The war was over.
Cassian was in chains, Westerholt retreated, and the people of Alveria rejoiced with wine, dancing, and entirely too many fireworks (one of which set the Earl of Bevel's beard ablaze—he's fine).
But now…
Now came the moment the kingdom had waited for.
The wedding.
The scandalous, unconventional, slightly-dangerous love story of Princess Elara and "commoner" Arian was about to be sealed with vows, kisses, and questionable fashion choices.
But this was Alveria.
Nothing ever went as planned.
Three Days Before the Wedding
The palace was a hurricane of roses, silk, stressed planners, and Lina in a robe drinking champagne at 10 a.m.
"I've organized the guest list by potential drama," she said proudly, handing Elara a scroll. "The Duchess of Grelmont is next to the ex-mistress of her third husband. You're welcome."
"You are chaos in heels," Elara said.
"I prefer the term 'architect of elegance and danger.'"
Meanwhile, Arian stood in a room full of tailors who were arguing whether he should wear white or royal blue.
"I don't care," he muttered. "I just want to marry her."
"You'll care," said one tailor, "when your future children see your wedding photos and cry."
Wedding Day: Everything Goes Wrong
The ceremony was to take place in the palace courtyard. Violets, doves, sun-drenched pillars…
It was perfect.
Until the goat got loose.
Not just any goat—Prince Mutton, Lina's "therapy goat" she snuck into the palace in a handbag six months ago.
He had somehow gotten into the royal kitchens, eaten a tray of sugared dates, and now rampaged across the courtyard with a flower crown on his horns and Arian's velvet sash in his teeth.
He headbutted a harpist, chased the Minister of War up a fountain, and pooped in the aisle.
"ELARA!" Lina shrieked, chasing after him in heels and a sequin cape. "HE'S BEEN EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE SINCE THE WAR!"
Despite the Goat… The Wedding Begins
Finally, with Mutton corralled (and bribed with cake), the music began.
Elara entered in a gown made of starlight and sass—lace bodice, silver embroidery, a veil that floated like a dream.
Arian stood at the altar, eyes wide, breath stolen.
"Holy gods," he whispered. "She's going to kill me with that dress."
She smirked. "That's the plan."
The vows began.
The audience—nobles, farmers, soldiers, Lina's mysterious date who may or may not be a pirate—all fell silent.
"I vow," Elara said, "to never choose duty over love. Not again. Not ever."
"I vow," Arian said, "to kiss you in every hall of this palace. Even if it causes scandal. Especially if it does."
The crowd laughed. Cried. Lina sobbed loudly and threw glitter.
"Do you take each other?" the High Priestess asked.
"We already did," Elara said, and kissed him before the final blessing.
The crowd gasped.
The chandelier fell.
Nobody was hurt.
(It was very romantic.)
That Night: Passion Behind Locked Doors
Elara shoved Arian into their honeymoon suite, ripped off her shoes, and pounced.
He caught her, spun her, kissed her breathless.
She tore open his tunic. He pulled her onto the bed, silk sheets slipping like secrets.
"You're mine," she whispered.
He bit her shoulder. "Only yours."
They undressed like a battle. Loved like a war.
There were candles. There were ropes. There was one moment involving whipped cream and royal stationery (don't ask).
They made love like the world might end again tomorrow.
And when they collapsed, tangled in gold sheets and giggles, Elara said, "So this is forever?"
Arian kissed her neck.
"This is only the beginning."
The Next Morning… The Letter Arrives
A sealed envelope appeared on the royal breakfast tray.
No crest. No return mark.
Just one word: "Elara."
She opened it, curious.
Inside:
> You think the crown is safe now? Think again. You are not the only heir. — R.
Elara dropped the letter.
Arian read over her shoulder.
"Another heir?" he asked.
She stood.
Eyes dark.
Heart racing.
"We need Lina. Now."