𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐺𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑃𝑎𝑐𝑡

by flurry_heart

Summary:

When Princess Rowenna Cailith is sent to Philos to marry its crown prince, Xavier Shen, she steps into a court gilded with light yet riddled with shadows.

The marriage is meant to bind two rival kingdoms, but Rowenna quickly learns that peace is a fragile illusion that shatters beneath whispers, betrayals, and veiled daggers. Every ally hides a motive. Every smile conceals a threat.

Prince Xavier, ever dutiful and unreadable, harbors his own reservations, yet cannot deny the danger tightening around his betrothed. As enemies stir in both kingdoms, Rowenna must decide whether to play the pawn or rewrite the game altogether. And Xavier must choose if she is a sacrifice to the throne… or a queen worth defending.

Notes:

So this fic is one that I've been painstakingly working on for the past couple of months. I didn't want to publish until I was sure of the outcome and direction of the story (as well as having a good amount of chapters written and ready to post anytime). This story is quite honestly one of the biggest stories I've ever written in terms of worldbuilding and lore building so I really, really hope you'll like it.

I KNOWWWWW i have a few WIPs already but I promise I'll work on them in due time!!! 😭😭😭Yes, this has always been a bad habit of mine bc I tend to wanna write as soon as inspiration strikes. So PLEASEEEEE bear with me hehehe. Just a heads up though, updates for the other stories will be a little slower, but I'm doing my best!

Without further ado, let's set the stage for the Prologue + first chapter. As usual, feel free to leave a comment!! They really keep me going bc I'm nothing if not a complete whore for praise. 👀

Chapter 1

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉

Long before treaties and rival crowns, there was Evol.

Legends speak of the first Flamefall—a storm of celestial fire that rained upon the earth, leaving in its wake crystals of impossible radiance. Those who touched these fragments found their blood forever altered, carrying within them the spark of an evol.

In most, the gift dimmed across generations until it became a myth. But in rare lines, the spark burned bright and true, its power inheritable, shaping dynasties and destinies. For the kingdoms of Philos and Cailithar, evol was more than a blessing.

It was proof of divine right.

In Philos, a maritime realm of sapphire ports and merchant fleets, evol was seen as a tool of diplomacy and prosperity. In Cailithar, a land of crimson banners and mountain fortresses, it was a weapon to be honed, woven into their strict traditions of war and honor.

By law and custom, every royal bore an evol. And though uncommon, those born outside royal bloodlines with the gift were granted high stations in service to the crown, for power was a currency no realm could waste.

Thirty years ago, the kingdoms stood at a fragile crossroads.

Crown Prince Aldric Shen, barely twenty years old, heir to Philos, was known for his calm mind and the quiet gravitas of one raised to lead through diplomacy rather than conquest. His evol was Aegis, a radiant shield of light that could repel even the fiercest strike. It was a gift well-suited to a prince sworn to keep the peace.

From Cailithar came Princess Aria Cailith, daughter of King Morvan Cailith and wielder of Luminara, a rare evol of healing light. She was beloved by her people. Graceful, disciplined, and unafraid to meet the eyes of warriors twice her size.

At her father’s side was Crown Prince Rowan Cailith, then a young man in his mid-teens. His evol, Bladestorm, lay dormant then, but his sharp eyes and sharper mind were already taking in every word and gesture of the negotiations.

The proposal was simple: a marriage between Aldric and Aria, uniting two thrones and ending decades of bloodshed along their disputed borders. For months, the courts danced the delicate steps of alliance. Banquets, hunting trips, and councils that stretched past midnight. But beneath the polished smiles, distrust simmered. Cailithar’s generals feared Philos’s fleets. Philos’s merchants feared Cailithar’s cavalry.

Then, without warning, a rebellion ignited in the contested lands—a sudden surge of fire and steel.

Border villages burned.

Refugees flooded into both realms.

Whispers of sabotage and betrayal raced through the courts.

When Philos could not (or would not) send aid swiftly enough, King Morvan read it as proof of treachery. The betrothal was broken, and Aldric never saw Aria again.

Rowan, who had stood in the shadows of his father’s wrath, left Philos with the memory of Aldric’s unflinching gaze.

A moment frozen in the ash of a failed peace.

The kingdoms drifted apart, bound not by friendship but by the memory of what could have been.

Now, decades later, the tides are shifting once more.

This time, the next generation holds the power to decide whether the fragile thread between Philos and Cailithar will bind them together or strangle them both.

Chapter 2

"Some unions are born from love, others from war. The strongest unions, however, are born from both—for love may soften a blade, but ambition will always sharpen it."

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[The Kingdom of Cailithar, 10 years ago]

The council chamber of Cailithar was cold and severe, the polished stone walls swallowing the glow of the torches, leaving only shards of light to illuminate the two kings.

King Aldric Shen of Philos, draped in pale robes that mirrored the color of his kingdom’s sunlit seas, sat with the calm of a man who had weathered storms but never let them touch his voice. Across from him, King Rowan Cailith of Cailithar was the opposite. Dark, imposing, every line of his posture carved with caution and suspicion, his gaze sharp as the obsidian throne beneath him.

At the edge of the chamber, the children stood quietly.

Crown Prince Xavier Shen, fifteen and already a formidable presence even in his youth, kept his hands folded behind his back, eyes trained on the floor.

Princess Rowenna Cailith, ten, straight-backed and silent, observed nothing beyond the polished tiles at her feet.

Neither was yet ready to bear the weight of the conversation that would define their futures.

Aldric broke the silence with deliberate calm. “Rowan, our kingdoms have long walked a precarious path. I propose we correct a misstep of the past,” he gestured lightly, almost imperceptibly, toward the children. “A marriage between Xavier and Rowenna would seal a bond of trust, not just for today, but for generations to come.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, the faintest shadow of a frown creasing his forehead. “You speak of trust, Aldric. Yet Philos has always been a kingdom of light and openness, while Cailithar thrives in… caution. I must ask, why now? What do you truly hope to gain?”

Aldric’s gaze remained steady, his voice soft but unwavering.

“You know of my failed marriage arrangement with your sister, Aria. Thirty years ago, our fathers sought the same peace. But distrust, fear, and rashness tore that promise apart. I would not see our kingdoms repeat the same mistakes. This time, I hope our children, the next generation, can do what we could not.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “You speak of history, yet history is often told by the victor. Philos has little reason to extend generosity unless there is gain beneath it.”

“No gain, only hope,” Aldric replied evenly. “Hope that Xavier and Rowenna may grow together, learning the weight of our responsibilities not as adversaries, but as partners. If our fathers’ generation failed, perhaps ours can at least leave a chance for the next to flourish.”

The chamber held its breath.

Outside, the wind moaned through the high towers, carrying a chill that whispered of the years yet to come. Rowan studied Aldric in silence, weighing the sincerity in his tone against the years of caution etched into his own heart.

Finally, he inclined his head, slow and deliberate. “We will consider your proposal. But make no mistake, Aldric… Cailithar will not bend lightly to Philos, even in peace. Should this alliance proceed, it will be watched. Every word, every gesture, and every moment.”

Aldric nodded his head in turn, the faintest curve of a smile touching his lips. “As it should be. And perhaps, in time, we may finally honor what was once promised.”

And in that quiet chamber, with shadows stretching long along the stone floors, a fragile accord took root—the first step toward a future neither king could fully control.

The children stood at the edge of the chamber, silent, almost statuesque against the dark stone.

Xavier’s blue eyes flicked between the two kings, sharp and calculating even at fifteen. He noticed the subtle shifts in Rowan’s posture, the way the Cailithar king’s fingers twitched against the arm of his throne, the small twitch that spoke of a mind already plotting three steps ahead. Xavier mirrored nothing, but the observation settled in him like a weight he could not yet lift.

Beside him, Rowenna kept her small hands clasped in front of her. At ten, she was quiet, but her dark eyes missed nothing. She traced the pale lines of Aldric’s calm, noting how even in a tense negotiation, he never raised his voice, how every gesture was measured and deliberate. Yet, there was something in Aldric’s gaze that fascinated her—the caution, the intensity, the unspoken rule that all must earn his trust.

Neither child spoke. Neither could.

But already, the seed of expectation had been planted.

Xavier would grow into the role of a leader who measured everything, who read the room before drawing his sword or speaking his mind.

Rowenna would learn to wield silence as a tool, to observe, to calculate, to influence in ways her youth could not yet permit.

They glanced at one another once—quickly, almost imperceptibly—acknowledging a shared understanding that their fates were intertwined, and that the choices of men far older and more experienced than themselves would shape the paths they were to walk.

Across both kingdoms, the wheels had begun to turn. Every ally, every skeptic, every silent observer now had a stake in the unfolding union. Some sought gain, some feared loss, some merely waited to see which way the wind would blow.

And as the kings returned to their discussion, the room heavy with the weight of decades-old history, Xavier and Rowenna remained in their places, carrying with them the first, quiet echoes of the responsibilities, alliances, and pressures that would define their lives.

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[The Kingdom of Cailithar, Present Day]

Morning sunlight spilled into Rowenna’s chambers, brushing over dark polished wood and the rich tapestries that lined the walls. The quiet rustle of silk and careful folding of garments filled the room, a gentle rhythm that contrasted sharply with the storm of emotion in the air.

Enid moved with meticulous care, packing gowns, ribbons, and jeweled hairpins into travel chests. Each motion was deliberate, measured, as if her hands could anchor her nerves. She had been Rowenna’s attendant since the girl was five, and the thought of seeing Rowenna leave Cailithar made her chest tighten. She pressed on, folding each garment with the same devotion she had shown for fifteen years.

Selene perched on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked beneath her, her dark eyes flicking between Rowenna and Enid. Her black-and-crimson court attire contrasted with her fair skin. Though her title was Royal Courtier, Selene’s true role had always been more personal: childhood friend, confidante, occasional partner-in-mischief. And now, watching Rowenna prepare to leave, her lips trembled between excitement and sadness.

“So,” Selene began, bouncing slightly in her seat, “you’re leaving for Philos today.” She grinned, leaning forward, almost unable to contain herself. “Have you thought about what that means? The customs, the etiquette, the politics… everyone will be watching your every move.”

Rowenna’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I am aware,” she said softly, adjusting the folds of her traveling gown. “I have prepared for it my whole life.”

Selene’s grin widened, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “And Prince Xavier! You’ve heard the whispers, right? Handsome, skilled with the sword… and his evol! Every eligible maiden in Philos dreams of him. But lucky for you…” She nudged Rowenna’s shoulder lightly. “…King Aldric and your father have decreed that he shall marry you.”

Rowenna shook her head and let out a small sigh. “Selene…” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Be careful what you say outside these walls. A careless word could reach ears that should never hear it.”

Selene’s shoulders slumped, but the softness in her eyes betrayed her fondness. “I know… I just hate that you’re leaving. I’m going to miss you!”

Enid set the last chest down and stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from Rowenna’s face. “You’ll do well,” she said softly. “Philos is… different. The customs, the court, the people… you’ll have to learn quickly. But you are ready. You’ve been preparing for this since you were a child,” she paused, smoothing Rowenna’s sleeve.

“When the time comes to wed Xavier, you won’t just be his bride, you’ll be a part of that kingdom. A part of the court. And I know you’ll make your mark.”

Rowenna nodded, her gaze drifting to the sunlit courtyard below.

A lifetime of Cailithar lay behind her, and a future in Philos stretched before her like a map of possibilities, expectations, and unseen challenges. She drew in a deep breath, letting the weight of it settle, and the first spark of resolve flicker within her.

The grand courtyard of the palace was alive with activity.

Horses stomped impatiently, palace maids scurried to secure chests and bundles of personal belongings, and guards lined the perimeter with disciplined precision. At the center of it all, a polished carriage gleamed in the morning light, its brass fittings catching the sun like sparks.

Rowenna stood poised in her traveling gown, dark silk trimmed with faint silver embroidery, her posture regal despite the nervous tension coiling in her stomach. Her parents approached, moving with the grace and weight of monarchs, though their expressions betrayed every hidden emotion.

King Rowan’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “You have been trained well,” he said, his deep voice even and calm, but Rowenna could see the faint tightening at the corners of his eyes. “Remember the lessons, the people… the alliances. Carry yourself with the dignity of Cailithar at all times.”

Queen Maeryn reached out, taking Rowenna’s hands in her own. Her eyes glistened, a subtle sheen betraying tears she refused to let fall. “My daughter…” she murmured, squeezing Rowenna’s hands tightly. “You will be far from home now. Keep your wits about you. Trust sparingly, and never let others see more than what you wish them to see.”

She brushed a stray strand of hair from Rowenna’s face and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “We will be watching, always. And remember, you carry our name with you.”

Rowenna looked into her mother’s eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I understand, Mother. Father. I will do as you have taught me.”

Selene stood just behind them, keeping her face neutral as any courtier would, but her dark eyes betrayed the ache in her chest. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest tremor of emotion she fought to suppress.

By the horses, General Sylus Qin stood tall, silver hair catching the sunlight, crimson eyes scanning the courtyard with the intensity of a predator. At twenty-nine, he carried the bearing of a man hardened by duty, yet there was a warmth in the way he observed Rowenna, a familiarity that went beyond his role. Once a mere palace guard, he had watched her grow from a curious child into the poised young woman before him.

He stepped forward, bowing slightly before Rowenna. “Princess,” he said in a deep, controlled voice. His eyes flicked briefly to her parents, acknowledging their authority and the weight of the moment, before returning to her. “The journey will be long. You may rely on me.”

Rowenna’s hand touched the carriage door, hesitant for the smallest fraction of a heartbeat.

Sylus’s gloved hands were there before she could falter, guiding her with careful strength. His eyes softened imperceptibly, a slight crease forming at the corner of his mouth as he helped her step onto the carriage. “Steady now,” he murmured, low and gentle, though the natural command in his voice remained. He straightened immediately, concealing every trace of affection behind the rigid posture of a soldier.

Rowenna turned slightly to wave, catching her mother’s eyes one last time. Queen Maeryn’s lips quivered as she whispered, “Be careful.”

King Rowan’s expression was inscrutable, yet his hand rested briefly on her shoulder in silent blessing.

Sylus closed the carriage door with a soft click, his eyes scanning the courtyard once more, alert to every movement. He mounted beside the driver, posture taut and commanding, and with a gentle flick of the reins, the horses began to move.

Rowenna leaned back into the seat, taking a deep breath as the familiar walls of Cailithar receded behind her, replaced by the unknown roads that led toward Philos and the future that awaited her there.

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The carriage rolled slowly across the cobblestone courtyard of the Philos palace, sunlight glinting off the pale stone walls. Rows of palace maids and guards lined the path, their posture rigid, their eyes fixed forward. Every chest and bundle of Rowenna’s belongings had been carefully secured, a testament to Enid’s meticulous care.

Sylus sat beside the driver, his hair catching the sunlight, red eyes alert and scanning the courtyard. Muscles coiled, posture taut, every instinct ready. Though he remained seated, his focus never wavered.

He would not allow a single misstep in this foreign kingdom.

When the carriage slowed at the palace’s main entrance, Sylus swung down to the cobblestones with the fluid grace of a seasoned warrior. He moved to Rowenna’s side, hand extended with precise timing, ready to steady her as she stepped out. His eyes flicked over the gathered maids and guards, silently weighing every figure for potential threats, the briefest crease forming between his brows as he assessed the situation.

A single figure awaited them—King Aldric’s personal attendant, Henry, a stern man in sky-blue robes, who bowed deeply as Rowenna stepped out of the carriage.

“Princess Rowenna,” the attendant called, bowing low. “I shall see you safely to the grand hall, where His Majesty, Queen Serenya, and Prince Xavier await.”

Rowenna drew in a deep breath as she followed the attendant with Sylus close behind. With each step, the courtyard seemed to stretch longer, the anticipation of a new kingdom pressing upon her. She felt the weight of Cailithar at her back and the unknown of Philos before her.

The massive double doors swung open, revealing the grand hall of Philos. Sunlight poured through the tall, arched windows, glinting off marble floors and gilded tapestries. Rows of courtiers and attendants murmured, their eyes flicking toward the newcomer.

Henry stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Your arrival has been requested, Princess.” His tone was crisp, formal, yet carried a note of deference.

Sylus stepped back toward the entrance, scanning every corner of the hall. Hands clasped behind his back, posture taut, he became a silent sentinel, allowing Rowenna to take center stage while maintaining his unyielding vigilance.

Rowenna inhaled deeply, straightening her shoulders as she stepped onto the plush red carpet that led to the dais. The steps felt longer than they were, her polished black shoes muffled against the thick pile.

Every whisper and gaze seemed to follow her as she approached the thrones of Philos.

At the foot of the dais, she paused, bowing in the Philos custom—a light touch of the fingertips to the heart, followed by a careful lowering of the head. The gesture felt almost foreign, so unlike the firm handshake and direct gaze of Cailithar, but she executed it with practiced precision.

King Aldric regarded her with calm, piercing blue eyes, his posture perfect, every motion measured. “Princess Rowenna,” he said, voice smooth and composed, carrying both authority and warmth. “We are honored by your presence here in Philos. Your journey must have been long, yet you have arrived with grace.”

Queen Serenya rose slightly from her throne, her pale robes flowing like water. Her eyes softened as she studied the young princess, but there was caution there, a subtle calculation behind the kindness. “Welcome to our home, Princess. I trust your travels were uneventful?”

Rowenna lifted her gaze, lips pressed into a thin line of composure. “Yes, Your Majesties. My journey was comfortable, and I am grateful for your warm reception.”

From the side, Prince Xavier observed quietly, hands resting loosely at his sides. His dark blue eyes met hers briefly before flicking away, polite yet distant. When he did speak, his voice was low, even, and controlled. “Princess Rowenna, welcome to Philos,” he said. The words were courteous, but there was a weight in his gaze.

Calculated, observant, and unreadable.

Rowenna allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible nod in return, noting the quiet intensity in his demeanor. She had expected the prince to be warm and charming—but Xavier was distant, measured, and undeniably perceptive.

Sylus remained at the rear of the hall, silent and vigilant. His eyes flicked from the courtiers to the young prince, noting the subtleties in posture, the microexpressions, the calculated movements of a household that had spent decades perfecting diplomacy. Every instinct told him to remain alert; every ounce of experience reminded him that appearances rarely told the full story.

King Aldric gave a small, approving nod. “Please, rise and make yourself at ease, Princess. You are among friends here.”

Rowenna straightened fully, a quiet determination in her expression.

Though the hall and its customs were foreign, the weight of expectation pressed upon her shoulders, not just as a guest of Philos but as the future Crown Princess destined to unite two kingdoms.

And in that measured, carefully observed silence, the first threads of her new life in Philos began to weave themselves around her.

King Aldric nodded his head slightly, signaling the end of the formalities. “You may now be dismissed. Take the time to rest and prepare yourself for tonight’s welcome gala. There will be many eyes upon you, and you must be both refreshed and composed.”

Rowenna bowed gracefully, following the etiquette she had learned in Philos, though her mind raced with anticipation. “Thank you, Your Majesties. I shall.”

Henry stepped forward immediately. “If you would follow me, Princess, I shall see you to your chambers.”

The hallways of Philos’s palace stretched wide and bright, the polished white marble reflecting sunlight that streamed through towering windows. Gold accents lined the archways and bannisters, catching the light in delicate, almost playful glimmers. The air smelled faintly of polished stone and fresh blooms, a stark contrast to Cailithar’s somber halls of dark wood and obsidian.

Henry guided Rowenna down the corridors, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor.

Maids and guards bowed as she passed, their eyes flicking respectfully toward her, yet never lingering. The quiet formality of the palace impressed her; everything here felt calculated to reflect light, clarity, and order, as if the very walls were designed to keep watch.

At last, they arrived at a set of large white double doors. Two guards stationed outside stepped aside, their hands moving in unison to push the doors open. Henry gave a small bow. “Princess, your chambers.”

Rowenna stepped inside, and a gentle gust of air greeted her.

The room was expansive, pale walls accented with gilded moldings, mirrors reflecting the sunlight in soft, warm patterns. A high canopy bed with cream and gold linens stood against the far wall, flanked by polished nightstands topped with fresh flowers. The matching vanity caught her eye, adorned with delicate bouquets and fine brushes neatly arranged.

Her belongings had already been unpacked, each trunk and chest in its proper place, as though the room had been waiting for her arrival for weeks.

A maid clad in a gown slightly different from the others stepped forward with a polite smile. “Princess, welcome,” she said. “I am Maren, your lady-in-waiting. I will be at your service during your stay here.”

Rowenna inclined her head. “Thank you, Maren.”

Maren gave a small, formal bow, her expression composed but her eyes bright with curiosity. “Everything has been prepared for you, Princess. If you require anything—clothing, correspondence, or assistance in adjusting to Philos, please do not hesitate to call.”

Rowenna allowed herself a small, contemplative smile, letting her gaze sweep over the sunlit room.

The air was different here, crisp and orderly, yet somehow inviting. It was a palace of light in every sense, and yet beneath the glittering surfaces, she could feel the weight of expectation pressing in.

Her hand lingered briefly on the edge of the vanity as she considered the day ahead. This was only the beginning of her life in Philos—a life that would test her training, her patience, and her resolve.

The evening sun was just beginning to dip beyond the marble terraces when Rowenna sat before her vanity, the soft clinking of perfume bottles and rustling of silks filling the air. A team of maids worked with quiet efficiency, their hands quick but careful as they prepared her for the welcome gala.

Steam still clung faintly to her skin from her bath, and the faint scent of rosewater lingered in her hair. She wore a gown of soft pearl-white silk, its bodice embroidered with delicate threads of gold that caught the candlelight with every movement. The sleeves were sheer and tapered at her wrists, while the skirt flowed to the ground in graceful layers, pooling slightly behind her when she moved. Around her waist, a narrow golden belt glinted—elegant, understated, but undeniably regal.

Her hair was styled in loose waves that spilled down to her waist, pinned back just enough to frame her face without hiding her features. A pair of drop earrings in pale sapphire, a gift from her father before she left Cailithar, swayed gently as she adjusted in her seat.

Maren stepped back, giving her a satisfied nod. “Perfect,” she murmured, smoothing the last wrinkle from the gown.

A knock came at the door, and Maren moved to answer. When the door swung open, Xavier stood framed in the hallway.

He was dressed in a deep navy suit cut to perfection, with a high-collared white shirt and a silver clasp at his throat in the shape of a crest. His gloves were white leather, his boots polished to a mirror sheen. The lamplight along the corridor caught faintly in his hair, throwing cool glints through the silver strands.

For a moment, Xavier simply regarded her. His expression was polite, almost unreadable, but his gaze lingered, taking in her attire, her posture, and perhaps the faint tension in her shoulders.

Then, he placed his hand lightly over his chest and lowered his head in a bow.

“Princess,” he said evenly, his voice low but steady. “I have been sent to escort you to the gala. His Majesty has given instructions that we are to arrive together.”

She knew why.

Arriving side by side would be a deliberate display—a message to Philos’s nobility that the alliance between their kingdoms was not merely political ink on paper, but a living, breathing reality. King Aldric would want every guest to see them as a united front, even before vows were exchanged.

Rowenna rose smoothly from her chair, her skirts whispering against the marble floor. “Of course,” she said, her tone calm but measured.

Xavier stepped forward and extended his gloved hand. She placed her own in his, the faint coolness of the leather meeting the warmth of her skin. Without another word, he guided her from the room, his pace unhurried but deliberate.

The corridors of the palace stretched ahead, awash in golden light from the sconces along the walls. Their footsteps echoed softly over the polished marble. She could feel the presence of the guards stationed at regular intervals, each dipping their heads in respectful greeting as they passed.

As they reached the great doors of the ballroom, two guards stepped forward and swung them open. The light of a hundred candles spilled outward, accompanied by the quiet hum of conversation from the gathered nobility.

Xavier placed a light, steady hand at the small of her back, guiding her into the room. The polished floor gleamed beneath their feet as they moved toward the dais, where King Aldric and Queen Serenya stood in poised welcome.

Rowenna performed the Philosian greeting with practiced grace, and Xavier mirrored the gesture with his usual quiet precision.

“Your Majesties,” Rowenna said softly.

King Aldric’s eyes, calm yet assessing, swept briefly over the two of them before he turned to address the assembly. “Honored guests,” his voice carried, rich and commanding without force, “tonight we welcome Princess Rowenna of Cailithar—not as a visitor, but as the future Crown Princess of Philos. May this evening mark the beginning of a bond between our kingdoms that will endure for generations.”

The nobles murmured in agreement, raising their goblets in a toast. Rowenna kept her posture perfectly straight, her expression serene.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced around the room, instinctively searching for the familiar silver hair and red eyes of Sylus. But he was nowhere to be seen. Whatever the reason for his absence, she pushed the thought aside.

Tonight, there could be no distractions. Only the flawless embodiment of Cailithar’s royal bloodline and the woman who would stand beside Philos’s heir.