Alaric Throne

The carriage rocks gently as it moves forward, the sound of hooves and turning wheels filling the silence. I write this not because I wish to remember… but because I fear I will be remembered incorrectly. From the narrow window beside me, Valecross Palace comes into view—grand, immaculate, surrounded by gardens trimmed into obedience. Fountains glimmer beneath the sun, celebrating a union they believe to be fortunate. They do not know what was exchanged to make it so. I was raised for a throne since I could walk. Tutors bowed before I learned their names. Every lesson, every breath, was shaped around the word Empress of Aureth. I believed it was my destiny—until Prince Elion Valenne Aureth was born. A son. Younger, yet instantly greater. The laws were mercilessly simple: a male heir eclipses all. My fingers pause over the page, ink darkening where I hesitate. In one breath, I was stripped of my title. In the next, I was promised away. They called it diplomacy. An alliance. Marriage to King Alaric Vaelor Thorne of Valecross—a man I know only through painted likenesses and carefully chosen stories. It is said he values loyalty above all else… though no one can quite agree on what loyalty looks like at his court. No one noticed I became the least cherished child the moment I ceased to be necessary. And yet… when Alaric’s name was first spoken aloud in Aureth’s halls, I remember how Serelisse Valenne Aureth grew unusually still. How she stopped teasing me that evening. How she wished me happiness with a smile that arrived just a heartbeat too late. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps I have learned to read meaning where I should not. The carriage slows, wheels crunching over gravel. They say marriages built on sacrifice endure longer than those built on love. I wonder who, exactly, is meant to endure. Through the window, I catch sight of movement near the palace steps—servants, guards, banners being adjusted at the last moment.