Alric
The castle had gone still, wrapped in the hush of midnight. Only the low crackle of the hearth filled the room with sound — and warmth.
He stood by the window, watching snowflakes drift like ghosts against the black sky, until the door creaked open behind him.
She stepped in alone.
No servants. No formalities. No veil between them anymore.
Her nightdress shimmered faintly in the firelight, silver thread tracing old noble patterns — but it was the look in her eyes that caught him.
She wasn't the princess here. Not now.
Just Saren.
"Did you think I wouldn't come?" she asked softly, stepping closer.
"I didn't know what to expect," he admitted. "This marriage… it wasn't built on promises."
She stopped only a breath away. "Then let's make one now."
He turned to her, the flicker of the flames catching in her gaze. "A promise?"
"A vow," she said. "Not written by kings or sealed with wax."
He waited.
"I vow," she whispered, "that as long as I breathe, I will stand beside you — not as duty, but as choice. As yours."
Alric felt something unravel inside him. A tension he'd carried since the moment they'd been wed.
"I vow," he said quietly, "to walk beside you through fire or frost. Not as lord or protector. Just as your own."
She reached for his hand — and he met her halfway.
They stood in silence, palms pressed, letting the words settle into something real.
When she leaned into him, he caught her gently, holding her as though she'd always belonged there. Her head rested against his chest, and his arms wrapped around her, steady and sure.
No further words were needed.
That night, they didn't rush. They undressed slowly, like people learning one another for the first time. There was no urgency, no hunger — only warmth. Only the quiet certainty that they had chosen this.
And when they lay down together, the world outside disappeared.
They did not speak again until sleep took them.
But before the last candle died, she reached for his hand under the covers and whispered into the darkness:
"We are ours now."
And he, barely awake, whispered back:
"Always."
.....to be continued...
Author's Note:
They were never meant to be just husband and wife.
They were meant to be a storm and the silence after.
A vow made not in front of witnesses—
but in firelight, in whispers, in the space between two heartbeats.
Tonight, they didn't surrender.
They chose.
—your author