But I'd been wrong.
And I'd never been happier.
Epilogue
Kavak
The landing platform on Daristune was a monument to Romvesian power.
I stood at the top of the ramp as my ship settled onto the polished obsidian surface, taking in the sight before me. Massive columns rose on either side of the platform—each one carved from a single piece of dark stone and etched with the history of the Romvesian empire in flowing script that spiraled from base to capital. Between the columns hung banners in deep crimson and gold, the royal colors, each one bearing the crest of House Morven: a stylized sun rising over crossed blades.
The platform itself was enormous, easily large enough to accommodate a dozen ships this size. But today it held only mine and the formal delegation that had assembled to greet me. Guards lined the perimeter—fifty at least, maybe more—all wearing ceremonial armor that gleamed like liquid mercury in Daristune's pale sunlight. Their weapons were sheathed, but their presence was unmistakable. A reminder that this was an empire, that power here was measured in strength as much as diplomacy.
Beyond the platform, the city of Korvath spread out in concentric circles—a sprawling metropolis of dark stone and gleaming metal, punctuated by towers that reached toward the sky like grasping fingers. The architecture was severe, angular,built to intimidate as much as to shelter. This was not a world that valued softness or sentiment.
And I was about to bind myself to it.
I descended the ramp with measured steps, my diplomatic entourage following behind me. I wore the formal robes of a Vaktaire High General—deep crimson trimmed with gold, the colors of my military command—but I'd added the ceremonial sash of a royal envoy. The message was clear: I came as both warrior and diplomat, representing both my military authority and my family's political power.
The wind that swept across the platform was cold, carrying with it the scent of metal and stone. No vegetation grew here. No softness to temper the harsh lines of Romvesian design. Everything was hard edges and unforgiving surfaces.
This is what you've chosen,I reminded myself.This is the price of peace.
At the center of the platform stood the welcoming delegation.
King Jurtis was impossible to miss—a massive figure even by Romvesian standards, easily seven feet tall with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of an empire. His skin was the deep gray of aged stone, and his eyes were black as obsidian. He wore robes of state that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and a crown of twisted metal sat upon his brow like a cage of thorns.
Beside him stood Princess Thallia.
I'd seen her before, of course—during our communications over the past weeks, the formal introductions and diplomatic exchanges that had preceded this moment. But seeing her in person was different. The holographic projections hadn't captured the grace of her movements, the way she held herself with quiet dignity despite being surrounded by the overwhelming presence of her father and his court.
She was beautiful. There was no denying that.
Her skin was a lighter gray than her father's—the color of morning mist—and it seemed to glow faintly in the pale sunlight. Her eyes were large and dark, framed by long lashes, and they watched me with an intelligence that I'd come to appreciate during our conversations. Her hair was long, falling in onyx waves past her shoulders, adorned with small jewels that caught the light when she moved.
She wore robes of deep blue—a color that signified her status as a lesser princess, not in direct line for the throne but still of significant royal standing. The fabric was rich, embroidered with silver thread in patterns that echoed the carvings on the columns around us.
She was exactly what I'd expected. Exactly what I'd prepared myself for.
A political match. An alliance. A partnership built on mutual respect and shared goals rather than passion or destiny.
I could work with this. We could build a meaningful life together.
I'd told myself that a hundred times since agreeing to this arrangement. And I'd almost convinced myself it was true.
I reached the bottom of the ramp and crossed the platform to where the delegation waited. My entourage fanned out behind me—advisors, guards, witnesses to this formal meeting. Everything was choreographed to convey respect and commitment.
King Jurtis stepped forward first, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light around him.
"High General Kavak of Vaktaire," he said, his voice like grinding stone. "You honor us with your presence. Welcome to Daristune."
I bowed—not deeply, but enough to show respect without submission. "King Jurtis. The honor is mine. I come in the name of peace and alliance between our peoples."
"Peace." The word seemed to amuse him. "A concept that has eluded our empires for too long. Perhaps this union will finally achieve what centuries of warfare could not."
"That is my hope," I replied. "And my commitment."
Jurtis studied me for a long moment, his black eyes unreadable. Then he nodded and stepped aside, gesturing toward his daughter.
