They say weddings are the most sacred events across the nine kingdoms of Astarous. Blessed by the gods. Watched by the ancestors. Bound by covenant of blood.
That night, even Prince Drexo believed it.
The great hall of Ashford Castle glowed with torchlight. Flames flickered along the stone walls, bending and stretching like living things. Long tables filled the chamber, heavy with roasted boar, honeyed bread, and silver goblets that never remained empty for long. The banners of House Kenwool hung proudly beside the black and gold of House Dragarian. Wolves and dragons side by side.
For once, no one whispered of war. King Drexo Dragarian, the king who has never sat on the Golden throne, sat at the high table with a cup of dark wine resting in his hand. He did not drink it. He only held it. Turning it slowly. Watching the liquid cling to the edges like blood.
Peace.
It felt unfamiliar.
For two years, his life had been nothing but escaping death, planning, war, bloodshed.
But tonight, something had shifted. Tonight, the last piece of the chess by which he would reclaim the Golden Throne had fallen into place.
Across the hall sat men who would die for him. Lords who had pledged their swords. Houses that had chosen his cause over Robert Rendell's crown.
The great army was no longer just a dream, It was real.
Beside him sat Queen Maria, his wife. She was smiling. Not the careful smile she wore in court. Not the guarded expression of a noble forced to survive among enemies.
This one was unguarded. Her hand rested over her belly, fingers moving slowly, almost unconsciously, feeling the life already living inside of her.
Their child.
His child.
"You will be out any moment from now."
Drexo's eyes lingered on that small movement. His chest tightened. He had buried everyone else.
His father had been betrayed and killed at the capital. His brothers, Dereek and Domion has both died fighting the rebells. And what then does he has left?
He shut his eyes briefly.
Ash.
Nothing but ash.
House Dragarian, the house of dragons, reduced to memory and smoke. Every single dragon was poisoned. They all died. Only two dragon eggs remained in his possession.
And yet here he was. Still breathing. Still fighting. Because of her. Because of the woman sitting beside him, carrying his future inside her.
The thought of the life they have now made him smile. "I fell in love with the sister of my enemy and married her," he told himself.
Maria leaned closer until her shoulder rested gently against his arm. "You are quiet tonight," she said. Her voice was soft, and careful.
He turned his head slightly.
"I am thinking."
She raised a brow. "That is dangerous for a king."
A small laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
It surprised him.
He had forgotten what his own laughter sounded like. "I was thinking," he said slowly again, "that I am the luckiest man alive."
She stilled.
Her smile faded, replaced by something deeper.
Sadness.
"You are not allowed to say such things," she whispered. "Not after everything that has happened to your family."
He slid his hand beneath the table and found hers. Her fingers were warm, and alive.
"I lost the throne," he said quietly. "But I found you. I got married at the most difficult time of my life, with the one i love the most, and now i have a child coming out within a month or two."
He paused.
"And soon, we will reclaim the Golden Throne from Robert Rendell."
Maria's eyes lowered. Her hand tightened around his.
Drexo noticed the change immediately.
The hesitation.
The guilt.
"What is it?" he asked. She exhaled slowly. "I hate it," she said. "Hate what?"
She hesitated.
"The fact that my house stands on the other side." Her voice broke slightly. "My brother will be there, Drexo. On the battlefield once again. And I will have to fight against him once again, and if need be, kill him or die by his sword."
The words lingered between them.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Real.
Drexo squeezed her hand. "Then let us pray it does not come to that."
She looked at him.
He forced confidence into his voice. "He still has time to come to his senses."
She did not answer. She knew Edmond Woodland, she knew he was not one to break his oath, she has tried it, and he didn't break, not even for blood.
But her fingers held onto his as if letting go would mean losing him forever.
For a moment, the war did not exist. No burning cities. No broken crowns. No ghosts. Only this hall.
This warmth.
This fragile, impossible future.
Drexo looked up. Across the hall, he found Theon Kendrick watching him.
His childhood best friend. His brother, not by blood, but by choice.
They had grown up together, fought together, bled together, and survived together.
They had survived when others had not. Their eyes met.
Theon smiled.
Drexo returned it.
Then Theon stood. The movement was sudden enough to quiet those around him.
He raised his wine cup high.
"A toast," Theon called, his voice carrying across the hall.
The last conversations faded. All eyes turned to him.
"To Drexo Dragaria," Theon continued, louder now. "First of his name."
The room held its breath.
"King of the Seiks, of the Norsemen and of the First Men."
More men rose to their feet.
"Lord of the Nine Kingdoms of Astarous."
The hall grew louder.
"And protector of the realm!"
Wine cups lifted into the air. Voices followed. "Long may His Grace reign!"
The sound crashed against the stone walls like thunder.
Drexo felt it in his chest. Not fear. Not grief. But something else. Something dangerous.
Hope.
He rose slowly to his feet. The hall quieted again. He looked at the faces before him. Men who had risked everything. Men who had chosen him.
He raised his cup.
"I wish to thank Lord Fabio Kenwool," he said. He turned slightly toward the old lord. "And all members of House Kenwool for this wonderful union."
Fabio nodded, his aged face unreadable.
"For allowing us to vary the agreement."
A few chuckles echoed.
Drexo smiled faintly. "I truly dreamt of marrying a Kenwool." Laughter spread across the hall.
He turned toward Maria.
"But I found love in a Woodland girl." The laughter grew warmer. Maria smiled, though her eyes searched for his'.
He continued.
"But today, our houses are united in marriage."
He paused.
Then pointed toward Theon. "Because Theon here is not just my friend."
Theon's expression shifted.
"He is my brother."
Silence fell again. For a moment Theon thought about what is to happen next. Guilt spread through his face. "I wish I can stop this now," he shook his head. "I have gone to far now."
"We grew up together. We survived together." Drexo raised his cup higher. "Therefore, I swear by Ago, God of Fire…"
The torches flickered.
"…that the Kenwools will receive all benefits meant for those joined to House Dragarian."
The hall erupted.
Chants.
Cheers.
Cups slamming against tables. Fabio Kenwool rose slowly to his feet. The old lord lifted his goblet.
"Ashford is yours, Your Grace." His voice was steady. "And the Kenwools will remain loyal to House Dragaria."
He paused.
"Even for generations to come."
More cheers followed. "To years of alliance!" Fabio shouted, raising his wine.
"To years of alliance!" the hall roared back.
Drexo smiled. Relief washed over him. It was working. Piece by piece. Step by step. House Dragaria was returning to where it used to be.
From the high table, Havana watched him. His aunt. His mother's older sister.
She said nothing at first. She only watched. Then she leaned closer. Her voice barely reached him. "House Dragaria will rise again."
She paused.
Her eyes locked onto his. "And it will rise through you."
Drexo said nothing. He only held his cup tighter. Around him, the celebration continued.
Laughter.
Music.
Life.
And for the first time in two years, the ghosts were quiet, and celebration lingered.
The music went on. It filled every corner of the hall, drums beating like a second heartbeat beneath the ribs of every man present. Laughter followed it. Cups rose and fell. Wine spilled. Grease stained fingers. Joy pretended to be real.
Drexo leaned back into his chair, his hand resting over Maria's beneath the table. He could feel her warmth, her pulse.
Alive, and safe.
For that moment, he allowed himself to forget the rebellion. Forget Robert Rendell. Forget the Golden Throne.
Tonight he was only a husband. Only a man. Only a friend whose best friend just got married.
Across the hall, warriors sang his name. Some off key. Some drunk beyond sense.
He smiled faintly.
Then Havana's eyes drifted. At first it was nothing. Just a glance. The kind born from habit. From years of ruling. Years of surviving when others fell.
Her gaze settled on Fabio Kenwool. He was smiling. But his wine cup was still full.
Untouched.
Havana's fingers tightened slowly around her own cup. Maybe he was pacing himself. Maybe he was tired.
Just maybe.
Her eyes shifted. Other members of House Kenwool. Fabian, Festus, Frida, Friya, Frank, Their cups were full too.
Not half full. Not nearly empty. But full.
Untouched.
Her heartbeat stumbled. The music continued. No one noticed. Her breathing grew shallow.
Her eyes moved again. Thus time to theon.
His cup was full.
Untouched.
Behind him, servants moved toward the doors.
Slowly.
Quietly.