When icy Lady Lydia Wetherell is forced to marry Lord Auren Jalen Thorne, a scarred war hero from a rival kingdom, peace hangs in the balance. She's a strategist; he's a soldier. Their union was meant to end a warβ
Instead, it sparks one between them.
But beneath the clash of duty and disdain, something dangerous begins to grow:
respect, longing... and the kind of love that could consume them.
The wind came off the northern pass like a living thing β sharp, cold, and unrelenting. It howled across the snow-dusted parapets of Highreach Keep and whipped around the tall towers like a warning. It had teeth tonight, and Auren Jalen Thorne stood in its bite without flinching. From his vantage point atop the battlements, AJ surveyed the valley below. The pines stood motionless in the frost, their limbs brittle and still under the weight of early winter. But the road that split the valley in half β once a narrow, treacherous trail used only by couriers and smugglers β now pulsed with the slow, ceremonial crawl of a foreign procession.
Dozens of riders moved in deliberate formation, their tabards a bold crimson embroidered with gold-threaded flame. The House of Caerthwyn. Southern nobility. AJ watched the banners sway as the procession wound its way toward the gates of Highreach like blood streaming toward a wound. The sight of it turned his stomach, though his face remained unreadable. Behind him, the flag of Velastra snapped against the stone with every gust of windβdeep forest green, silver-edged, a crowned wolf rampant. AJ's hand brushed the hilt of the ceremonial sword at his hip, not out of fear or aggression, but out of instinct. There was comfort in the cold weight of steel, in the absolutes of blade and bone. In the clarity of battle. Political entanglements, however, were far more treacherous.
His eyes narrowed as the golden carriage came into view at the rear of the Caerthwyn formation. Flanked by guards, shielded under layers of fabric and formality, it was unassuming in shape but dripping in symbolism. That was where she rode β the Lady Lydia Wetherell β the woman who would soon become his wife. A stranger bound to him by ink and decree. He had never met her. Hadn't seen even a sketch. But in less than a fortnight, she would bear the title 'Princess of Velastra'. And with it, his name.
AJ exhaled, slow and steady. A thin thread of vapor drifted into the air and vanished. The scar that ran from the edge of his jaw to the collar of his neck, nearly invisible in the daylight, twinged in the cold. The ghosts of the battlefield rarely stayed buried for long. Behind him, boots crunched lightly on the frost. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
You've been out here for hours, Kael said, voice casual but not careless.
AJ remained still. The walls don't watch themselves.
Kael stepped up beside him, arms folded over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. Taller than AJ by half a hand and broader in the shoulders, Kael was the kind of soldier who laughed easily, fought hard, and managed to make everyone like him within minutes of meeting. AJ tolerated him longer than most.
I'm fairly certain we've got a dozen watchmen for that exact purpose, Kael said, glancing sideways. But by all means, continue brooding. It's comforting to see some things never change.
AJ cut him a dry look. I'm not brooding. I'm observing.
Kael arched an eyebrow. With your arms crossed and that particular glare? Come now, AJ. The scowl's practically frozen to your face.
AJ sighed and ran a hand through his hairβa nervous habit he'd never quite broken. His fingers caught in the mess of dark strands and came away damp with melted snow. They're early.
Only by an hour. Maybe they're eager for the warm welcome.
Or they don't trust us to keep to our end of the treaty.
Kael gave a small shrug. Can you blame them? We've spent the last ten years teaching them to fear us.
AJ didn't respond. Fear had been Velastra's greatest weapon β its silence, its steel, its relentless discipline. For generations, his people had survived by being unbreakable. Unyielding. Now the treaty demanded softness. Unity. Smiles. Marriage.
He clenched his jaw. They'll expect me at the gate.
Kael leaned on the stone ledge. Your father said you're to stay out of sight until the feast. Smile too early and they'll think you're agreeable.
AJ snorted. Gods forbid.
Kael chuckled. Still, might be wise to get used to smiling. You're marrying a diplomat's daughter. Word is, she speaks five languages and wields a fan like a dagger.
AJ's expression didn't change. Let's hope she's better with fans than her father was with armies.
Kael gave a low whistle, amused and slightly impressed. Careful, AJ. That almost sounded bitter.
I don't care about her lineage. I care that I wasn't given a choice.
The words escaped before he could temper them. AJ hated the sound of them β petulant, selfish. But they were true. Every step of his life had been charted by someone else's hand. From the first time he held a wooden sword to the day he signed the treaty, he had belonged to Velastra. His future was not his ownβit was a battlefield, and he had always known how to survive battlefields. But marriage? Intimacy? Vulnerability? He was trained for war. Not for being known.
I don't want to be a symbol, he muttered, mostly to himself.
Kael looked at him, quieter now. You've been a symbol since you were ten, AJ. That's not going to change. But maybe β maybe there's a life in it yet.
AJ looked back toward the carriage. The gold canopy caught a sliver of late sun and blazed like fire. Somewhere behind those curtains was a woman as trapped as he was, no doubt bracing herself to play the part she had been cast in. He wondered if she resented it, too.
I don't need a life, he said at last. I need peace. And I need to ensure Velastra survives the cost of it.
Kael didn't argue. He knew better. But there was pity in his silence, and that stung more than words. A horn blew from the gate tower β a low, rising note that signaled the arrival of foreign nobility. The sound echoed through the stone and snow and set AJ's teeth on edge. The gates of Highreach, rarely opened to anyone not wearing Velastran steel, creaked on their hinges and began to part. AJ turned from the battlements.
Going to greet your bride after all?, Kael asked.
AJ shook his head. I'll see her tonight. For now, I need to speak with my father.
Kael gave a short nod. Try not to yell. Or stab anything. Or anyone.
No promises.
He descended the steps two at a time, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The halls of Highreach were wide and spare, lined with stone torches and silent suits of armor. AJ moved through them like a blade through waterβquick, smooth, cold. Servants bowed as he passed. None of them made eye contact. Good. He wasn't in the mood for sympathy. The war room doors stood tall and shut when he reached them. He paused just outside, resting his hand briefly on the wood, as if listening for the weight of politics behind it. Then, without ceremony, he pushed them open.
Inside, his father sat alone at the long map table, a decanter of spiced wine at his elbow and scrolls spread before him. King Rhysten Thorne didn't look up.
You disobeyed my request, the king said, voice low and even.
I'm aware.
Rhysten lifted his gaze slowly, pale green eyes so like AJ's that it startled most men. The resemblance ended there. His father's face was harder, colder. Not scarred by battle, but by time and power.
I told you not to be seen until tonight.
I wasn't seen, AJ replied. Unless the mountains have learned to gossip.
His father didn't smile. He rarely did.
You're not a soldier anymore, Rhysten said. You are a bridge. Act like one.
AJ approached the table, placing both hands on the edge. Bridges collapse under too much weight. You'd do well to remember that.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint crackle of fire behind the hearth.
Then, finally, the king spoke. You think this is a punishment. It isn't. It's power, Auren. She is the key to securing the South. To ending the skirmishes. To stabilizing your future.
My future, AJ echoed bitterly. A crown I didn't ask for and a wife I didn't choose.
You were never meant to choose, Rhysten said. You were meant to lead. And that means sacrifice.
AJ's hands curled into fists on the map table. His eyes flicked to the carved lines that denoted Velastra's borders. How many times had he studied them as a boy? Traced them like scars? He had learned early that honour required silence. That duty required obedience. That love was a luxury afforded only to those who didn't have nations to carry. He straightened.
Then I will do my duty, he said, voice cool. But don't expect me to smile while I do it.
Rhysten didn't argue.
As AJ turned and walked from the room, the king's voice followed him like a whisper:
You'll find smiling easier, once she's yours.
But AJ wasn't so sure. He didn't need her to smile at. He needed someone who could see him. Not the weapon. Not the heir. Just Auren. And he wasn't convinced she existed. Not yet.
The wind had a cruel persistence to it, as it slipped through the seams of the velvet curtains of the carriage, like it had a personal grudge, curling around the ankles of Lady Lydia Wetherell's despite the fur-trimmed blankets that were carefully laid across her lap. She adjusted them once, quietly so as not to draw her father's attention. He didn't approve of fidgeting. Or showing any sort of discomfort. Or much of anything, really, that didn't fit within his narrow definition of poise.
They had been riding in silence for the better part of an hour. Across from her sat her father, the High Marquis of Caerthwyn. Lord Dorian Wetherell was a man of precision. Every line of his coat, every word from his mouth was measured. He had not spoken since the last checkpointβby Lydia's count, forty-three minutes ago.
But he was watching her now, and she felt it like a weight pressing against her.
"You will not speak first," he said at last. His voice was smooth, cool as glass. "Let him offer the greeting. Let him look uncertain. He must see that we are not desperate."
She didn't look up from her hands, which were folded too tightly in her lap."I wasn't planning to fall into his arms, if that's your concern."
Dorian exhaled through his nose, faintly displeased. "Flippancy is unbecoming. It is what people resort to when they're unsure of themselves. He's a soldier. Soldiers read silence as strength."
"And what do they read in obedience?" she asked without lifting her gaze. "Submission?"
He did not answer immediately, and she felt the pause between them like a splinter. Then: "They read what we teach them to. That is the point of diplomacy, Lydia. To author the perception."
Her eyes flicked to the carriage window. The walls of Highreach grew taller, closer, like jagged teeth rising from the stone. "And what if I wish to be seen as I am?"
Her father scoffed faintly. "Then you have failed before you began."
Today, she would meet the man she was to marry. She hadn't even seen his face. Her future was rolling toward her with the weight of snow-laden wheels, and the only thing she could think about was how she couldn't feel her toes.
"I'll do my best not to sneeze in his direction," Lydia murmured under her breath.
The carriage had slowed to a halt. A quiet knock at the side panel interrupted them. Dorian reached for the curtain, but Lydia beat him to it, pushing it aside with graceful restraint.
Her maid, Annis, stood outside in the cold, wind catching the edges of her hooded cloak. The girl's cheeks were red from the bite of winter, her hands fumbling slightly as she leaned closer to the narrow opening.
"My lady," Annis whispered. "They've opened the gates. We'll be inside the walls within the quarter hour."
Lydia inclined her head. "Thank you."
Annis hesitated. Then, with a glance toward Dorian, she added softly, "Are you certain you don't want the shawl from the trunk? You'll feel the cold more once you step out."
"I will be fine, Annis," she said gently, but firmly. "We do not dress for comfort today."
Annis nodded and withdrew, boots crunching as she moved back through the snow. The curtain fell shut.
"She's loyal," Dorian murmured. "It would be wise to reward it. In quiet ways."
"I always do," Lydia replied.
There was silence again. This time, she let it stretch.
When the carriage began to move once more, she turned her face slightly toward the fabric of the window. Highreach loomed nowβits dark stone towers etched against the grey sky, its walls old and brooding. The flags snapped in the wind, forest green edged in silver. A wolf, crowned and unbridled.
His banner.
Her hands tightened in her lap. Somewhere behind those walls stood the man who would become her husband. A man she had never met. A man who had bled on the battlefield, while she'd been trained to bleed in silence. They would not speak as equals today, but they would measure each other all the same.
She did not fear him. But she understood the weight of what he represented.
Not a man.
A symbol.
As she had become.
The noble daughter. The bargaining chip. The bride.
The procession passed under the gate, the shadow of Highreach falling over them like a veil. Lydia did not flinch. Her mask was already in place, woven from silk and strategy, stitched together by the ghost of every sacrifice her name had ever cost her.
She sat straighter, adjusted her gloves, and looked out at the closing gates. She wouldn't meet him until that evening. That was the arrangement. They would come together under the illusion of ceremony, cloaked in a performance, undercut by calculation.
But there would be a momentβsoonβwhen their eyes would meet, and all of it would begin.
And Lydia, for all her silence and diplomacy, was very much looking forward to seeing who flinched first.
AJ's afternoon had been consumed by a flurry of obligations β meetings that ranged from the strictly judicial to the painstakingly ceremonial. He had sat through a court session in the morning, followed by a long-winded strategy briefing with his father's council, and then yet another round of discussions about the wedding. His wedding. It was strange, discussing colour schemes, ceremonial dances, and guest lists for a bride he hadn't even met yet. Not once. And yet, here they were β already negotiating the seating arrangements for a woman who would soon share his life, his home, and his name.
The thought drew a half-smile from him as he sat back in the carved wooden chair of the council chamber, his mind drifting. He understood the necessity of it all. The wedding wasn't just a personal affair β it was a political pact, a symbol of reconciliation between two once-warring kingdoms. This union had been more than a decade in the making, long before he or Lady Lydia Wetherell had any say in it. Still, it all felt a little absurd. Scripted, even. As though he were merely a player on a stage performing a role written by men long dead.
But he welcomed the distraction. The constant movement, the chatter of the advisors, the endless planning β it kept his nerves at bay. Because no matter how composed he might seem, AJ was acutely aware of the weight pressing on his shoulders. Tonight, he would meet her. Not just his bride-to-be, but the very symbol of the fragile peace they were trying to build. Lady Lydia Wetherell.
Evening descended, and with it came a sense of gravity that settled over the entire palace like a heavy cloak. The grand hall had been transformed into a vision of splendor β gilded tapestries lined the walls, flickering torches cast warm light across the polished stone floor, and a long banquet table stood laden with delicacies that barely anyone would eat. This was no mere social gathering. It was a moment years in the making, a ceremony that would bring two bloodlines β two kingdoms β face to face.
The "meeting ceremony," as it was being formally called, would unfold in carefully orchestrated steps. First, the banquet. Then a performance of music and dance meant to represent the joining of cultures. Finally, the meeting itself β AJ and Lady Lydia, walking toward each other from opposite ends of the grand hall until they met in the centre, under the gaze of hundreds of noblemen, warriors, and diplomats. A symbolic convergence designed to mark the end of nearly two decades of conflict and mistrust.
AJ entered the hall beside his father, King Halric of Velastra, to the sound of trumpets and the polite applause of the court. His boots echoed sharply on the stone as he walked with measured composure. And then he saw her.
Lady Lydia Wetherell had already arrived, flanked by her own delegation from the southern kingdom of Caerthwyn. She stood with effortless poise at the far end of the hall, her gown a flowing cascade of sapphire silk that shimmered under torchlight. Even from across the vast room, AJ could see that she was beautiful β elegant in the way a swan glides across water. But beauty, he reminded himself, was only surface-deep. What kind of person was she? What did she think of this marriage, of him? Soon, he would find out.
The banquet passed in a blur. AJ sat through course after course, politely nodding at guests, occasionally responding to his father's quiet remarks. But he hardly tasted a thing. His eyes kept drifting toward her, and his mind was a flurry of questions he couldn't ask β yet.
Entertainment followed β an elaborate display of song, harp, and ceremonial dance. It was beautiful, objectively. But AJ was elsewhere, his thoughts anchored to the moment that hovered just ahead.
And then, the time came.
The hall fell into reverent silence. The music stopped. The chatter faded. From each end of the room, the two delegations began to move. AJ walked slowly, flanked by his father and Kael, his most trusted advisor and closest friend. Opposite him, Lady Lydia advanced with equal poise, accompanied by her mother and the High Marquis of Caerthwyn.
Step by step, the distance closed.
Finally, they stood face to face.
There was a beat of silence β longer than etiquette demanded β where neither of them spoke. AJ could see the calculation in her eyes. Lydia Wetherell was not meek, not cowed by the grandeur of the moment. She was watching him, waiting. Testing, perhaps.
He inhaled slowly. And then, despite knowing his father would disapprove of him speaking first, he stepped forward.
Welcome, Lady Wetherell, he said, voice clear and firm. To Velastra β and to your new home, Highreach.
There was a subtle shift in the room. Not scandal, exactly β but surprise. Tradition dictated that the bride offer the first greeting. But AJ had chosen to break with protocol. A small risk, but a deliberate one. If he was to become the kind of king he aspired to be, he would need to make choices that served the future, not the past.
He met her gaze, searching for a reaction. A flicker of surprise, perhaps. Amusement. Approval. He didn't know if she saw the meaning behind the gesture, but he hoped she did. Because this night was only the beginning.
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
