The Wedding Bells That Broke the Sky

The letter came sealed in crimson wax.

Elira did not need to open it to know what it meant. The Aurelith sigil pressed into the wax already told the tale: Seraphine’s hand had been promised, not to her, but to the son of a warlord whose armies had long threatened Aurelith’s borders.

Her council read the news with relief.

“Fortune smiles upon us,” one advisor said. “Aurelith will be bound to stronger allies, and their hunger for our lands may ease. It spares you from the stain of rumors, Princess.”

Elira said nothing. She bowed her head as if in agreement, but her heart beat so violently she thought it might break through her ribs.

That night, when all had fallen silent, she tore open the parchment.

The words were not from Seraphine’s hand. They were formal, clipped, written by Aurelith’s chancellor: By decree of His Majesty, Princess Seraphine shall be wed in two moons’ time, securing peace for our people.

No mention of love. No mention of choice.

---

Seraphine’s next letter came days later, smuggled in the folds of a treaty draft. Her handwriting trembled.

Elira, they did not ask me. They announced it as if my heart were a piece of land to be traded. Forgive me. I cannot stop what is coming. But know this: every part of me belongs to you still. Even if the crown denies it, even if my vows are bound to another, my soul whispers only your name.

Elira pressed the parchment to her chest, choking on a sob. It felt like clutching a ghost that was not yet gone.

---

The weeks blurred. Preparations for the wedding reached Veyra’s ears: silks woven, temples polished, gold offered to the gods for blessings. Courtiers gossiped about the grand alliance, envying Seraphine’s “good fortune.”

Good fortune. Elira wanted to laugh until her throat bled.

When Seraphine arrived in Veyra one last time, escorted with guards and gifts, it was under the pretense of diplomacy. But Elira knew she had risked much to demand the visit. They met at dusk, in the smallest chapel of the palace, where dust clung to old relics and no councilors dared linger.

Seraphine’s eyes were red from weeping, though her smile was steady. “I had to see you once more before…” She faltered.

Elira reached for her, pulling her close, burying her face in the curve of Seraphine’s neck. “Do not speak it. If you name it, it becomes real.”

“It is real,” Seraphine whispered, voice breaking. “The crown will not be swayed. If I resist, my family’s throne will fall, and thousands will suffer for my defiance.”

Elira wanted to scream. To beg her to choose love over duty. But she knew Seraphine too well. She would never sacrifice her people for herself. That was the cruelest part: Seraphine’s heart was too noble, even as it doomed them.

They clung to each other in silence, lips meeting in a kiss salted with tears. The chapel’s candlelight flickered, as if the gods themselves mourned.

---

The wedding day dawned beneath a flawless sky, cruel in its beauty.

Elira rode to Aurelith under the guise of alliance, her presence demanded by diplomacy. She wore silver and navy, her crown gleaming, her expression carved from stone. But inside, she was raw and bleeding.

The ceremony was a grand spectacle: banners unfurled, bells tolled, the bride cloaked in emerald silks threaded with gold. Seraphine looked radiant, every inch the princess the world demanded. Only Elira saw the truth in her eyes—the quiet death of a dream.

When Seraphine walked past her, their gazes met for the briefest heartbeat. It was enough. Elira read the message there, silent and eternal: I am yours, even as I am taken from you.

The vows were spoken. Rings were exchanged. Applause thundered like storm waves crashing against cliffs.

And Elira stood still, her smile practiced, her heart shattering.

---

That night, when the feasting roared and wine flowed, Elira slipped away from the hall. She found herself wandering the moonlit courtyard, numb, the music distant. She thought she was alone until a shadow emerged from the archway.

Seraphine.

She still wore her bridal gown, the gold thread catching moonlight. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, as if memorizing every line, every breath.

“I had to come,” Seraphine whispered. “Just once more.”

Elira’s voice cracked. “You belong to him now.”

“My body, yes,” Seraphine said, stepping closer. “But never my heart.”

Their lips met in the darkness, desperate and trembling, as though clinging to a fleeting miracle. But when Seraphine pulled away, tears glittered in her eyes.

“This must be the last time,” she said. “If we keep tempting fate, it will destroy us both.”

Elira wanted to argue, to fight, to seize Seraphine’s hand and run until kingdoms were only dust behind them. But she saw the truth: Seraphine’s chains were already locked, and Elira’s would soon follow.

So she only whispered, “Then let this last time be enough.”

But she knew it would never be.

For in the silence that followed, both princesses understood: their love was not ending. It was only beginning its slow, inevitable ruin.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***