Vows Of Ash And Velvet

Chapter 2: The Price of Scandal

---

The Starcradle Spire was silent—too silent. Even the chiming crystals refused to sing beneath the weight of the morning’s grim news.

Serenya Valebryn stood beneath the thousand-thread veil of Lyrin’s unused bridal gown, the fabric heavy on her slender frame, its silver threads catching the pale light like shards of frost. Her ash-blonde hair, streaked faintly with silver, was pulled back to reveal the delicate curve of her pale opal eyes—windows that reflected a storm of dread and resolve.

Around her, the Moonhall’s towering silver-glass windows cast prismatic halos that danced across the obsidian altar floor like flickering ghosts. It was a cathedral of secrets and unspoken truths.

Vaelric Duskbane stood to her right, a mountain of brooding warlord in black and storm-grey, his golden-amber eyes sharp as molten metal. His jaw was clenched tight, the usual flicker of cruelty replaced by a brittle tension. His gaze did not meet hers.

Their hands met once—palms pressed together, fingers curling like molten silk tangled in oath-magic. The High Oracle’s chant wove around them, winding the binding threads of the ancient spell deeper into their flesh, deeper than either dared to admit.

Serenya felt the pulse—a second heartbeat not her own—echoing in her veins. A promise written in shadow and blood.

When the ceremony ended, Vaelric did not look at her. Without a word, he turned and strode from the altar, the echoes of his boots swallowed by the vaulted halls.

Serenya remained. The sentries bowed low as she passed, not in respect but in duty—to the Duchess she was now forced to become.

Her reflection stared back at her from a moonlit mirror in Lyrin’s old gown.

Not her perfume. Not her bed. Not her husband.

---

The heavy silence shattered as footsteps echoed—cold, calculated.

Margrave Orlin Thorne emerged from the shadows, his sharp eyes gleaming with cruel calculation.

“Duchess Serenya,” he said smoothly, voice dripping with false warmth. “A curious twist of fate, is it not? A mistake so grand, the empire will tremble.”

Serenya met his gaze evenly, her voice low but unwavering.

“Mistake or not, my place is here. What are you implying, Margrave?”

His thin lips curled into a cold smile.

“That this scandal will be the undoing of House Velebryn—and yours in particular. The council whispers of witchcraft. Of deception. And your… presence here threatens more than just our alliances.”

Vaelric’s shadow darkened beside her, voice icy.

“Enough, Orlin. If you seek to stir unrest, you will find no allies in me.”

The Margrave’s eyes flicked to Vaelric, wary yet amused.

“As you wish, my lord. But be warned—the court’s poison flows fast.”

---

Later, in the seclusion of her appointed wing, Serenya paced the room—her breath shallow, thoughts a tempest.

They all see me as a fragile shadow—soft ash cloaked in velvet night. But beneath, the flame burns.

She paused before the window, staring at the spires silhouetted against the dawn. The moon’s last light kissed her silver-streaked hair like a promise.

A soft voice whispered from the shadows.

“Noble flame, do not let their blindness snuff your light.”

Serenya turned to find Nessari Faelwyn—the Moon Priestess—stepping forward, her robes shimmering like woven starlight.

Nessari’s opal eyes held riddles.

“The Velira blood calls to you. You are not merely an accidental bride. You carry the legacy of the Moonwitch Queens—ancient power that has slumbered too long.”

Serenya’s pulse quickened, heart pounding beneath her calm facade.

“Where is Lyrin? Is this her doing? Why reveal this now?”

Nessari’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“She has poisoned you. Don't trust her anymore for she has never been the sister you wish you had. Survive the storm. Gather your allies. The empire’s fate rests on your shoulders, whether you accept it or not.”

Serenya already knew it was her sister's doing but what made her angry was that how easily she was manipulated.

This is the last time Im gonna let Lyrin come close to me.

---

Footsteps interrupted them—sharp, measured.

Vaelric entered, his golden eyes darkening at the sight of Nessari.

“Priestess,” he said curtly.

Nessari inclined her head. “My lord.”

Vaelric’s gaze locked with Serenya’s.

“I don’t know if I can trust the prophecy—or the bearer,” he said, voice rough with unspoken guilt.

Serenya met him without flinching.

“Trust is a luxury we cannot afford. But this I know: I will not be your pawn.”

His jaw tightened, but something flickered—regret? Desire? Both?

Outside the chamber, whispers turned to murmurs, and murmurs to venomous rumors.

“The accidental duchess. The witch bride. The cursed flame.”

But Serenya—silent flame—would not be so easily extinguished.

~

The rain had not ceased. It tapped against the high windows of the council chamber, a steady, unrelenting rhythm like the pulse of a coming storm.

Serenya sat rigidly on the edge of a carved obsidian chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The heavy silks of her gown seemed to weigh down her already burdened spirit. Across from her, Vaelric Duskbane paced with restless energy, the golden gleam in his eyes flickering with anger and frustration.

The air between them was thick—laden with words unspoken and accusations too dangerous to voice aloud.

A stern council elder, clad in robes of twilight blue and silver, broke the silence. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Lady Serenya, Duke Vaelric, this council demands clarity. The disappearance of Lady Lyrin and the circumstances of your binding are cause for grave concern. How do you explain the breach in tradition and the scandal that now threatens the stability of Velmora?"

Vaelric’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, his voice low and unwavering. "I was deceived. I believed I was pledging myself to Lady Lyrin, as was our tradition. But the bond was forced upon me—upon both of us—without my knowledge or consent."

Serenya's gaze was steady, though inside a tumult churned. How much do they suspect? How much of the truth can I reveal without becoming their pawn?

She spoke carefully, her voice calm but resolute. "I, too, was unaware of the deception. I did not seek this bond. But it is binding. The magic does not lie."

An elder woman, her eyes sharp like a hawk's, narrowed. "And yet, Lady Lyrin remains missing. Whispers suggest she left willingly, that this union was never hers to claim. What say you to such rumors?"

Vaelric’s eyes flashed with a mixture of fury and pain. "Lyrin is not here to answer. But I will find her. And when I do, the truth will be revealed."

Serenya nodded, her fingers tightening around the pendant at her throat—a silent reminder of the power she carried, and the destiny she had yet to accept.

The council murmured amongst themselves, the weight of the scandal pressing down like the storm outside.

As the session adjourned, Vaelric’s voice dropped, meant only for her ears. "This bond—this mistake—it will cost us both everything. "

Serenya met his gaze, unyielding. "I can survive alone."

Outside, the rain intensified, drumming a relentless beat on the spire, echoing the fire that now burned silently between them.