Wed to the War King  

CHAPTER 3: The Weight of Crowns & Other Fragile Things

Queen Aria's POV

The castle was too quiet at this hour.

I told myself I'd only come to the war room to review supply reports. Not because I'd seen the light burning under the door from my chambers. Not because some traitorous part of me had memorized the rhythm of his late-night footsteps.

Yet here I stood, watching moonlight fracture through stained glass across Kael's bowed shoulders. The map between us was a living thing—our borders stitched together with red thread like an open wound neither of us knew how to heal.

"You should be asleep," I said, my voice too loud in the hollow dark.

His fingers hovered over Silverpass, where the ink was worn thin from too much study. "Do you ever wonder," he began, then stopped. The candlelight caught the new scar along his jaw—the one I'd given him during our wedding duel. "If we'd met differently. Not on opposite sides of a battlefield."

The question settled in my ribs like a blade. I remembered our first meeting—sixteen and cocky, shouting insults across a negotiation table while our advisors groaned. How his eyes had sparkled when I'd cursed him in three languages.

"I'd have hated you less," I lied, moving closer. "But where's the fun in that?"

His chuckle was warm, but his eyes stayed fixed on the map. On the valley where so many had died.


The Library Confession

The books began appearing like breadcrumbs leading me home.

First, a volume of Vareen's history left open to the famine of '32. His note in the margin: "This is why I couldn't retreat that winter. Would you have done differently?"

My fingers shook as I inked my reply beneath: "No. But I wish I'd known."

Then came my own war journals, annotated in his precise script:

  • "Here—where you outflanked us at Greymere. I stayed awake for three days trying to counter it."
  • "This maneuver saved 200 of your soldiers. I've never admired anyone more."

I traced the words until the ink blurred. Outside, thunder rolled—the first spring storm breaking over our joined kingdoms.


The Training Yard

I found him at dawn, shirtless and savage in the morning light.

Every swing of his sword carved through the mist like a confession. Sweat glistened along the ridges of scars—the old ones from battles I'd commanded against him, the new one from our wedding duel where I'd nicked his ribs.

"You're staring, Fireheart."

"Planning my next strike," I lied, throat tight.

He turned, chest heaving. The rising sun painted his skin gold, highlighting every mark, every story written in his flesh. "Liar."

The truth sat heavy between us: I was memorizing the map of his pain, wondering how many wounds bore my name. How many nights he'd spent nursing injuries I'd dealt.

His sword hit the dirt. "Ask."

"Does it still hurt?" I gestured to the scar over his heart—the one from Silverpass.

His hand covered mine, pressing my palm flat against the raised flesh. "Only when you're not here."


The Assassin's Blade

I woke to steel glinting in the dark.

Time slowed as the dagger descended—then Kael was there, a living shield between me and death. The blade sank into his shoulder with a sickening crunch.

The assassin didn't have time to scream before Kael snapped his neck.

Blood soaked my sheets, my hands, the space between us as I pressed against the wound. His breath came in ragged bursts against my cheek.

"Why?" I begged, voice breaking. "You idiot, why?"

His laugh was wet with pain. "Because I've loved you since you called me a 'frostbitten bastard' at the peace talks." The words tumbled out like a secret too long kept. "Since you spared my men at Greymere. Since you looked at me across that damned altar like you wanted to set me on fire."

The world tilted.

I kissed him—not the chaste brush of our wedding, but something desperate and hungry. My lips found blood and salt and every unsaid word between us.

He groaned, fingers tangling in my hair. "Aria—"

"Shut up." I pressed my forehead to his. "If you die, I'll raze Vareen to the ground."

His smile outshone the dawn creeping through the windows. "That's my queen."

 CHAPTER 4: The Language of Scars

CHAPTER 1: The War Ends With a Ring

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