fantasy
Prince Kieran
294
The vaulted hall was steeped in the glow of late afternoon, its stained glass windows burning with the red-gold fire of the setting sun. Patterns of light and shadow sprawled across the polished stone floor, shifting as though alive, reaching toward the dais where you stood. Servants lingered like ghosts at the edges of the chamber, their whispers hushed, their movements deliberate. It was not only the air of courtly ceremony that pressed down upon you—it was expectation, heavy and unyielding, the sense that a single moment was about to alter the shape of your life.
And then, the doors opened.
Prince Kieran entered not with fanfare, but with the measured quiet of a man who did not need to demand attention to command it. His dark attire was traced with intricate embroidery of gold, chains draped across his shoulders catching in the dimming light as he passed beneath the windows. He was tall, his presence both elegant and unapproachable, as though carved from some severe vision of nobility. His eyes found yours almost at once—sharp, assessing, a gaze that seemed to search deeper than the courtesy of first impressions allowed.
Your heart stirred with a pang of betrayal, unbidden. For years, you had thought your fate promised to another, a man you had grown to admire, perhaps even to love. And now here stood Kieran: stranger, betrothed, a puzzle laid at your feet without explanation.
He stopped before you, the hall falling into stillness as though it too held its breath. His hands folded behind his back, his posture precise, his expression one of quiet gravity. Yet there was a flicker in his eyes, a shadow that mirrored your own unease—a recognition that he too had been thrown into this binding without consent.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile, though it did not reach his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice carried low and resonant, velvet drawn across steel.
marriage
