Sitting atop the dais, hands folded with graceful stillness in her lap, Queen Syleneth watched. Her starlit gaze, silver like frost-laced crystal, rested not on the room or the courtiers, not on the gilded feast spread before her, or the mortal king at her side, but solely on her son and the woman before him. So rarely did Aurelion reveal the heart that beat beneath his serene facade, and rarer still did he allow others close enough to glimpse it. She had known, of course, she had, that this accord would wound him in ways he would never speak aloud. To ask an immortal prince to bind himself to a mortal life was no small thing. Even now, centuries into her reign, she remembered the sting of watching those she once cherished whither while she endured. To live so long was not only a gift; it was a grief drawn out over countless lifetimes. And yet... watching him now, she saw something in her son that she had not witnessed in many years.

`

He knelt before Desdemona, a woman of Tareth Therrow's blood, slayer of fae, and enemy of her and her people until his final breath. But the Queen saw none of that, tonight she saw the woman clearly for what she was: not merely a pawn of human diplomacy or unwitting bride in a political game to keep peace and reseal the accord, but someone who held her son's attention like the moon holds the tide. And for Aurelion to offer attention was one thing, but this? This was something else entirely. From her place on high, Syleneth watched as her son wove his magic together. She watched as the air shimmered faintly around him, responding to his intent before his hands had ever moved. Her eyes had taken in the sight of the threads of light gathering around him, radiant and drawn from the ambient wellspring of his magic. They had spun and coiled through the air, fluid as smoke, radiant as dawnlight on untouched snow. Fae light magic, one of his gifts, his burdens, his birthright. It poured out of him now not as a weapon or a shield, but as a creation. A gift to the woman before him.

`

Syleneth's breath had caught in her throat upon watching the display. She had seen many enchantments in her lifetime. Had watched artists of magic sculpt blades that could shatter mountains, crowns that whispered to the wind, and wards strong enough to halt time. But this... this was something far more intimate. His light curved and wove with gentle precision, shaped by the vision in his mind's eye, and slowly it took form. A pendant of emberleaf, shaped in reverence and remembrance, strung on a chain of such refined moonsteel that even in her court it was considered a treasure beyond price. It was not the craftsmanship that struck her, it was the meaning. Moonsteel of that caliber was never traded, never bought, never sold. It was gifted only to the highest ranks of fae, to the most sacred of bonds, and never - never - to mortals. Yet, here Aurelion was, prince of the Seelie Court not only giving away such precious metal, but a piece of himself, of his magic, his intention, his history... to a human woman.

`

Her heart ached with something too ancient to name. It had always hurt her, the way her beloved son had sealed himself off from the world for centuries. The way he kept his distance, even as he offered the world his strength. She had mourned for him in private, in the silence between ceremonies and councils, wondering if she would ever see him allow someone in again. She had seen so many marriages forged between her nobles and humans in honor of the resealing of the accord. Most of their relationships had bloomed in time, but they had all begun the same way: with fear, tension... with duty. What she was seeing now was not born of duty or responsibility, for neither Desdemona nor Aurelion knew that soon they would be bound to one another. No this was born of her son's desire to help and learn about the woman kneeling across from him.

`

Aurelion remained on his knees, his frame aglow with the after light of the gift he had bestowed. He watched as she clutched it to her chest, and listened as she spoke and he smiled. It was not the courtly, distant smile he wore when entertaining guests or charming diplomats. It was something altogether warmer, softer. And when Desdemona spoke of the children, of his promise to them, he laughed. It was a sound of rare beauty. Like sunlight striking thawed ice. Like the first crackle of a fire in a winter hearth. It did not belong in a hall of polished stone and politics, it belonged to wild places, to twilight groves and starlit glades. A fae laugh, unguarded and real. And for a fleeting moment, he looked not like a prince weighed down by destiny and obligation, but like a young man who had forgotten the chains of duty long enough to feel joy.

`

"Ah, yes." He said, voice velvet and star laced. His gaze swept toward the little cluster of children who lingered, their wide eyes brought with hope. "I do recall promising to grant each of you a wish." His tone held the faintest echo of mischief now, an old echo of the boy he once was before war and crowns and heartbreak shaped him into something quieter. Turning his crystalline gaze to one of the older boys, Aurelion tilted his head slightly, a strand of his golden hair catching the light of the candelabras lighting the room. "Well then." He said, his words gentle and noble, imbued with that timeless cadence only the fae could wield. "Shall we make good on our bargains, little lords and ladies of the court?" The corners of his mouth lifted just so, playful and regal all at once. "Who among you dared to claim the next wish from the Prince of the Seelie Court?" There was no mockery in his tone, only warmth. He extended a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled, as though offering the very stars to whichever child stepped forward. The children hesitated at first, then slowly the older boy stepped forward, straightening his tunic as he did so, his chest puffed out with a mix of pride and barely contained excitement.

`

Still observing her son interacting with the mortals, the Queen's lips curved faintly. There it was again, that strange persistent tenderness her son wove so easily into the hearts of others, even when he had retreated from the love and warmth of those around him. Syleneth reclined in her seat, only slightly, her hands still in her lap, her posture queenly and composed. But behind her gaze, her thoughts wandered. Yes, she worried. Feared the toll this arrangement might take on him. She had expected frost and silence, the slow detachment of two souls trapped by duty. She had mourned the loss of what could have been before it ever began. But she had not expected this. Had not expected a gift of moonsteel, or to hear her son laugh. And she certainly had not expected to see him look at a human woman the way he had looked at Desdemona Therrow like she was something fragile and sacred and beautiful all at once. Perhaps... perhaps this union would not be a prison, but a beginning. Perhaps Aurelion was not as sealed away as she had feared. And perhaps, Desdemona was not only a key to peace, but a balm for the quiet ache her son had carried for far too long.

The gentle pulse and flowing warmth of the emberleaf stirred things within Desdemona she had thought to be long lost. Or, perhaps it was the Prince himself that began those inward stirrings. That was what the human King believed. He had watched for years, but never had he seen her react so softly, so raw and moved by another person. Even before the children pushed the two together, he had seen the brightness in her once dim eyes, the struggle of a smile fighting for dominance over stoicism. The gentle witty banter and the exchange of longing looks that neither of them seemed to notice or care to hide. When Aurelion gifted her that pendant with such rare and special steel, Geralt had seen the fondness growing in her heart. Neither soul knew what was to come, yet already they were slowly binding their hearts together. The king could only hope that the fondness would not shatter the moment that the monarchs announced what their fate would be. He prayed that Desdemona would still seek that growing comfort she found in the prince, but her hate ran so deep that even he understood that it may not work that way. Not outwardly, at least. Inwardly, no one, not even the ripping claws of hatred, could alter the visceral emotions that had been displayed that evening.

-

There she still knelt with the prince, the sound of his laugh ringing in her head as if she'd made the most grand of epiphanies. It was contagious, a sound so beautiful and melodic, and she could not help the gentle sound that bubbled up from her own lips. It was as if for a moment, her heart had been set free, the chains broken and wounds healed. It was something so youthful and unburdened, flowing freely like bubbling brook. It had brightened her face, the corners of her eyes softening and the edges of her lips had turned upwards in a freed smile. In that moment she was not a woman who was concerned with image or vengeance, but a young girl who reveled in the company of someone who understood and felt for her in a way she'd never imagined. Someone that just maybe, she could be herself with. Someone who she could find joy alongside once more.. Someone who was perfect for her, and her for them.

-

As he addressed the children, one would have thought that Desdemona would have returned to the sidelines to gain back the solitude she so often sought, but instead she merely shifted to the side of Aurelion and watched with a more subtle joy. It was so odd and out of character, but she hadn't felt so comfortable and normal in years. She wanted to stay close to him, even if his attention had turned to the children. She wanted to be able to see and feel that magic in all of its glory and to watch the way his talented hands crafted each gift with care. She always believed that magic was only for destruction or protection, not for the things that the prince had shown and given them. It was so different from what she'd seen back then..

-

As the older boy approached, speaking his wish, Desdemona fixed the moonsteel chain around her neck, allowing the pendant to rest gently against her chest. It offered her subtle warmth and comfort even then, casting a nearly noticeable difference over her once chilly demeanor. One of the children, the boy with the gap toothed smile, came to her side and crouched low enough to whisper a tease in her listening ears. "You look happy.. You like him, don't you?" He giggled, wiggling his eyebrows at the older woman, who fought not to turn red with blush at such a statement. "Little naughty thing," she tsked quietly, though she was just as playful in her exchange with him. "I am happy. And... I suppose I'm fond enough of this man. But I have no reason not to be, now do I?" She answered in a hushed whisper, her words not betraying much more emotion than what was openly true. Yes, Desdemona was indeed fond of the Prince. Quite so, but her heart was still guarded enough that she could not admit to outright favor in a way much deeper than something platonic as the child had insinuated. This man was to be married off to a woman of the court while she was bound to live as an old maid, and she could not think of things such as "like" and love for more reasons than one, even if she wanted to. She could merely continue to look at him as something special and beautiful. Something she'd forever remember and feel near thanks to the most precious gift anyone could have ever given her. The boy simply giggled again, giving her a knowing look before running along to wait for his turn in the wishing. Love was not in the cards for Desdemona and she knew that. She had long accepted that she would be alone, if not by choice than by destiny. It did not even occur to her that the King could choose her to marry the Prince. No, she believed it would go to one of the more trustworthy houses, probably to Caerenhal, but never to herself. The King knew how deep her hatred ran and he surely knew that she wasn't suited for marriage, especially with that of a fae Prince... Right?

-

The King waited and watched with patient wonder, his emerald gems never leaving the huddle for too long. Though his mind was made up, he too worried what such an engagement might do to Desdemona. She was like a wounded animal, and he knew that pushing her could cause her to lash out and reject it all. She would most likely detest the marriage, curse him for choosing her, but it was a necessary evil, if it could even be called an evil. Her soul needed him. She needed him. He was like the silk threads that closed and mended her wounds, the cooling balm that soothed the stinging pain of her heart. Desdemona nearly appeared enchanted at his side, her slender fingers constantly touching and silently doting over the pendant that then hung from her neck. Geralt knew she may not be happy immediately, but within time he knew that their bond would be much different from those of old. As the last child approached the Prince, Geralt looked to the Queen, his shoulders squared as he took a quiet, deep breath. "I believe it is time. Are you ready, Queen Syleneth?" He questioned softly, his heart fluttering with faint nervousness. It would be a tense meeting, one he was ready to be done with, but also one he anticipated. He craved to know the pair's reaction as well as prayed for the continuance of healing between the two. It would be a grand marriage. He just knew it.

Each wish that the children requested, Aurelion fulfilled with the same care and gravity he would offer a visiting dignitary or sacred rite. Toys, illusions of dancing light and gentle forest spirits, bracelets strung from the threads of starlight, and tiny stones that whispered warmth against the skin. Each creation held within it a shard of him. Not merely magic, but memory and meaning, intent spun from the golden loom of his will. The children had no idea, not truly, of what they were receiving. To them, it was wonder, delight, play. But to those who understood the fae craft, to his mother who watched in silence, to the attending Seelie who stood along the edges of the hall wary and reverent, each token he bestowed was a piece of something far older and heavier.

`

None were created half-heartedly. As all fae did when granting a wish, he shaped and offered them with the fullness of his spirit. That was the way of it. The unspoken law that governed his people. The deeper the desire, the deeper the cost. Fae magic did not know how to be simple or fleeting. It was not bartered cheaply. It wound itself into time and bone, into oaths and dreams, and left fingerprints on the soul of both giver and receiver. And yet, the Prince of the Seelie Court offered it so freely, without hesitation or demand. The gifts he crafted for these mortal children would not fade when the night ended or lose their magic in the face of age. They would remain, tiny and precious miracles forged in a single evening and meant to be held and remembered long after hands had wrinkled and hearts had grown weary.

`

He wore a smile with each offering, not the mask he often donned in courts or councils but something gentler, something more open. Each charm he gifted was imbued with the same quiet wish: that these children would grow, and would carry this night with them like a lantern through the darker corridors of their lives. That one day, when the time had made them forget what it felt like to believe in wonder, they might hold a necklace or glimpse a faded illusion and recall that once, they had stood before a fae prince and been seen.

`

From her throne, Queen Syleneth watched it all. There was an ache in her chest that had settled there so long ago she no longer remembered its origin. But tonight, it pulsed fresh and sharp. It struck her then, how much her son had given over these last five hundred years. His strength, time, the quiet erosion of self that came with centuries of ruling at her side. He had grown into his title with a grace that would have made any monarch proud, but she, who had watched him when he was still small enough to press his hand into hers, knew what it had cost.

`

Aurelion clad in his ceremonial leathers of deep sapphire and moonshadow silk, bore the mark of his station with quiet dignity. Threads of silver ran through his doublet like frost across dark glass, each knot and braid woven with protective sigils and ancestral crests. His mantle, pinned at one shoulder by a brooch shaped like a regal stag, pulled behind him like a river of twilight. But even so adorned, it was not his garments that held the room or the children captive, it was him. The way he knelt, the way he smiled, the way he offered pieces of himself without demand or condition. Her son, the heart of her court.

`

Syleneth stirred as King Geralt leaned slightly toward her. The mortal king's voice carried with it the weight of expectation. She turned to him with slow precision, her silver gaze shifting from the children to the aging ruler beside her. The candlelight caught in her lashes and made her eyes seem to glow faintly, otherworldly. She listened as he spoke of timing and the need to begin the formal announcement. The moment the hall had been gently pressing toward. She inclined her head slightly, a motion both graceful and restrained. "I believe you are right." She said, her voice quiet but resonant, threaded with the same starlight that haloed her presence. Her fingers curled more tightly in her lap for a breath, the relaxed. "Let the truth take root." The truth... That was what tonight was, after all. Not simply a feast or celebration, not merely diplomacy wrapped in silk and song. It was the beginning of a binding. Of sacrifice, and of hope.

`

Syleneth's gaze returned to Aurelion. Though he knew the reason he was here, had made it known that he was ready and willing to do what was necessary for both his people and the mortals, she couldn't help but wonder... would he hate her for this? In time, would he truly come to understand what it was she was asking of him? She had wondered these things more often than she admitted, not just in council chambers where the greatest of decisions were made, but in the silence of her inner sanctum where moon petals bloomed endlessly in the hush of twilight gardens and memory lingered like mist on the air. Aurelion had endured more than most. Had buried more than many, and now he was to be bound once more not to war, not to tragedy, but to a woman whose bloodline had once spilled fae blood on the soil of Elarion.

`

Syleneth let her eyes drift to the girl. Young, still. Yet not fragile. There was steel in her bearing just as there was a quiet grief. An aching loneliness that mirrored, almost perfectly, the one she had watched bloom in her son over the decades. She was beautiful, in that mortal way. She wore no crown, no circlet, and yet she carried herself like someone who had learned what it meant to stand alone, and somehow, impossibly, Aurelion had seen her.

`

The queen exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Not of relief, not entirely, but rather of acceptance. The court had begun to quiet now. Even the music ad softened, the strings drawing out a gentle, anticipatory note that hummed through the air like a drawn bowstring. Attendants moved with careful grace. The fires in the braziers flickered casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. Syleneth rose slowly from her seat, a shimmer of silken fabric and moonlight. Her hair caught the light like woven frost, the hall stilled as she stepped forward. All eyes turned. Aurelion, she thought, may this not be the end of your freedom, but the beginning of something gentler than the cruel hand fate has dealt you.

`

A whisper of wind coiled through the windows, bearing with it the scent of distant lilac and the cold clarity of the highlands. A sign, perhaps, or merely the breath of a world holding itself still for what came next. She raised her voice, not loudly, but with the tone of one used to being heard across centuries. "Let it be known to all present." She said. "That on this night, before witnesses of both realms, the Seelie Court and the King of Aurenwald shall renew the vow that has kept peace upon this land for a thousand years." A hush fell, so deep it seemed even the flames bent to listen. She turned then, fully toward Aurelion. There was a flicker of something ancient and sorrowful flickering in her gaze, tempered by a solemn kindness. "Aurelion, Prince of the Fae and heir to the Seelie Court." She said. "Step forward."
`

Upon hearing his mother's voice ripple through the air like wind across still water, Aurelion paused. The final gift rested gently in the hands of a wide-eyed child, a delicate ribbon of woven starlight that glowed softly against their small fingers. The last of the enchantment faded from his fingertips, trailing like gossamer threads back into the ether, and slowly, he straightened. His crystalline gaze lifted, drawn toward the sais, and met the eyes of his mother across the hall. When their eyes locked, Aurelion gave the barest of nods. Rising from his kneel beside the child, Aurelion's tall form moved like mist caught in moonlight, slow and ethereal. The motion was unhurried, deliberate as if he were pulling himself from a dream and returning to the waking realm. For a breath, he lingered where he stood, not yet turning away from the sea of children and mortals who still watched him with wide, shining eyes. Not yet did he turn away from Desdemona, instead he looked towards her, his gaze meeting hers for a moment. There was a softness in his expression, a moment of vulnerability that he allowed her to see before drawing his composure back around him like a second skin. Then, with all the grace of a prince of the Seelie Court, he turned and began the walk back toward the dais.

`

His footfalls made no sound, his long mantle tailing behind him like a dark river laced with frost. Lanternlight flickered off the silver embroidery that trimmed his collar and cuffs as he moved. He did not radiate pride or vanity as he walked to join his mother once more, only a quiet readiness and the steady solemnity of someone walking into a moment that would mark the course of his life. As he ascended the marble steps to rejoin his mother, the hall seemed to inhale as one. Aurelion moved with the silence of snowfall, his presence a convergence of a thousand whispered prophecies and half-forgotten songs. And though he stood now at the foot of duty, called forth by centuries of oath and blood and magic, there was no fear in him, only purpose. He was the sword, the shield, and the bridge, and he would stand steadfast to protect both the fae and the humans, regardless of what it cost him.

As Aurelion stepped onto the dais and took up the empty space beside his mother, the dining hall quieted further. The soft hum of whispered curiosity and fearful anticipation fell into silence. The prince moved like shadow and starlight combined, fluid, measured, and quiet. His long mantle whispered along the marble with every step. The ceremonial leathers he wore caught the lantern light glimmers of silver, each braid and knot of embroidery seeming almost alive with ancient sigils of protection and lineage.

`

Upon reaching the center of the dais, Aurelion turned with slow precision to face the gathered hall. His crystalline eyes, pale and sharp like blue fire behind glass, swept across the mortals seated at their dining tables. He studied them, not coldly or with cruelty, but with a depth of observation that many might have found unnerving. They were dressed in their finest, their features flushed with wine and wonder, but beneath it all he saw the truth. He could see the mothers clutching their daughters just a bit too tightly as if fearing they'd be torn away. The way some fathers refused to look up, as if not seeing would somehow change what was to come. He saw the girls whose hands trembled in their laps, their fingers twined in white-knuckled grips. To them, this ceremony was a lamb being offered to a beast. A peace preserved by the giving away of one of their own to the unknowable. And perhaps, in some ways it was.

`

No mortal who had entered the fae realm during the resealing of the Accord had ever returned. Not a single soul in these last five hundred years. And so, humanity had filled in the gaps with tales of horror. Some wild and fantastical, others disturbingly close to believable. That the fae turned their chosen into playthings, into pets, into prisoners of a beautiful gilded cage. That they were drained of youth and joy, or forced to dance forever beneath the moon, never able to rest. That they lost their names and minds in that strange, eternal land. Aurelion did not blame them for their fears. Not truly. The unknown always bred monsters in the minds of mortals. But the truth was something else entirely. Those chosen to enter the realm of fae were treated not as sacrifices, but as bridges between two worlds. Though their lives were brief by fae standards, mere flickers of flame compared to the long burning stars of his people, they were valued and honored even. They were granted comfort, status, and beauty beyond imagining. And in return, their presence bound the magic of the Accord, sustaining peace between two kingdoms that might otherwise have fallen to war. Even the magic itself, alive and aware in ways most could not comprehend, responded to the presence of a mortal with a sort of tenderness. It curled around them like ivy seeking sunlight, like a lullaby wrapping itself around a newborn child.

`

Aurelion wished, not for the first time, that he could make this known to the mortals gathered here. That their daughters were not being taken into a nightmare. That to share a life with him would not be a curse but something far brighter and happier, something closer to grace.

`

He drew in a quiet breath, steadying the storm beneath his calm surface. His heart usually so still and silent within his chest, now beat with an unfamiliar intensity. There was a weight behind his ribs that he could not dislodge, a mixture of anticipation and dread, uncertainty and hope. For though he had long since accepted the duty of this ceremony, he could not deny the apprehension that came with it. The fear that the one chosen to stand beside him might loath him, might see only a monster in fine clothing, and might recoil from his touch or shrink from his gaze. He would give everything, as he always did. He would not go into this half-hearted. To do so would be to betray the sanctity of the bond he was about to forge. He would offer the fullness of his being, his kindness, his magic, his strength, and his loyalty. Whoever she was, she would want for nothing. Her life would be one of wonder and ease, of enchantment and peace. Even if she never loved him, he would ensure she was never unhappy.

`

As the king stood and addressed the hall, Aurelion listened. And when he announced the name of the woman to marry him he paused. Desdemona. He couldn't stop the look of surprise that flitted across his expression, though he was quick to school it back into something more befitting a prince. It was only a flicker, a brief widening of the eyes, a slight parting of his lips, but it betrayed more than he would have liked. Even so, it was there and gone in an instant, buried beneath centuries of honed restraint. He had not expected her. Of all the names the king might have uttered, hers had not even been among the possibilities he dared entertain. His crystalline gaze was quick to find her. Desdemona Therrow. The name echoed like a blade being drawn in a silent hall. He watched as the young woman froze in her silent attempt at escape, her entire frame going taut, spine straightening as though she had been struck. His gaze remained locked on her, held by an invisible tether he could not, did not, wish to cut. Seeing her so tense, as if her body had turned to stone, he felt as though his insides collapsed inward in horror. His horror was not directed at her, but rather at the idea of what she was now being forced into. Of all the mortals present, she was the one who carried the deepest scars. The house of Therrow had long held resentment toward the fae, bitterness passed down through generations, rooted in tragedy, watered in silence. Her family's slaughter had never been explained to her, save for that it had been fae who had done it.

`

He swallowed, a gesture so small it might have gone unnoticed, but to him, it felt like swallowing flame. His stomach churned, his thoughts in disarray. This was no mere political arrangement, not for him. Aurelion had never approached the Accord with a dispassionate heart. Every union, every binding, every piece of fae magic required more than power. It required intention, soul, and sacrifice. It was not something done lightly, and never half-heartedly. And though he had known that he would wed as part of the resealing of the accord, he had also known that he would do so with reverence and care, no matter the cost. But this... this felt like cruelty. Not toward him, but toward her. Had she not suffered enough? To be wrenched from one world and forced into another, into the arms of the very creatures she had every reason to despise? She had been kind to him, yes, but kindness was not forgiveness. She had smiled, but that did not mean she had healed. He could still see the wounds, even if others could not. Still feel the distance she kept, like someone walking barefoot across shards of glass, careful not to let it show how much each step bled.

`

He remained silent, though a dozen words pressed against the back of his throat. He had half a mind to turn to his mother, to step forward from the dais and request another name be drawn. To suggest gently and diplomatically, that this match might do more harm than good. But he already knew what her answer would be. Her mind, once made, was stone. Even the tides changed more easily than the mind of the Queen of the Seelie Court. Still, he could not look away from Desdemona. His gaze followed her as she turned, as the weight of her fate seemed to gather in her every movement. She walked slowly towards the dais, toward him, toward the fae and mortal royalty who had orchestrated this moment with such pride. Her anger was visible, palpable even. He could feel it, sharp and hot in the air between them, the way magic coils before a storm. He didn't blame her for it. How could he? He was quite certain he would have felt the same, were their positions reversed.

`

The dining hall had gone deathly silent. Even the fae stood still, their radiant forms watching with unreadable expressions. One could have heard the sound of a single leaf falling onto the marble floor. And in the quiet, all Aurelion could hear was the beat of his own heart, steady and loud in his ears, as if to mark the ending of one life and the beginning of another. Still, his glacier gaze did not waver. He did not flinch as she approached. He stood like moonlight carved into flesh, tall, composed, and distant only in appearance. Inside, however, he felt the ache of something ancient and unwelcome curling through his chest. And when King Geralts voice broke through the stillness and silence of the hall, the fae prince listened. He was still for a heartbeat longer after the mortal king had finished speaking, letting the words settle in the space around them. Then he turned and inclined his head slowly, each movement deliberate, controlled. Centuries of etiquette, tradition, and diplomacy rested on his shoulders. He faced the mortal king with the poise of someone who had lived through countless negotiations and courtly games. But the weight in his voice, when he finally spoke, betrayed the sincerity beneath his regality. "May our union bring the peace both our peoples so desperately seek." He said, his voice quiet but clear, imbued with the depth of his years and the gravity of the moment.

`

Then, he turned to Desdemona. He did not smile, nor did he reach for her. He merely looked at her, as he had since he'd first seen her, with interest and something more fragile and complicated. His voice dropped to something softer and more gentle. Something meant only for her. "I can only hope that the wisdom and joy spoken of will find their way into our shared story." And finally, his voice even softer, and his words meant only for her and no one else, he added. "I will not fail you, nor the promise we now bear." There was no magic in his words, not yet. No enchantment binding them with light or air or thread. But in the world of the fae, the intention was everything. And Aurelion's vow, spoken with such care, was already beginning to shake itself into something sacred. A thread drawn tight between them and entirely unbreakable. Even if she hated him, he would carry this promise like a crown of thorns, and it would never be broken.

Aurelion felt every word of the vow he'd made to Desdemona course through his body, a solemn resonance that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. The promise had would itself around his soul like a living thread. It burrowed into his chest and took root behind his ribs. He could feel it settling, anchoring itself deep within his core, both a whisper and a weight. Such was the nature of fae vows. Beautiful in their wording, but binding in a way that could bring upon them ruin. They were not declarations to be made lightly, nor were they ever offered without consequences. Should he falter, should he fail to uphold his word... it would not only break him, it would destroy him. And yet, he did not regret it.

`

He watched Desdemona Therrow in the silence that followed. Watched the storm of emotion behind her eyes, behind that cold and composed exterior. Anger, pain, confusion. He saw it all, recognized it intimately and knew that she was drowning in more than just the betrayal of her king. She was mourning. Mourning what had been stolen from her by this choice. Mourning the years she'd spent hating the fae only to be told she would now be bound to one. It was not lost on him, what she must feel. And still... he would not have undone what he said. If even a fraction of his vow could lessen the sting, if any part of it might ease the cut of this sudden arrangement, then he would bear whatever price the vow demanded. Aurelion had never been one to offer pretty words for the sake of show, what he said, he meant. And what he meant, he kept.

`

He knew, of course, that this had been decided long before the announcement. That his mother had already spun this thread and tied it neatly in her hand. He had not forgotten the earlier conversation between Queen Syleneth and King Geralt, the way his mother's interest had sparked when Desdemona's name had passed the mortal king's lips. Nor had he missed the glint in her eye when Desdemona had stepped forward to the dais. He hadn't looked at his mother since the name was spoken, but he could feel her approval. Could sense it in the way the air hummed around her throne, an ancient thing, quietly satisfied with the outcome she had orchestrated. Her expression, likely unreadable to most, would have told him everything he already knew: that her mind had been made up. That she saw something in Desdemona Therrow just as Aurelion had. Something worthy, dangerous.... something altogether promising.

`

Though his vow had been spoken, the fae prince kept his gaze fixed on Desdemona, his expression a blend of compassion and reverence. He had not expected a response. Had prepared himself for cold silence or perhaps even refusal. He would not have blamed her for either. So, when she turned to him, when she took his hand, willingly, he froze. Just for a moment. His crystalline gaze widened, not in alarm but in wonder. Her hand was like ice, cold enough to bite into his skin, yet he did not flinch. He welcomed it, and held it gently, careful not to grip too tightly. And then he listened when she spoke. Her words were not declarations of affection or duty. She did not echo the vow he had made, but she made a promise of her own. One so simple, and yet so powerful it made his breath catch in his throat. She promised to try. He had lived long enough to know what it meant for someone to offer even that much. Especially someone who had every reason to hate him. Hate his kind. For her to say she would try when the world expected her to refuse, when pain and grief still clung to her like a second skin, was more than he could have asked for. And he believed her. Fae senses were attuned to truth, to meaning layered beneath words. He felt no falsehood in her promise, only a quiet aching sincerity.

`

He didn't let go of her hand until she did. And even then, his fingers lingered for a beat longer, his gaze locked with hers. Only once her hand fell did he blink, as though waking from some fragile trance, and offer her a small genuine smile. "That is more than I could have asked for." He said softly. So softly only she could hear. And again he meant it, meant it with everything he had. When the king spoke again, Aurelion turned his attention toward him, straightening with the same quiet grace that had been shaped by centuries of diplomacy. Yet, even as King Geralt spoke, Aurelion could hear the whispers of the nobility surrounding them. The murmurs and the relief. They thought their daughters had been spared. He could hear it in the shift of breath, the flick of silk sleeves, the subtle undercurrent of relieved mutters behind fans and wine glasses. The noble families, the mortal houses, were glad to see Desdemona bound to a fae prince. Not just for the promise of peace, but because it removed her. Removed Therrow.

`

Knowing now was not the time, Aurelion bit down the words he might have said in her defense. As the king suggested they become more acquainted, Aurelion inclined his head, unsurprised. It was expected. Of course, they would be urged to spend time together. They were strangers, after all, bound by duty rather than choice. But duty did not breed understanding, not without effort. Standing beside her now, feeling the quiet weight of her presence, he realized how long it had been since he had truly walked and spoken with a mortal since he had truly stood with one and sought to understand, rather than to observe. He was a prince of the Seelie Court. Yet here he stood, tethered to a human woman who had every reason to despise him and still chose to try. When he glanced at her again, he saw something in her silvery gaze. Not softness or hatred and anger, but something else. A silent question wrapped in calm, a plea unspoken, and the hope of escape. Aurelion offered a small smile in return. Gentle, open, and almost... human. "It would be my honor, Lady Therrow." He said, his voice low, but steady. He meant that too. For all the reasons they might struggle, he was still honored.

`

Aurelion turned toward the dais then, toward his mother and King Geralt, and bowed. Not lowly, but respectfully, a prince's bow. "Lady Therrow and I shall excuse ourselves then." He said, rising once more. Queen Syleneth regarded her son in silence for a long moment. Her long fingers rested in her lap, her face serene and expression unreadable, but her eyes shimmered with quiet approval. When she dipped her head in a graceful nod, it was not just a signal of permission. It was also an unspoken command to take advantage of this opportunity granted to him and use it to get to know Desdemona. The prince did not linger and with another look toward the Lady at his side, he offered her his arm before moving to step away from the dais and toward the heavy oaken doors that would lead them out into the night. He needed to breathe, and he sensed, more than anything, that she did too.

Though she did not know the full extent of how fae vows worked, she knew that Aurelion would never intentionally break his word. It wasn't something she could ever see him doing, though she barely knew him or his character. She knew enough, though, to know that he was good. He did not judge or bear ill will, nor was he a gossip monger or quick to make rash decisions. His vow was made in good faith to her, and she could not ask for more. She didn't even deserve his promise in the first place, yet still he gave it to her. Still he devoted himself to her. The very least she could do was attempt to do the same. She knew she would not find love else where or even search for it, and while she was not sure she'd ever be affectionate and familiar with him, she hoped that she could at least provide a sense of comfort and friendliness to him. Neither of them had to be alone anymore, so long she could get over her own troubles and grudges.

-

Though she hadn't expected for the King to choose her, it made so much sense. Geralt knew she was unafraid, that she of all people would face the fae with fiery attention and unwavering bravery. He knew she would not run from this duty, as many of the other women were likely to do. Deep down she also knew that Geralt had alternative motives. He wanted her closer to the fae to convince her that they weren't horrible creatures, that they couldn't have been responsible for the slaughter. However, Desdemona would not yet stray from that belief so easily. Just meeting and marrying one man who was good would not sway her. The people as a whole may not be bad, but the vast majority... She couldn't help but feel such resentment. Surely Geralt knew that a simple marriage of duty wouldn't ease her pain. Surely he knew better. Yet, still the decision had been made and ultimately would not be changed. The man was stubborn and her King, and she knew no amount of anger or pleading would cause him to change his mind.

-

Desdemona had not missed the way his hand had grasped hers or how he even lingered after she let go. It had been a comforting feeling, to have the touch of another without it being accompanied by a flinch or disgust. Sure, the children offered her comfort often, but this was unlike that. It was someone who understood her yet still chose kindness, even when he should not. It had been hard to make a promise to this man, yet still it had came so naturally. She wanted to offer him something, and what little she gave had been enough for him.. His smile had said that much, as well as the gentle thankfulness in his tone. Though she was not pleased by the arrangement, she could accept that it would not be composed solely of negativity. Perhaps with him, she would be just as free from the judgement of the court as they would be of her.

-

Though she should have resented the idea of getting to know Aurelion, she was eager to leave that hall, to finish the escape she'd been previously making. Of course, a deeper portion of her did crave to know him, to spend their time asking the unspoken questions they'd had for each other all throughout the night. Longing glances did not have to be just that anymore. The curiousity could be satisfied, if given the chance, and luckily for her, with the most comforting of smiles Aurelion agreed to walk with her. He sensed her unease, and though he had no reason to accept, he did. He stood with a mortal woman who for all he knew hated him, and he still chose to be kind and try with her, just as she had promised to try with him. It was odd, the way the universe worked, but something told Desdemona she should be thanking her lucky stars. "Thank you, my Prince," she said softly, inclining her head to him.

-

Desdemona turned towards the dais as well, offering a deeper, respectful bow to the two monarchs as well before straightening as Aurelion announced they would indeed depart. She waited, receiving a similar look of approval from the King, despite the sharp expression she returned to him. The King remained calm, of course, his face firm and gentle all at once as he watched the pair, still reciting silent prayers for their future union.

When offered his arm, Desdemona took it, settling her hand gently into the crook of his elbow, her touch light like the soft touch of sunlight over a fragrant, flowered meadow. She fell in step with Aurelion, having to restrain herself from rushing towards the large oak doors. It was a chore, with all of the eyes watching their every step, but she managed, her hand grasping his arm just a little tighter the closer that they got, the anticipation building up into a bubble ready to burst. When they finally walked outside, met with cool air chilled by night, Desdemona finally released the breath she had not realized she had been holding.

-

The royal garden lay in hushed splendor beneath a sky scattered with stars, their silver light casting a faint, ethereal shimmer over the grounds. The moon, high and full, bathed everything in a soft, pearlescent glow, turning the marble statues into ghostly sentinels and the dew-slick leaves into polished glass. Cool air drifted gently through the hedges and flowering vines, carrying with it the faint fragrance of night-blooming jasmine and roses long past their prime. Each breath tasted of stone and earth and fading summer, the kind of chill that nipped lightly at fingers and necks, just enough to be felt, not feared. Lanterns lined the cobbled paths, their flames flickering low behind colored glass panes of amber, emerald, and sapphire, casting muted pools of light that danced like lightning bugs across the ground. The hush was nearly complete, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant ripple of a fountain, its water catching the starlight in glittering arcs. And now, the soft gliding steps of Aurelion and Desdemona joined the hushed silence, no words yet spoken between the two.

-

With a heart beat returned to a normal, gentle beating, Desdemona took a deep breath, her head tilting back as she turned her troubled gaze upon the stars as if to pay homage to them. She looked to them for a second longer before lowering her gaze to Aurelion, studying his handsome, ethereal face as she parted her plush lips to speak. "I... I am sorry that it is me that you find yourself bound to. I know it is a complicated situation in whole, but I truly wish better for you," she spoke quietly, casting her gaze back to the cobblestone path before them. There was a deeply solemn lilt to her voice, the words carried on the breeze that brushed past them. She could not express enough how she wished that someone better had been chosen. Though his vow to her, Desdemona felt that he must have felt some grief as well over what it was he was losing. He was losing his freedom. His choice. His opportunity to find someone who could truly love him and devote all of themselves to him. Instead, he would be forever tethered to her when she knew he deserved so much more.

The weight of the vow remained upon his shoulders and his soul, even as Desdemona took the arm he had offered her. It lingered, heavy and unrelenting, its presence pressing down on him with every step they took through the dining hall and toward the towering wooden doors that marked their escape. Though it lingered, he refused to let the weight of it take root in his mind. He would not allow it to fester or bloom into doubt. He would not regret the promise he had made. As Fae he was well aware of how vows were binding in soul and spirit, the way they were etched into the very fabric of one's being. He knew how they took root and how, should the vow be broken, they would leave behind festering scars. While a part of him born of the Court might have questioned the wisdom of such a gesture, Aurelion had not hesitated. She was to be his bride. Mortal or not, Desdemona Therrow was owed the honesty of the vow he had given her.

`

He could only imagine the hurricane she must be weathering. The shock, the humiliation, the betrayal of her own king's decision. His own surprise at the announcement was sharp but distant now, paling in comparison to what she must be feeling. Despite the poised civility she'd shown him, and despite the moments of understanding they had silently shared, bore a deep-rooted fury toward the fae. He'd seen it in her eyes, even beneath the glint of duty. Had felt it when he shaped the delicate silver and magic of the necklace he'd given her. He had heard it in the words spoken by King Geralt to his mother, the grief-laced recounting of her family's slaughter, the tragedy that had shaped her into the woman she now was.

`

As they walked, Aurelion said nothing. The echo of their footsteps filled the corridor as they passed beneath the ancient arches and timeworn. His thoughts wandered, trailing like ivy through the cracks of his memory. He had walked these halls before. Centuries ago. The bones of the palace remained, but it had been a different place then, new, bright, and full of tentative hope. The tones had gleamed with fresh polish, not softened with age. The marble still carried the scent of quarry dust and sun, and the windows had cast golden light across the floors like falling leaves. He remembered laughter too. Mortal voices ringing down the halls. Children chasing one another through the alcoves, their joy a strong rival to any court musician. He had known their names once, those feeling stars of generations long since gone. Old friends, allies, curious craftsmen, and dreaming lords and ladies. All dust now faded into the soil of time. Yet still he remembered. It was his curse and his blessing to remember. Sometimes, though he would never say it aloud, he feared that was all he would one day become. A vessel of memory, a grave for a thousand smiles. And in response to that thought, an ache bloomed low in his chest.

`

The scent of nightflowers pulled him from his reverie. They had passed through the doors and into the night, and Aurelion welcomed the cool air with quiet gratitude. It kissed his skin with gentle fingers, carrying with it the earth-rich fragrance of garden beds and early summer bloom. He drew in a slow breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself to settle in the stillness. Above them, the stars stretched across the sky in a thousand silver pinpricks, endless, watching, and forever enduring. He had always found comfort in them. They were old, far more ancient than even he. They were quiet witnesses to the world's sorrow and wonder, unmoved by war or love or the shifting tides of kingdoms. In their cold light, he sometimes found a sliver of understanding. The stars did not belong to any court. They answered to no crown of fae or mortal man. They simply existed.

`

He cast his gaze down again and let his eyes drift to the garden. The layout had changed since he'd last walked its paths. Trees had grown tall and thick with age, and the cobblestone had been replaced or worn smooth beneath centuries of feet. Flowers of mortal origin bloomed in carefully arranged beds, and the light of fire glowed in the lanterns hung from wrought iron poles. The entire garden seemed to breathe, and though it was not Seelie in design, it held a certain quiet reverence that he appreciated. For the first time since the announcement, Aurelion allowed his body to ease. He released the tension from his shoulders, took in the scents and sights of this space carved for peace, and listened to the wind, to the rustles of leaves, to the silence between them. It was not an uncomfortable silence. Merely one born of uncertainty.

`

When Desdemona finally spoke, Aurelion turned toward her. He studied her then. Not just with the eyes of a prince, but with the eyes of a man who had lived long enough to see pain in all its forms. Her apology was unexpected, and it struck something within him that he hadn't anticipated. He paused. Let the words linger between them. Let them breathe. And then with a voice soft as moss and wind, he replied. "You needn't apologize." There was no anger in his tone. No bitterness, only a quiet and patient truth. "Though, if apologies are in order." He continued after a beat. "Then I feel it is I who owes you one." At that, he looked away from her briefly. His gaze drifted toward a pale blooming lily nestled at the edge of the path. Its petals shimmered under the lantern glow, delicate and moon-kissed. "I'm sure." He started slowly. "That finding yourself bound to someone like me is rather... upsetting." There was a faint smile on his lips, but it was touched with melancholy. He did not say fae, nor did he say prince, because he knew what he was. Knew how the world of humans saw his kind. Knew the centuries of grief, pride, and conflict wrapped in the word fae. And yet, here he was, speaking softly to a mortal woman who had every reason to loathe him.

`

He did not bring her family. Did not speak of loss or blood spilled during a raid that was rumored to be by the fae. That road led to thorns and silence and it was not one he was going to guide them toward tonight. Not when the bond between them was still fresh, fragile, and trembling like a thread in the breeze. Instead, he turned to her again and spoke with sincerity. "I do not expect you to hold affection for me. But I do hope... in time that we may find understanding." He exhaled a faint cloud of breath in the cooler air. "I must say, you are not what I expected, Desdemona Therrow. But I find I am glad for that." He said, his words deliberate, chosen not for charm but for honesty. "I hope you'll find me... not unbearable to be around." He said and let his gaze hold hers before he looked back up to the stars. Their cold fire danced across his crystalline eyes. He was silent for a long while before he sighed softly. "I have seen much of this world, but I've long since learned that it is not the centuries that shape a soul. It is the choices they make. Tonight..." He started and turned his gaze back to her. "You didn't have to respond to my vow with a promise of your own. But the choice you made to try... well it means a great deal to me. So I find I must thank you for that." He said softly.