I can barely breathe as I walk down the wedding aisle. I should be ecstatic. Today is my wedding day.
I’m dressed in an elegant Elven gown, walking down the aisle at a lavish royal wedding, arm-in-arm with my father, King Elendir, the King of Elves.
But I’m terrified. Every step feels like a march toward the gallows, and the whispers of the guests seem to echo in my mind.
"I can’t believe King Elendir is throwing such a lavish wedding for his illegitimate daughter, in the midst of war."
"She’s still an Elven princess," another voice responds.
"Only half-Elven. She barely has any magic in her."
Their words slice through me like shards of ice. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel like a fragile porcelain doll, about to shatter with each step. I glance up at my father, King Elendir. His expression is stern, unreadable, but his hand on my arm is firm, guiding me forward.
“You look regal, daughter,” he says softly, his voice filled with fatherly pride. The unexpected tenderness in his words touches something deep inside my heart.
For a fleeting moment, I allow myself to feel it — his pride. He’s deemed me a princess today, even though I’m a bastard child. He’s publicly claimed me as his daughter, here in front of all these nobles and warriors. I’ve yearned for this moment my entire life, never daring to dream he’d truly acknowledge me like this, acknowledge that I’m worthy of his love, and his pride.
But then, the next words out of my father’s mouth sting my ears–
“Did the Queen give you that beautiful dress?” he asks.
My heart slams shut, hard as stone. “The Queen wouldn’t spare me a thread,” I respond bitterly. “I made this dress myself, with what little Elven magic I have.”
He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but then sighs, shakes his head, and seals his lips, like he’s always done, implicitly taking the Queen’s side over mine.
With each step I take toward the alter, my dress seems to constrict me, growing tighter around my chest, suffocating me in its weight. It’s not just the fabric — every fiber is a reminder of my servitude. My mother’s face flickers in my mind, but her smile seems far away, like something I might never see again.
After what seems like an eternity, we reach the altar. As my father hands me off, my eyes lock with Katriel’s, who’s standing a little too close, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She tilts her head, her lips curling into a cruel smirk.
“Don’t scowl, sister,” she says, her voice dripping with venom. “It makes you look like a witch.”
The insult burns through me, and I’m seconds away from snapping back. But before I can even get a word out, I hear it — the unmistakable sound of hooves pounding against the earth. He’s here.
The Dark Wizard has arrived.
I look up and see him galloping toward the altar on a magnificent white horse. His long, emerald cloak billows behind him, shimmering in the sunlight, and the crowd stirs, whispers rippling like wildfire, but all I can do is stare.
I glance at Katriel, and her smug expression falters. Her lips part in surprise, her eyes widening as she takes him in. Her face falls — the realization clear on her features.
A trumpet sounds, and the usher announces his arrival. “Ashtav Akra — the Dark Wizard!”
Ashtav dismounts in one fluid motion, and the moment his feet touch the ground, he pulls back his hood, revealing his face. His chiseled jaw, his piercing green eyes — they lock onto mine, and I feel my heart stop. There’s a force to him, an intensity that overwhelms everything around us. It’s as though the entire world has been reduced to just this moment, just him.
The crowd is stunned, their shock palpable. But all I can focus on is the man standing before me. He’s nothing like I imagined. His beauty is terrifying, his power overwhelming.
His eyes never leave mine, and with each step he takes toward me, my heart races faster.
He reaches the altar and faces me, his eyes sparkling with something unspoken, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It’s as if he’s studying me, taking me in like I’m the only person in the world.
"You are the Elven King’s daughter," he says when he reaches me, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. "But not the Queen’s."
His words are a statement, not a question. I nod, barely able to find my voice. "Half-Elven," I whisper, my throat tight. "Do I disappoint you?"
He looks me over, his gaze lingering in a way that makes my pulse quicken. "You are radiant with a magic all your own," he says, his voice sending a warmth through me that I wasn’t expecting.
The priest begins the rites, but all I can focus on is Ashtav. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating. When he takes my hand, his touch is surprisingly gentle, but it sends a shiver up my arm.
Then, he pulls it out – the ring.
It’s the most glamourous thing I have ever seen – it’s radiant, with a glowing, red stone. My breath hitches as he slips my wedding ring onto my finger.
I inhale sharply, my heart hammering. This stone…it pulses with power, and I can feel its magic seeping into my body.
I shyly pull out the ring I made for him — a simple, modest band woven from natural fibers. "This is all I have for you," I whisper, my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
With trembling hands, I slip the ring onto his finger. Ashtav’s eyes never leave mine as he watches me, a soft smile curving his lips. "It’s perfect," he says.
Above us, stars shoot through the sky, as if the very universe is blessing this union.
"You may kiss the bride," the Elven priest declares.
I brace myself, expecting a kiss that will seal our fate. But instead, Ashtav places a tender kiss on my forehead, his touch soft and tender. My heart clenches painfully. Why is he being so kind to me?
Before I know what’s happening, he swoops me onto his majestic white horse. His touch is firm but gentle as he helps steady me on the saddle, his fingers lingering just a little too long on my hips, making my pulse race. I’m not sure what terrifies me more — the fear that he could hurt me, or the fear that I liked his touch.
He hops up on his white horse in front of me, and pulls my hands around his waist. “Hold on to me tight,” he whispers. “It’s a long road to home, and we’ll be riding fast.”
We trot back up the aisle as guests ogle at us. Everyone seems to be in shock. No one expected the Dark Wizard to be so…chivalrous.
Katriel glares at me, her eyes silver daggers, as we pass her by. Queen Raskina smirks, but I can tell she’s trying to hide her surprise, and my father looks on with a mixture of sadness and pride.
As we reach the end of the aisle, the Dark Wizard clicks his tongue, and we ride off into the horizon, wizard and wife.
