CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
WILLIAM
The courtyard was alive with noise. Bells rang from the towers, their sound carrying across the city.
Silk banners hung from the walls, bright in the morning light.
The air smelled of roses, sea salt, and burning candles.
People gathered shoulder to shoulder, whispering, smiling, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
And I stood among the guards.
My armor felt heavier than ever. The helm hid my face, which was good because I could not trust myself to look calm. The others stood tall beside me, proud to serve, proud to witness history. But all I felt was a hollow ache in my chest.
The prince was already on the dais beside the priest. King Phelipe stood next to him with a proud expression and hands folded behind his back. The blue and silver decorations glittered in the sun. It should have been beautiful, but to me it looked like a cage.
This was not the life I imagined. I never thought I would fall in love with someone far above my station. I never thought I would have to stand and watch her marry a man chosen by her father.
Iris had not arrived yet. The long path of petals leading to the
dais was empty. I stared at it until my chest ached. My heart beat faster with every passing second.
This was the worst day of my life.
When it was over, I would stay until the ball if I could. Then I would leave. I would take the small boat waiting at the edge of the bay and sail away. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far.
I would go back to my parents’ home. The small cottage in the deserted area, the one Iris first ran into when she came to me as Elara the healer. It was quiet there, untouched by crowns or courts. I thought maybe I could find peace there, but even that house would remind me of her.
Everything would carry her memory. I could almost see her there again, draped in a wet cloak as she sat by the fire to dry herself. The thought hurt more than any wound I had ever taken.
Even if I waited my whole life for her, I knew the truth. That chance might never come. A princess belonged to a prince. And any man who dared love her was a fool who challenged the throne itself.
Just then, the heavy bells began to ring. Their deep sound echoed through the courtyard, rolling across the stone walls and the gathered crowd. The signal that the bride was coming.
My hand tightened on the hilt of my sword until my knuckles turned white. I told myself to stay calm, to breathe, to stand tall and still like every other guard. My heart was a storm beneath the
the armor, but I could not let it show.
Then she appeared.
Iris stepped into the courtyard beside her father.
The light caught her as if the heavens themselves had turned to look.
For a moment, the crowd, the bells, even the priest faded into silence.
She looked ethereal, almost unreal, like something from a dream.
Her gown shimmered with silver thread that glowed beneath the morning sun.
Her pale hair fell long down her back, brushed smooth and held by pins of silver and crystal that caught the light with every step.
She walked slowly, her chin lifted, her hand resting lightly on her father’s arm. Each step looked graceful and measured, but I saw the faint tremor in her hands, the way her breath shook as she neared the dais.
When they reached it, King Henrik said something I could not hear. Then he took her hand and placed it in Lorenzo’s.
And that was it.
She stood beside him now, facing the priest. Her white gown brushed against his dark coat, the two of them framed by flowers and banners. It was perfect, just as everyone wanted.
But for me, it was ruin. Something inside me cracked open, silent but deep. It was the sound of everything I had ever wanted slipping away from me forever.
The priest’s voice smoothly carried over the courtyard, calm and
measured. “Do you, Prince Lorenzo of Valebran, take Princess Iris of Elarion to be your lawfully wedded wife, to honor and protect
her for all the days of your life?”
Lorenzo proudly lifted his chin. “I do.”
My stomach twisted. I told myself to stand still, to keep my eyes forward, to remember that I was only a guard among dozens. But it felt like the world had gone silent, as if every sound had been swallowed by those two words.
Then the priest turned, his gaze falling on her. “And do you, Princess Iris of Elarion, take Prince Lorenzo of Valebran to be your lawfully wedded husband, to honor and serve him for all the days of your life?”
The courtyard waited.
For a moment, she did not speak. I could see her lips trembling, her hands clenched at her sides. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. Then, so softly I almost wished I hadn’t heard it, she said, “I do.”
That was when it broke.
A tear slid down my cheek, hot and heavy, hidden behind the steel of my helm. I blinked hard, but another came, and another after that. The inside of the helmet grew damp, and the sound of my breathing filled the space around me.
I was grateful for the armor. Grateful that no one could see me
like this. But even as I stood there, I knew the truth. There wasn’t a single piece of armor in the world strong enough to protect me from this.
This was a wound no blade could give, no healer could close. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was the feeling of watching your whole soul belong to someone you could never touch again.
Every vow they spoke cut deeper, every cheer from the crowd pressed heavier against my chest. It was unbearable, this kind of pain. I wanted to scream, to run, to tear the armor from my body just to breathe again, but I couldn’t. I had sworn to serve, to stand, to protect her, even now.
So I did what I had always done. I stayed still. I stayed silent. I let the tears fall where no one could see them, each one a reminder of the life I would never have.
And in that silence, I understood. This was the price of loving her. This was the cost of a heart that belonged to a princess.