The silence on the ceremonial islet was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Adara stood there, her hand still warm from Karan's touch, feeling the world she knew shatter. She was surprised, yes, and a spark of excitement ran down her spine, but as she gazed toward the horizon, where the forest embraced her home, a sweet sadness pressed against her chest. Being the chosen one of the Immortal meant that, in less than three suns, her mornings by the lake would be nothing but a memory.
King Theron, breaking the trance, raised his crystal scepter.
"Let the will of the ancients be done!" His voice resonated with an authority that masked his unease. "We now conclude this first day of the Gathering. Tomorrow, amidst the fragrance of the gardens, the Rose Ball will be inaugurated by our official couple: Karan of Valoria and Adara of the Lake!"
The burst of applause was deafening. Among the crowd of young elves and humans, congratulations rained down like petals. Karan approached Adara one last time before departing with the human delegation.
"Rest well, Adara," he whispered, and for a moment, the coldness in his eyes melted into a look of impeccable courtesy. "See you tomorrow at the ball."
With an elegant bow, Karan took his leave, leaving Adara with a mixture of curiosity and a sudden emptiness.
Adara awoke from her daze and led her party to the exit, bidding farewell to everyone as they reached their carriages. Adara didn't speak a word the entire way; she exuded a unique beauty and nobility, still lost in her thoughts. Upon crossing the threshold of her home, the royal pomp vanished, giving way to the stark reality of affection. Her mother, Lady Elara, was the first to embrace her, burying her face in her hair with a sigh that mingled pride with anticipated grief.
"My little treasure..." Elara murmured. "The coldest man in the Six Kingdoms has set his eyes on the most delicate flower in my garden."
Her sisters, Lyra and Elowen, immediately surrounded her. There was no trace of the morning's haughtiness; only genuine fascination.
"Adara, she has lived for three thousand years!" Elowen exclaimed as they ascended the stairs to their chambers. They say he'd never attended a Coming of Age ceremony, that he despised them, considering them "political theater." And suddenly, he appears and claims you in front of everyone.
"It's strange," Lyra added, her tone more serious. "They always described him as an immovable block of ice, but when he spoke to you... it seemed as if the ice only existed to protect you from the rest of us."
The Melancholy of Tradition
Adara sat on her bed, surrounded by her sisters and her mother, while little Kael watched from the doorway, his eyes wide. Tradition was clear: the wedding would be on the third day. In less than forty-eight hours, she would cease to be the "Right-Hand's child" and become the mate of the most feared warrior in history.
"Do I have to leave so soon?" Adara asked, her small voice betraying her innocence.
Lord Valerius, who had remained silent by the window, approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. His eyes reflected an inner struggle that Adara couldn't quite grasp: the fear of the prophecy versus his love for his daughter. He then stopped battling his thoughts and held his beloved daughter tightly to his chest as if he wanted to bury or hide her within his heart. But it's a pity he can't, he thought to himself, and then he simply sighed.
"Karan is a man of his word, Adara," her father said. "He is fearsome to his enemies, but he is noble. If he chose you, it's because he saw in you something we have always known: a nobility that needs no crowns. Make the most of tomorrow, my daughter. Dance as if time didn't exist."
That night, as the moon reflected on the lake, Adara couldn't sleep. Curiosity about this "fearsome" man who treated her with such gentleness was beginning to win the battle against fear. Who was Karan really beneath that mask of immortality? He would find out tomorrow, when their hands met again among the thorns and roses of the royal garden.