Three weeks later the fields had been harvested and resown, and it steadily rained leaves of gold, brown and red that children gathered in great piles and dived in. Chaverne had relaxed a great amount in that time since the royal engagement had been announced, and though the Sarkanian army still garrisoned the city their Lavellan counterparts were no longer held in barracks or internment garrisons and were free to go about their lives. Any seeds of defiance against what had once been a violent takeover had been unplanted, and the wedding between the royal lines instead promised cooperation born of newfound peace.

One of the peace’s many advantages was that the Sarkanian leaders were no longer forced to stay in the heavily guarded chateau, and Arian had found much time to himself to ride the countryside around Chaverne and to enjoy a beautiful autumn before winter arrived. He explored up to the foothills at the base of the mountains, and fished and swam in the pebble-like lakes, and sat in the woods and read from a book of bound parchment. But most of what he did was think, and try to come to terms with the events of that summer just gone. In just a few short months so much had changed, and where Arian once saw the face of a child in the water, he now saw the face of a man who shared that indescribable bond between all who had seen battle and taken lives.

He thought a lot about those battles, especially when his mind was not preoccupied on some other duty. He dreamt of the smell and the fear, and in his memory he played the exact moment he had taken the life of the Lavellan knight like a bird that only knew one song. Sometimes he panicked and woke thinking he was still there, and sometimes, even in the day, he could see his father take one last look at the sky before falling.

One day, when the autumn began to grow a little colder, Arian made a fire in the woods and slept there. He ate fish he caught in a stream, and because the sky was clear he slept on a fur cloak under the trees. That night he dreamt of Caden, and of how they played as children, and when he had taken ill and almost died when Arian was still too young to know what death was. He also dreamt of when, a few years ago, Caden had gone west with their father and the army to fight the Kedorans, except this time Arian went with them. He saw and took part in scenes how they were described to him - when nearly a thousand men fought in the forest, the trees too thick to form proper shield walls and the bowmen climbing them to shoot from.

Next he was at the Siege of Carran, when Caden had convinced the now dead Lord Tayen to go along with his plan despite being unproven. Caden had, despite considerable danger to himself, made a false attack against the main camp of Kedora’s Queen Ismirelda in a last-ditch effort to lift the siege. When the attack failed, Caden retreated with Sir Anselm and his company of knights, and Ismirelda led an entire regiment to capture him. Caden sought refuge in a camp fortified with high palisade walls, and hid inside with the gates left open. When Ismirelda arrived, she was so certain that it was an ambush that she refused to have her troops enter, and when they returned to the siege they discovered that Lord Tayen had attacked with the men from the fort and together forced the Kedoran army into a retreat.

Caden had received significant praise for that day, and any doubt as to whether he would make a suitable heir had been silenced. That was fine by Arian, who had never wanted to be king, and instead desired adventure and the life of the questing knight. He watched in his dream as Caden received a lavish ceremony he had never personally seen, and was gifted gold, and jewellery, and men who wore the amalgamated faces of every soldier he had ever known congratulated him as a hero. Then, when it finally came Arian’s turn to toast him, he looked to see that it was no longer Caden, but a man who was incredibly gaunt, and had sickly white eyes as though blind, and greying hair, and whose teeth began to fall from his mouth as he spoke, and whose skin began to rot to reveal a maggot-filled skull.

“What’s wrong, Arian?” Asked the voice of death itself from Caden’s fleshless mouth. “Aren’t you happy for me? Was it not you who made me what I am?”

Arian woke suddenly to the sun shining on his face and still warm ashes in his campfire. The fallen leaves rustled over him in the morning breeze, and he brushed them away from him and used a few as kindling to relight his flame from the few remaining embers. His dreams had often bothered him of late, but that one had done so more than usual, and he wanted nothing more than to forget it.

“Arian.”

He looked up to see the real Caden stepping around a tree behind him, with two kingsguard following that were ordered to stay back with a hand gesture. “What are you doing out here?” His brother asked.

“Just enjoying the quiet. It was getting late so I thought I’d camp here,” Arian explained, feeling better now that he could see his brother’s real face. It overtook that which he had seen in the dream, like the clear waters of reality washing away visions of fear. “What are you doing out here? How did you find me?”“You leave tracks like a bear,” said Caden. Arian looked at Caden’s white eyes and suddenly felt unsure again. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. bad dreams,” Arian said, and he stoked the fire with a twig and covered it with more of the autumn leaves.

Caden moved over and sat down besides him, warming his hands. “You know it’s mid-morning, don’t you?”

“I guess I overslept. So what is it you wanted that brought you out here?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, and there’s something I need to ask you. Quite honestly I’m not sure how to do either.”

“I find asking is harder than telling, so do that first.”

“Well then… The Philosopher King has asked me to travel with him when he leaves.”

Arian looked surprised. “Travel with him? To where? Beyond the Black Mountains?” He asked.“Yes.”

“When you’re about to become King of Sarkana, and Prince of Lavell? You must tell him no, clearly.”

“That’s just the thing Arian, I don’t think I can. If he really is who he says he is, then he has the authority to order me… And I’m starting to wonder if it isn’t more wise for me to agree.”

“You jest, Caden. Why would you ever agree?”

Caden released a sigh, then held his hands out to the small fire to warm them. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust that he will not one day turn against us. If I can go to his lands I can learn about them, and the people who live there, and the warriors who fight for him.”

Caden had initially expected a backlash from Arian but, surprisingly, he seemed to understand. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But when would you leave?”

“In spring I think, after the snow melts and the passes are at least somewhat traversable. He won’t go until my business here is finished.”

Arian was silent for a moment as he processed the information, and as he casually poked the fire with his twig he held his head up and looked into the distance. He said, “so you want to ask me to look after the kingdom and Jaqueline until you return.”

“Yes. And no. It would not just be you, but that was not the only thing I wished to ask.”

“What then?”

Caden lowered his hands and stared into the flame, his entire gaze down as though he was ashamed of what he was about to say next. “There’s something I need you to do for me Arian, and you’re the only person I can ask. And I loathe to ask it.”

“Ask it, brother. I will do it if I am truly needed, no matter what it is.”

Caden asked his question, and Arian’s eyes went wide. Then Caden explained why he had asked it, and how he wanted Arian to accomplish his task if he said yes, and how everything they had fought for now hinged on whether or not Arian would succeed.

Arian was reluctant at first, but the more they spoke, the more he understood. “Yes,” he eventually answered. “I’ll do it.”

-

When the day of the wedding finally arrived, it was on the celebration known as Arfeyr’s Revival. Arfeyr was the king and wisest of all Furan, but before that he had been a curious wanderer hoping to see the fabled thunder stag, the last of all its kind. He spent years tracking and chasing it through the sky and to the very edges of the world and when it finally tired enough for Arfeyr to approach, he was so hungry that he ate it. After eating, Arfeyr discovered that the stag’s lightning still surged, and it struck and burned him from the inside until, after a month of unimaginable pain, he died. Afterwards the storm clouds came and for days they rained in grief and struck the ground with bolts of anger to try and wash Arfeyr’s body away, but one of those bolts struck him and restarted his heart. When Arfeyr rose again he found that the storm could no longer harm him, and that the thunder stag had become part of him, and that his blood was now the lightning. Seeing that their beloved stag was now part of Arfeyr, and that with him it had come back to life, the storm submitted and Arfeyr became known as the Stormking.

Thus the day of Arfeyr’s Revival became a celebration of rebirth, and of conquering the storm, and was said to be when the newly sown winter wheat was given its life. What better day to celebrate a marriage that represented the rebirth of two warring nations?

Two great processions ran through the city of Chaverne, one around to the west, and one to the east, both to then turn inwards and meet together at the central Grand Cathedral. One procession was red, and in it Caden rode a perfect white steed in the shining armour of the chivalrous knight. A standard carrier behind him held aloft a banner of red with a black gryphon, the emblem of House Sarka, and Sarkanian troops and nobles followed behind them on the most grand display of ceremony.

The other procession was blue, and knights of Lavell escorted a grand golden carriage through the streets where the citizens, lovers of romance all, threw white and red petals and flowers of embroidered linen and expressed their admiration for the lady inside it. Holding the Lavellan banner, a white stag on blue, was the King Armand who led the carriage’s escort.

At exactly the toll of midday, and with the sky ruined by only a few stray clouds, each procession came to a halt by the Grand Cathedral’s entrance. The stone steps leading up to it had been carpeted in two paths of red and blue, and stood by those stairs and around the bottom of them were hundreds of finely dressed guests, the many cathedral priests and bishops in their blue gowns and gold-encrusted hats, and hundreds more admirers.

Caden took off his helmet, revealing the washed brown hair beneath, and handed it off to his standard bearer in return for the banner. Then he and Armand rode towards each other, met in the middle, and gave the other the banner they held.

“Let the exchange of these banners be the first symbol of the joining of these royal lines,” said the lead bishop, who raised a stave to the cheers of the crowd.

Both men rode back to their processions then, and both dismounted their horses. Caden walked towards the steps and stood on the red carpet, where he saw Wulfsurd, Anselm and Arian all smiling and cheering for him. Armand went to the carriage door, where he opened it and took the hand of Lady Jaqueline inside. With her father’s help, and the noises of the crowd stopping in anticipation, Jaqueline climbed out.

Jaqueline’s long, brown hair had been slightly curled and made wavy, and was held by a jewelled silver tiara. Her eyes, as blue as the summer sky, shone like jewels themselves against soft, pale skin. But most stunning of all was her dress, a white gown so soft one could have sworn she wore pale rose petals, lilies and orchids. It was, despite the magnificent regalness of it, surprisingly plain, and despite showing her natural beauty it had a virgin, maidenly chasteness to it. Caden was immediately drawn to her, as all men like him would be, and she smiled at him.

Armand led her by the hand over to Caden, separating the two of them with his body. “Do you, Caden, make the pledge as a gallant knight and suitor to forever protect and serve my daughter? To bring her no harm and to take over, from her father, the duty of safeguarding her?”

“I make this pledge,” Caden answered.

The crowd cheered, and the guests cheered, and the bishop raised his stave, and Armand led Jaqueline’s hand to Caden’s own and then stepped away and waited behind them.

“The pledge has been made, and the wedding can begin!” The bishop called.

The bishops and priests suddenly turned and entered the cathedral and Caden, with Jaqueline’s hand in his own, turned and followed them up the steps one foot at a time. They walked slowly and specifically, with a rhythm like a choreographed dance, him on the red carpet and her on the blue.

When they finally reached the door they entered the cathedral’s interior, a long and wide room with statues of the old gods, and artistic murals depicting their deeds on the ceilings and walls painted by the greatest masters in the Southern Realms. There were no seats or benches for sitting, only an altar with a white cloth at the end where the head bishop now stood. The rest of the cathedral’s priests were lining the outside walls, standing under the glass windows that let in the light from the outside, and posing as still as the statues that accompanied them.

Together Caden and Jaqueline walked along the aisle of carpet, and behind them their hundreds of guests followed and began to fill each side of the open interior; Sarkanian on the right, Lavellan on the left. When they finally reached the altar and the bishop, they paused and waited for the final few of the guests to find their standing place, and then the doors were closed behind them.

When everything calmed, the bishop began to speak: “This wedding joins the blood of two royal houses; House Sarka of Sarkana, and House Chaverne of Lavell. Prince Caden Sarka has sought out the hand of Princess Jaqueline Chaverne, and the pledge of protection has been given to the father by Caden.”

He went on: “Now, under the watch of the Furan, this union can, if accepted, be blessed. Do you, Princess Jaqueline, accept this man’s desire to love and to wed you?”

“I do,” she replied. There was a slight cheer from the crowd.

“And are you, Prince Caden, certain in your desire to be her loving husband, and to fulfill any and all obligations to her?”

“I am,” Caden replied.

“And do the two of you make now, to each other, a solemn and devoted vow of passion and fidelity? To not harm, be disloyal, or break the bonds of sacred matrimony, lest the Furan strip from you their favour?”

“I do,” said the both of them in the same moment.

“Then you may now share the symbols of your union,” said the bishop.

Caden and Jaqueline turned to one another then, and Caden could see for the briefest moment that Jaqueline was nervous. He ignored it, and from a pouch at his belt he took an amulet with a slender silver chain, and a round, vibrant violet stone housed in a silver star. He carefully placed the chain around her neck, fastened it, and let the violet stone fall to the bare skin above the chest of her dress.

Next Jaqueline took an identical amulet from her own dress and, just as Caden had, fastened it around his neck and tucked the stone under the breastplate of his armour.

“The gifts have been shared, and now the union may be sealed,” said the bishop.

With that, Caden and Jaqueline held hands and kissed each other. They had never kissed before, despite what romantic feelings had permeated the space between them in the years prior, and it came to both of them like some long-held need finally satisfied. The crowd watched in silence as they remained together for several long seconds, and when they finally parted the cathedral interior was filled with the cheers, applause and whoops of the hundreds of guests.

“Then in the name of the gods, and the old gods, and all gods who came before, I declare this marriage officially sealed. Caden and Jaqueline, you are now husband and wife, and partners in everything.”

The crowd began to whoop and cheer, and a great applause followed that began to spread outside even with the cathedral doors shut. Caden and Jaqueline turned on the spot and, with Jaqueline’s amulet clear for all to see, the couple began to walk back down the aisle to the throwing of long silken strips that fluttered and rained down on them. Caden looked at the Sarkanian side of the crowd, where Wulfsurd, Gray, Colbert, Arthur, Anselm and more stood and cheered him. Arian was there too, but his applause was reserved and rather than a beaming smile on his face he had a look of sombre duty that he hid from those around him. Caden nodded at him, and Arian nodded back.

When the doors opened for them and they stepped outside, guests of the wedding followed them to the increased acclaim of the common folk. Both processions had joined into one by that point, and the golden carriage remained to take the two of them back to the chateau. When they took the first step down Caden released her hand, and Jaqueline ran to hug her father, then to be personally congratulated by her noble friends and ladies-in-waiting. Caden was met by his own close friends and associates, where the heavy hands of Wulfsurd clapped his shoulders and Anselm put him ever-so-briefly in a joking, childlike headlock. Gray, Colbert and Arthur took turns shaking his hand, and when it came Arian’s turn he leaned in close to his brother’s ear.

“Tonight,” was the only word he said before pulling away.

“Thank you, Arian,” Caden replied to him, as though Arian had said something completely different.

The newlyweds soon came together to hold hands again, and Caden led her down towards the waiting carriage. It was then, with some sadness, that Caden realized Ethelyn hadn’t been there. He hadn’t expected the Philosopher King to come of course, but Ethelyn was now his ‘court sorceress’. Despite what matters complicated things between them, he found it disappointing that he had not seen her.

“Let’s go,” Caden told Jaqueline, and she nodded and climbed into the carriage. Caden followed her, and then a knight closed the carriage door.

Outside the guests found their positions in the procession, and mounted horses or wagons or carriages of their own, and when a single trumpet blew to mark its completion the procession began to move again. Moments later, the carriage itself began moving, and both Jaqueline and Caden bounced and moved unnaturally as the carriage wheels passed over unevenness in the road.

“I know that, in many ways, this is not what you wanted. Nor that it is the fate you had imagined for yourself,” Caden said. “But I hope, at least, there can grow a true fondness between us, and that from it we will find happiness.”

Jaqueline nodded. “We had fondness as children, and despite the circumstances in which we came together as adults, can either of us truly say that fondness ever faded? If loving you is the price for long-lasting peace between our kingdoms, then it is not such a bad price.”

Caden nodded and agreed, and for a moment remembered the letter addressed to her. “It is not such a bad thing for me either.”

Jaqueline laughed a little then, though it was more like a girlish giggle than true amusement. “You were always sensitive, Caden, always prone to being swayed by emotions. I admit that of late that side of you has withered, and I cannot truly explain why, but it is still there. I wonder if, in your own heart, you even have a choice.”

Caden didn’t answer.

The rest of the procession took nearly two hours, as it wound through the main streets of the city slowly so as to show the glory and splendour to good-hearted peasants, merchants and craftsmen lining the sides of the streets. Eventually, as it approached mid-afternoon, the procession pulled to a halt in the courtyard in front of the chateau’s walls, and Caden and Jaqueline both climbed out. They then led the now-dismounting guests under the portcullis and through to where a Sarkanian and Lavellan honour guard lined a path towards the chateau’s main doors.

A great feast was planned for them in the main hall, and a hundred guests would be attending. The most important men and women in two nations would be there, and Caden felt his stomach tighten at the thought of having to face them. “Wait for me in the main hall,” he told Jaqueline as they proceeded through the chateau’s hallways. “I need to take off this armour.”

“Very well.”

The two separated, and Jaqueline and King Armand led the guests to where the feast had been prepared while Caden went with two pages to have his ceremonial plate removed. When Caden went back to the main hall, the entire room was seated at their tables and silent, and they all watched him as he entered in an expensive tunic of gold with black embroidery and his wedding amulet gently touching his chest. He paused for a moment and, though not keen on facing such a large crowd, gave a nod to them and proceeded to march through their gaze up to the table at the end where Jaqueline sat next to an empty seat. He went around and sat down besides her, and placed a hand over hers.

It was customary at this moment to give a speech, and though men usually stood for such a moment Caden remained sitting. He cleared his throat audibly, then began. “It has been a difficult few months for us,” he said. “A war was fought between our people over perceived slights and offence taken, and vengeance sought. But vengeance, when violent, leads to death, and that it in turn perpetuates a cycle of it when, inevitably, the victims of that vengeance become its perpetrators.

“Many of us lost friends and loved ones, and risked our own lives in battle. I myself was wounded, and my father, King Valen II, killed. Yes, the army to which I belong had eventual victory over the army to which some of you belonged, but there was no true victory in that. The true victory, for both of us, comes from this marriage. I am the heir to Sarkana’s throne and, soon, will be crowned. Jaqueline is the Lady of Lavell, the only child of King Armand. By coming together as we have we effectively unite our two people into a single one, and from our union children will be born who are not just both Sarkanian and Lavellan by marriage, but by equal blood. Those children will be the symbols of peace, the rightful rulers of both these lands. They will, if nothing else ever does, break the perpetual cycle that is war and revenge between us.”

He went silent for a moment, and it seemed for some time that he did not know what to say next, and that the guests in the Main Hall were not truly.as thrilled by his speech as he would have hoped. It was only when King Armand stood up from Jaqueline’s side that this changed.

“To Lavell!” He cheered, raising his glass. “And to Sarkana. And to Caden and to Jaqueline, and to my future grandchildren who will unite us!”It was only then that the crowd cheered, and they gave an applause that deafened the room for minutes until Caden was finally able to have them quieten. He stood up from his seat, and like Armand, raised his glass. “But enough of speeches,” he said, his mood improved. “We came here to eat and drink! Let the feast begin!”

There was no food known to Caden that had not been prepared for them that night. Meats, both livestock and game, fish, seafood, vegetables, sauces, cakes and pastries, as many types of wine as there were everything else, ciders and ales, giant pies filled with meat and mushrooms and anything else they deigned to bake in them. There were 100 people at that feast, yet there was food enough for 1000.

Then came the troubadours and bards, and they played music and recited romantic poetry and song and after eating their fill and drinking until their senses lessened the guests began to bang tables with the rhythm of the music and sing alongside them. Caden took Jaqueline’s hand and they had the first dance, one that was at first slow and romantic, but as the celebration continued it became upbeat and lively and others joined them in a great display of revelry. Even Sir Anselm and Wulfsurd, both known for their stoutness in such matters, ended up shirtless on one of the tables and dancing around each other and kicking over platters of half eaten food as men roared and cheered them and ladies laughed at their drunkenness.

Arian was the most reserved of them, and though he ate he barely touched his drink, and though he conversed and laughed and joked, he remained at his seat and didn’t join the dance. “I must congratulate you, Arian!” Said King Armand at one point, his voice drunk and slurred but genuine. “As shtrange as it may sound… The knight you killed was a good fighter. A good warrior. You will be known ass a great fighter, I know it.. And, I am glad we are no longer enemiesh.”

Arian flinched when he remembered it. “What was his name?” He asked. “I don’t think I was ever told.”

“Amish… Ahem, sorry, Amis Laurens,” Armand replied. “He was a good warrior. But not as good as you, I suppose.”

“I see. I will honour him.”

“Good man,” Armand slurred before turning back to his wine and getting caught up in another conversation.

The feast went on until nearly midnight and passed without incident. A few drunken men had to be escorted out before they began to fight, but for the first night in a long time Caden came close to truly enjoying himself. Eventually, with Armand, Wulfsurd and even Jaqueline gesturing that it was time for the night to end, Caden rang a small silver bell and the remaining guests quietened to listen to him.“Well… That’s it,” Caden said, slightly inebriated. “It’s been a good night, and a long one… But now me and my wife are tired, and we want to go to bed.”

There were lecherous cheers then, and laughter, and the blushing of ladies. Jaqueline held on to Caden’s arm as though she relied on it to stay standing, and Wulfsurd downed his final drink and then raised his glass up to the ceiling. “Go home them, knaves!” He called out. “They want their wedding night, and my men want to clean up your mess!”

There was laughter again, but the message was received. The music stopped, and the guests began to filter out of the main hall, then the chateau, and out down the streets of Lavell to their homes.“You two go,” Wulfsurd told the newlyweds. “We’ll handle the cleanup. Go and do the… Thing.”

Caden laughed, and Jaqueline looked embarrassed, but with the feast now ended Caden led her out of the main hall and up to the chateau’s second floor. They entered Caden’s private chambers, closed and locked the door, and began to undress and kiss and love like newlyweds were so desperate to do. Jaqueline was unaware that the letter addressed to her was not a few feet away in Caden’s desk and as he took her to his bed and pulled the sheets over them, their wedding amulets were the only thing they both still wore.

They kissed and touched each other, and looked into each other’s eyes, and though there was a true longing there Caden could not help but wonder who the A.L of Jaqueline’s letter truly was. Did she feel she was betraying him by wedding Caden? Was it nothing more than an expensive, cruel lie to position him where he could be taken advantage of? Was she, the beautiful and caring woman, whose long brown hair was now entwined in both their fingers, nothing more than an opportunistic schemer? A woman who, like him, was willing to do anything to achieve her goals?

“Caden.”

The voice was a half moan, but did not come from his wife. It was a whisper at the back of his mind, a presence that had grown to be there even when he had not wished it. He could not escape her, and she could not escape him - their lives and destinies were now interweaved - and as Caden began to consummate his marriage with Jaqueline, he knew that Ethelyn could feel every moment of it.

-

It was early in the morning now, and Armand was outside on a balcony beyond the main hall watching the night stars. The main hall was empty, the final servants having finished sweeping the mess and the final guests long since retired to bed. His father had once told him that every star was a soul trapped eternally in the sky, and that it was the destiny of all to become one of them. Thus it was then, at night, that the souls of loved ones were closest to the earth and that then was the best time to think, for a man’s ancestors would give him the advice he needed to succeed.

One star was brighter than the rest, and it seemed to call to him in some unnatural manner. Was it his father? Was he trying to communicate with him? Or was it his own star, waiting for his soul to join it? He smirked at the thought, and wrapped his fingers a little tighter around the balcony rail and looked down on the city below.

“To think that I am now friends with our enemies,” he murmured, as the drunkenness slowly drained from him in his refusal to sleep. He looked up at the bright star again. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

There were footsteps behind him then, and he listened as they grew ever so slightly louder in their approach. “Who is it?” He asked, and turned to see a man plunge a dagger into his heart.

Armand’s face froze, and his entire body stiffened with pain, and suddenly he could no longer catch his breath.

“Did you really think my brother would forgive you for killing my father?” Asked Arian, pushing the dagger further in and, by consequence, Armand further back against the balcony.

Armand couldn’t answer. He could only grip the dagger with weakened hands as Arian released it, a pointless attempt to remove it from himself. Arian pushed him then, and the last thing Armand saw as he toppled backwards over the balcony was that bright star - waiting for him as he fell to his death.