[Third Person].
Two days before the coronation, the Oatrun estate felt strangely lighter.
By noon, the royal convoy had already entered the Stormveil Palace grounds. The palace stood tall and imposing against the sky—white stone walls, towering arches, and banners already bearing Draven’s crest hanging from the high balconies in preparation for the ceremony.
redith stepped out of the vehicle beside Draven and took in the sight quietly. This would soon be ho.
Servants imdiately began unloading trunks, garnt chests, ceremonial boxes, and docunts. Their personal guards ford a periter while palace staff bowed deeply as the soon-to-be King and Queen entered through the grand doors.
The palace interior was vast—polished marble floors, tall stained-glass windows, and long corridors that seed to stretch endlessly.
redith and Draven spent most of the day walking through the halls, familiarizing themselves with council chambers, private studies, audience halls, and restricted royal corridors.
Everything felt real now. In fact, too real.
By late afternoon, the head steward guided them to the royal living quarters.
"Your Majesty," he said to Draven respectfully, gesturing toward a massive set of double doors. "The King’s Chamber."
Then he turned down another corridor. "And the Queen’s Chamber."
redith followed him with her eyes. The doors were not only separate but also far apart. Far enough that it would take a deliberate walk to reach one from the other.
She wasn’t surprised. Traditionally, Stormveil rulers maintained separate chambers for political image and protocol. But that didn’t an she liked it.
So, she glanced at Draven. He was staring at the distance between the two doors with a look that could freeze a battlefield.
The steward continued politely, unaware of the brewing storm. "It has always been the custom—"
"Move her things," Draven said calmly.
The steward paused. "Your Majesty?"
Draven didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to for a simple command. "Move the Queen’s personal belongings into the King’s Chamber."
The corridor fell silent. redith’s brows lifted slightly, though she already knew that look in his eyes.
The steward hesitated carefully. "But, Your Majesty, protocol states—"
"I am about to be King," Draven said evenly. "And I am establishing a new protocol."
There was no room for argunt. The steward bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."
Servants imdiately began redirecting trunks and garnt chests toward Draven’s chamber, and redith tried to suppress her smile.
On the surface, her chamber would remain intact. It would be used for official audiences, private etings, and maintaining royal appearances. But she would not be sleeping there.
Draven waited until the corridor cleared before stepping closer to her. "I don’t want you that far from ," he said quietly.
She looked up at him. "It’s just a hallway," she teased lightly.
"It’s distance," he corrected. Then, his voice softened. "So days, etings will keep us apart. Council matters. Military inspections. Affairs of state." His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. "But when I retire for the night, I want to see you. Not walk across a palace to find you."
Her heart ward instantly.
"I don’t want you out of my sight for a day," he added in a lower voice.
The vulnerability in that confession wasn’t dramatic. It was steady and certain. Then, redith stepped into him without hesitation and wrapped her arms around his torso. And he held her just as firmly.
Around them, the servants turned their backs very discreetly and focused intently on rearranging furniture that did not require much attention.
The future King and Queen were granted their mont.
redith rested her cheek against his chest. "I will still use the Queen’s chamber," she said softly. "For appearances."
"Of course," he replied.
"But I will be in your room every night."
"Good," he murmured.
She pulled back slightly, smiling up at him. "You sound possessive."
"I am," he answered without sha.
She laughed quietly. The sound echoed softly through the royal corridor.
Outside the palace windows, preparations for the coronation continued—decorations rising, banners being secured, guards rotating shifts.
Inside the palace, sothing far more important had just been decided. Stormveil would have a united throne.
Not two separate rulers, but one.
---
The next morning, the palace gates did not close for a single mont.
Carriages and black luxury vehicles arrived one after another, each bearing crests from different territories across Stormveil.
Guards announced nas loudly. Servants hurried in and out carrying velvet-covered boxes, carved chests, rare artifacts, silk-wrapped parcels, sealed wine cases, ceremonial blades, ancient scrolls, and exotic delicacies.
The soon-to-be King and Queen were being showered with "loyalty."
redith stood beside Draven at the grand receiving hall as delegation after delegation bowed before them.
Alphas from the northern mountains brought rare pelts dyed in ceremonial silver. The southern pack sent aged wine older than most council mbers. And the eastern territories presented a pair of hand-crafted ceremonial daggers, forged from teor iron.
Even retired rulers of Stormveil sent their tokens of recognition—ornate crowns of olive branches, antique coins, and historical relics from past reigns.
Then ca the delegation from the forr King. King Alderic did not appear in person. Instead, an aide stepped forward, bowed deeply, and presented a large lacquered chest embossed with the royal crest of the previous reign.
"His Majesty, King Alderic, sends his congratulations to His Majesty King Draven Oatrun and Queen redith Carter, and wishes your reign to be prosperous."
Draven smiled politely. "Extend my gratitude to His Majesty."
His tone was asured and respectful. But when the delegation left, his jaw tightened ever so slightly.
redith noticed; she always did. Alderic had been poisoned during his reign. Officially, it was blad on political enemies from inside Stormveil.
Unofficially, no one truly knew. The court had teeth. And sotis it bit its own.
As the final gifts were arranged along long display tables in the royal storage hall, Draven turned to the head steward.
"No food, drink, fabric, oil, powder, jewellery, weapon, or ceremonial item is to be used until cleared."
The steward bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Then, Draven looked at redith. She gave him a look that said: Leave this to .
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