"The most beautiful part is, I wasn't even looking when I found you." - Autumn

 ˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

The prep for a visitor was always tiring. More so when it was a man and even more so when my lady's maid knew he was single. I chuckled as she bustled around me, muttering to herself and critiquing her own work.

"Hester," I chided, watching as she moved around me. "This is not some bachelor who has come to ask me for my hand."

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "You don't think ahead, my lady. He may know people."

My eyebrows lifted. "Have you forgotten that I am to be wed soon?"

Dark eyes, as dark as the midnight sands, flickered to me with mirth. "We both know you don't love him."

It hurt. The truth behind her words. The knowing in her eyes. I looked away, tightening my jaw. "Relationships are rarely built on love these days."

"Is it so bad to wish for it, my lady?"

"I cannot think of love, but of my people."

She hummed, fluffing out my skirt. "There. Take a look in the mirror and tell me what you think."

Offering her a small smile, I stepped off the podium and turned to take a look. The mirror reflected the colors of home. Muted pinks and soft whites, like the first light of dawn kissing the desert sands. My gown flowed around me, light as a desert breeze, crafted from the finest silks the capital had to offer. The dusty pink fabric, almost a shade of rose, shimmered as I moved, catching the flickering candlelight that lined my chambers. It was gentle, unassuming.

I ran my fingers over the delicate embroidery, white threads weaving shapes of desert lilies and curling ferns, soft beneath my touch. They wound around the hem and sleeves, flaring ever so slightly at my wrists. An intricate dance of petal and vine. Even the beads, tiny and white-like pearls, were sewn with care into the design, catching and holding the light in a way that made them glimmer like stars against a dusk sky. I never cared much for jewels, but these beads were more like memory than opulence. Like pieces of the oasis sewn into the fabric that wrapped around me.

A soft veil, as light as morning mist, draped over my shoulders and trailed down my back. I tugged at the edges, smoothing the sheer white fabric as it fell, its embroidered trim fluttering like wind-kissed sands. It could hide my face if I wished, veiling the edges of my expression behind delicate swirls of thread.

And around my neck, the rose quartz stones polished to a pale pink glow, strung together with simple gold. They held a warmth in their core, almost as if they remembered the desert heat. Perhaps that was why I favored them.

My slippers, soft against the stone floor, were dyed to match the dusty rose of my gown. They were simple but practical, with only a few white beads stitched in delicate designs.

I turned, letting the gown sweep around me in a swirl of pink and white. It was a vision of a desert bloom, I supposed. A reminder of what I was meant to be. But as I looked at my reflection, all I could see was the weight of it. Of duty. Of the countless eyes watching, waiting to see if I would rise or break beneath the promise of peace.

This was a dress for a princess. For a hopebearer. And tonight, I needed to become her.

Pulling myself up, I turned to Hester with an appreciative smile. "It is perfect. You have outdone yourself again."

She beamed at me, eyes glittering with pride. "Thank you."

Then, the wait of everything I needed to do came crashing into me like a sandstorm.

Groaning, I pouted at her. She had always been my friend, and I felt no inhibition. "Do I have to go down and present myself to this man? He stands for everything I am against. War, death, isolation." I scoffed, running my hands through the hair she had yet to pin back. "Even his title is offensive. Devil of the Spire. What kind of title is that?"

Hester laughed, shaking her head as she ushered me over to my vanity. "I'm afraid you must, my lady. Duty, honor, and all that fancy stuff you nobles must have."

I sank onto the cushioned seat, staring at her reflection. She was right. Of course, she was. There was no other choice for me. She expertly gathered my dark waves, twisting sections into a half-up style that pulled the hair back from my face while the rest fell loosely down my back, reaching just past my waist. A few small braids threaded through the loose curls, tied with thin gold ribbons that caught the light. At the back, a delicate gold pin shaped like a desert lily held the gathered strands in place. A gift from my mother before she passed. A reminder of the weight I carried. What I would give to run away from the duty that hung like a weight around my neck, dragging me into an ocean of stress.

The door swung open, and another maid poked her head into the room. "Pardon the intrusion. Your father sends word that Lord Alaric's coach has arrived. He requests your presence."

My heart sank. I took a deep breath, my chest expanding with its weight, and then let it out in a long, weary exhale. Now or never. Perhaps Father would change his mind once he saw how different Lord Alaric and I were. Rising to my feet, I dismissed Hester with a gentle sweep of my hand.

The dread of what was coming made my pace slow as I took my time wandering the halls for perhaps the last time. The cool sandstone tiles smooth beneath my steps, and my fingers brushed the faded murals that lined the walls. The sunlight streamed through the arched windows, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the floors...patterns I had memorized since childhood, shifting and changing with the hours. The air carried the familiar scent of frankincense, desert dust, and sun-warmed stone, a fragrance that had always felt like home.

I glanced at the brass lanterns overhead, the vines carved into the columns, the pots of hardy ferns and succulents. A small, fleeting oasis within these ancient walls. My heart clenched with a bittersweet ache, knowing that I may never again hear my footsteps echo here, never again see the stories woven into the tapestries of my ancestors. For the first time, I realized how small it all seemed compared to the world beyond the walls and how much I would miss it, even if I would never admit it aloud.

Servants opened a pair of tall, arched doors. Before me, the empty chamber where we would meet yawned before me like an abyss. Stepping in, I stood in the cold, austere space meant for diplomacy and command, the polished sandstone floor reflecting the flickering light from tall brass lanterns. Shadows danced across the room, shifting as I did, while columns carved with desert symbols rose to support the high, arched ceiling. Tapestries depicting Sigyn's history hung between them, silent witnesses to this pivotal meeting. Choosing not to sit upon the throne on the raised dais, I remained on my feet, robes blending with the room's warm tones. The scent of incense lingered in the air, heavy with formality, doing little to mask the tension that thickened with each passing moment.

My father stepped in not long after, a surprised expression lifting his features when he laid eyes on me. "Ilaria."

I dipped my head, sweeping my eyes away from him. "Father."

"I am pleased to see you here so early."

"It took all of my willpower to show my face." I offered him an unamused smile. "Is this truly necessary, Father?"

He shot me a look that seemed to say, "Do you really need to ask?"

Restraining myself, I managed not to roll my eyes. "When will he be here?"

"He is being directed here as we speak." He took a seat at the table and leaned back. "Have a seat, Ilaria. Relax."

"I would rather not." I smiled, though my chest tightened with unease with every passing moment.

"Ilaria—"

The doors opened with a heavy, slow groan. I turned, clasping my hands in front of me. He was here. He was here, and I didn't know what to do with myself. My mouth felt dry. Drier than the desert that we called home.

Our butler cleared his throat. "If I may present Lord Alaric Voss, Warden of the Spire and Commander of the Azure Guard."

Through the doors, Lord Alaric strode, his boots thudding against the floor. A striking figure in his thirties, I guessed, with a rugged handsomeness that seemed to command the space. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a fitted navy tunic that clung to his frame, the deep color evoking the night sky. The subtle embroidery along the cuffs hinted at his noble status, yet there was nothing flashy about it. His dark gray trousers were practical, and a well-worn leather belt cinched his waist, with a sword sheath hanging at his side as if it were a natural extension of him.

His strong jawline was dusted with the faintest hint of stubble, and his dark hair, slightly tousled, framed his face in an appealing and disarming way. The light caught the intensity of his gaze. A mix of steel blue and stormy gray that conveyed a man who had seen his share of battles and burdens.

He wore a lightweight cloak in a muted earth tone, its open front revealing the strength of his frame, and I couldn't help but notice the quiet confidence in his stance. There was a rugged simplicity to his attire that spoke volumes. A man ready for duty, not for show. It made me both wary and oddly intrigued.

That intense gaze locked onto me. His mouth, set in a firm line, tugged downward at the corners. I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze steadily.

"So,"he said, and his voice was a delightful rumbling tone reminiscent of oceanwaves crashing. "You're the delicate princess I'm to protect."