The city of Athax shimred in the spring heat, its pale stone walls throwing back the sun’s glare like a challenge. Aya, atop her bay mare, pulled the hood of her light riding cloak a little lower to shield her eyes.
She wasn’t used to this kind of sun.
It wasn’t so different from Vetasta in its bones — proud, strong, walled — but it was the polish, the clean white stone, and the thick golden air that made it feel a world away. No cool mist clung to the stones here; no ancient pines whispered over the parapets. Here, everything slled of dust, spice, and a kind of restless ambition.
She tightened her grip on the reins as the city gates swung open.
Beside her, Elex and Asta flanked the North’s standard, and just behind, Shin and Masa rode with the rest of the Northern escort. Their armor was lighter than the full plates worn back ho, crafted for movent and breath in the southern heat. They still cut a striking figure: nimble, sharp-eyed, carrying themselves with the quiet, restless power of n and won born to fierce lands.
From the windows and balconies overhead, townsfolk leaned out, whispering behind their hands at the sight of the Northern company. Children pointed at the lean warriors with shining eyes; rchants frowned, weighing their worth and their danger.
At the gates, a full welco party stood arrayed.
Killan waited at their head, his black cloak trimd in red, no crown on his brow but a sword at his hip. Aya caught the slight, almost hidden curve of his mouth as he t her eyes — a silent welco ant only for her.
At his sides were nobles of Athax, including a figure Aya did not recognize: A fine woman, dressed in a formal gown of mauve silk. She wore it like a blade she did not trust, standing stiffly but smiling with tight precision. Her hair was braided back, and though she bowed with the others, her eyes were distant.
Near her, another noble — younger, round-faced, and richly dressed — openly admired the newcors.
Aya shifted slightly in her saddle but kept her expression mild.
The formalities passed quickly. Killan greeted them properly — words of welco, words of alliance — and then stepped forward himself.
"My Lady," he said quietly, voice pitched so only she and the few closest could hear. "You honor Athax with your presence."
Aya inclined her head. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Behind Killan, she caught a glimpse of so southern Lords whispering among themselves. They eyed the Northn with veiled curiosity, muttering about their slender, almost elven build — as though strength could only be asured in bulk and gold. No one spoke aloud, but Aya heard enough: "They look just like the old songs — wild-blooded, clever-eyed..."
There was wariness in the air, not open hostility, but an old wariness — a line that had yet to be crossed.
Killan noticed too. His hand brushed lightly against Aya’s stirrup as if to anchor her there, a silent promise that she’s not alone.
"Co," he said, louder now, smiling for all to see. "You must be tired. Athax has been preparing for your arrival. There will be a feast tonight — in honor of new bonds."
Asta gave a low grunt behind her, and Shin leaned toward Masa with a quick murmur about southern wine being better than expected. Aya almost laughed, but kept her face serene.
They followed the royal party through the wide gates, hooves striking sparks against the white flagstones.
As she passed beneath the archway, Aya thought — strangely — not of Vetasta or of the battles she had fought to get here. She thought of Juno’s small hand in hers, of Elex’s parting words about happiness, and of Killan’s quiet steadiness, waiting just ahead.
Whatever else ca, she would et it with her eyes wide open.
***
The great hall of Athax had been transford in haste but with no lack of splendor: long tables laden with fruits and roast ats, high banners newly sewn. Musicians tuned their lyres in the corner, and servants moved like quicksilver, setting goblets and lighting a hundred golden candles.
Even so, the mood crackled — not all with welco.
Aya caught fragnts of it as she and her party moved through the antechambers toward the hall. Lords and ladies, dressed in shimring silks, clustered together, whispering behind their hands.
"A northern lady...?"
"Strange, is it not? Their won fight like n, they say."
"She looks like she doesn’t know how to fight. Too delicate."
"And their faces... too pale for the sun..."
"Still. There’s sothing... otherworldly about her."
Aya kept her posture easy, regal without stiffness, while Shin and Masa flanked her like twin shadows, with the latter muttering under his breath about stabbing the next whisperer he heard, while Elex simply arched a brow and smiled the slow, dangerous smile that had made southern envoys lose their nerve.
At the threshold of the hall, they paused — Killan waiting to receive them formally before the court.
He introduced them one by one:
"Lord Elex Svedana, Commander of the Northern Armies."
Elex bowed, with just enough arrogance to make the southern Lords bristle.
"Lord Asta, General of House Svedana."
Asta thudded a closed fist against his chest in the northern salute.
"Shin and Masa, sworn guards of Lady Aya, and friends of her House."
The two n inclined their heads, their eyes flickering over the room, mapping exits and threats with trained ease.
"And," Killan finished, his voice dipping slightly, "Lady Aya Svedana. The North’s chosen, and my betrothed."
A ripple of reaction stirred the assembled courtiers — too quiet to be called applause, too restless to be ignored.
Among the Council mbers standing to the side, Aya quickly picked out faces and Killan introduced them.
Vignir, his weathered face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of her. Harlan, with eyes too shrewd to miss anything. Santi, who bowed stiffly but said nothing. Nolle, the young man from the welco party earlier, whose warm smile was the only truly genuine thing in the room. And Eir, who dipped her head in formal respect, but whose mouth was set in a hard, tight line.
After formalities were exchanged, the feast began. The hall buzzed with conversation, music, and clinking goblets.
Aya found herself pulled into a current of greetings and half-curious, half-suspicious introductions. She answered politely, laughed when needed, but never dropped her guard — not fully. She caught Killan watching her more than once across the room, his expression unreadable to most, but clear enough to her: steady, grounding.
It was during a quiet mont near a stone column, when Aya was sipping lightly at a goblet of southern wine, that Eir approached her.
"My Lady," Eir said with a shallow smile. "I hope you find Athax to your liking."
Aya t her gaze calmly. "It is a fine city."
"No doubt." Eir’s tone was light, but there was iron beneath it. "You must forgive our... simpler ways. We are not used to guests who prefer the sword over the spindle."
Aya smiled, slow and razor-thin. "In the North, we believe both can weave destiny."
A brief, flickering anger crossed Eir’s face before she smoothed it away. "A lovely thought," she said. "I do hope you find our customs agreeable. They can be... demanding of a future queen."
"I only hope not to disappoint His Highness," Aya said, voice mild.
Before Eir could answer, Nolle appeared, slipping in with his easy charm.
"Lady Aya," Nolle said brightly, offering his arm. "You must let show you the gardens while there’s still light. The roses are in bloom this season— nothing like the harsh winters I’ve heard of in the North."
Aya accepted the gesture, hiding her amusent. "I’d be honored, Master Nolle. You’ll be providing a much-needed breath of fresh air."
Nolle blushed as Aya took hold of his arm.
Eir, stiff with false courtesy, withdrew with a muttered excuse.
Later, after the feast had wound down and the crowd had begun to thin, Killan found her again. His black cloak draped over one shoulder, his hair slightly mussed by the heat of the hall. It seed that she was having an animated conversation with Nolle, with her listening attentively to whatever he was saying and the latter so absorbed in his storytelling that he overlooked Killan coming over.
"Lady Aya," Killan ca close to the two.
Nolle, hearing his voice, stood up imdiately. Aya stood up as well, taking her ti and adjusting her clothes.
"Master Nolle has just been telling about the places I should visit in Athax," she said, amusent in her voice.
"Nowhere too far out, I hope?" Killan raised an eyebrow at Nolle.
"No, absolutely not," Nolle answered quickly. "I should hope to accompany the Lady if she wishes to go anywhere I suggested."
Killan smiled knowingly, and Nolle excused himself tactfully.
"You must be tired," Killan said, stepping closer to her. "Co," he said lowly, offering his arm. "Let show you to your chambers."
She took it without hesitation. "Thank you," she let out a breath of relief.
They walked through quieter halls now, away from the noise, the torchlight throwing their shadows long against the walls.
"I hope it wasn’t too overwhelming," Killan said after a mont.
Aya gave a small huff of laughter. "I’ve survived harsher welcos."
He glanced at her, his mouth tugging into a smile. "Still. I am grateful that you’re here."
"I stood as myself," she said simply.
Killan stopped before a carved wooden door — her rooms. He turned to face her fully, his hand taking hers.
"And that," he said quietly, "is exactly what Athax needs. What I need."
For a mont, neither of them moved. The only sound was the soft crackle of distant torches.
Aya’s heart beat a little faster — not in fear, but in sothing quieter, fiercer.
He stepped back with visible reluctance. "Rest well, Aya."
"And you, Killan," she replied, voice just above a whisper.
He bowed — properly, as he had the first ti they t — and then left her to the deepening night.
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