown territory, where silence might hold more meaning than words.

And he walked beside her, not ahead.

Never ahead.

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