The Starlit Oath of Aveloria

The rain fell softly upon the stone terraces of Aveloria as the evening bells tolled, sending echoes drifting across the ancient capital. The year was 1482 by the royal calendar, though few kept count anymore. The kingdom was in a fragile peace after decades of border conflicts and broken alliances. Yet amid these lingering shadows, the grand palace still rose with timeless grace above the city, its towers catching the first faint shimmer of the night sky.

Elara Windmere stopped beneath one of the archways overlooking the royal gardens. The scent of damp roses drifted upward, and lantern light flickered across the petals like faint murmurs of forgotten dreams. She wrapped the hood of her cloak closer, shielding herself from the chill, though the cold had never bothered her much. What unsettled her instead was the letter she held tightly in her glove.

A summons from the King.
A request she could not ignore.
A duty she had never asked for.

Elara was the last surviving daughter of House Windmere, a family once known for its diplomatic influence, though war and treachery had reduced them to a whisper of their former pride. She had returned to the capital only three days ago, expecting nothing more than to settle her family’s affairs and depart quietly. The King, however, had other plans.

As she stepped into the grand hall, she saw him at once. King Rowan Valerius stood near the throne dais, leaning slightly on the carved railing as though deep in thought. His dark hair fell loose to his shoulders, touched by silver strands that hinted at stress more than age. His eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a restless fire tonight.

When he turned toward her, she felt a sharp jolt of memory. It had been ten long years, yet the echoes of youth returned with startling clarity.

Ten years since she had loved him.
Ten years since she had left him behind.

“Elara Windmere.” His voice was softer than she remembered. “You came.”

“I was summoned,” she replied, inclining her head. “I trust it is important.”

Rowan gave a tired smile. “Everything is important these days. But this… this concerns not only the kingdom but also the past we once shared.”

She stiffened. “Majesty, I am here to serve Aveloria as needed. Nothing more.”

Rowan descended the dais, his cloak brushing the marble floor with a soft hush. “Then allow me to speak as Rowan, not as King. There is something I must show you.”

He led her through a side corridor, past portraits of forgotten rulers and tapestries woven with the history of their land. Their steps echoed between the stone pillars like a quiet duet forced to remember a melody that had long since faded.

They arrived at a private chamber, circular and lit only by candle sconces. A large wooden table lay at the center, its surface scattered with scrolls and maps. Rowan motioned for her to approach.

“This,” he said, unrolling a parchment stamped with the royal seal, “is a treaty negotiation proposal from the Western Isles. They offer peace in exchange for a marriage alliance.”

Elara felt her heartbeat slow. “And you intend to accept.”

Rowan looked at her long enough for the silence to become a palpable weight between them. “The council urges me to. They believe an alliance through marriage is the only way to secure lasting stability.”

“And you believe otherwise?”

His jaw tightened. “I believe alliances born of convenience rarely hold. And I also believe that there is someone else far more suited for such union, someone with a diplomatic lineage and an understanding of our history.”

Elara took a step back. “No.”

“Yes,” Rowan replied quietly.

“I left this life behind. I am not the woman you think I am, Rowan.”

He hesitated before speaking again. “For years I wondered why you left without a word. I searched for understanding, for closure, for anything that could explain your disappearance. And though fate kept us apart, I never stopped believing you would return. Aveloria needs you. I need you.”

“You need a diplomat, not a ghost of the past,” she murmured. “I came back only because my family’s lands required settlement. Nothing more.”

He reached for her hand before stopping himself, fingers curling in restraint. “Then at least hear the whole truth.”

He walked to a small chest at the corner of the room. Opening it carefully, he withdrew a faded journal bound with crimson leather. Elara recognized it instantly. Her breath caught.

“My mother’s journal,” she whispered.

Rowan nodded. “It was recovered from the archives during our recent restoration efforts. Inside, she writes of secret negotiations she undertook years ago, negotiations intended to protect Aveloria from the conflict that ultimately destroyed so many lives. She believed in peace more than war. And she believed you would carry her legacy.”

Elara touched the worn cover, memories flooding her. Her mother had died when she was young, leaving only fragile fragments of wisdom and unanswered questions.

Rowan continued. “She also wrote of her wish that you and I would build a future together, one grounded not in politics but in trust.”

Elara closed the journal, trembling. “Rowan…”

Before she could form her thoughts, a loud crash echoed outside the chamber. A guard burst through the door, face pale.

“Majesty! Intruders breached the northern gates! Scouts report they bear the sigil of the Blackthorn Rebellion!”

The air shifted instantly. Rowan gave sharp orders, commanding defensive positions, rallying troops, assessing damages. Elara watched him transform from vulnerable man to firm sovereign, authoritative and resolute. The palace vibrated with urgency as the threat drew closer.

Without thinking, she grabbed her old sword from the wall. She had trained since childhood, though she had long set aside her warrior instincts in favor of diplomatic work. Yet the weight of the blade felt natural, purposeful, necessary.

“Elara,” Rowan said, noticing her preparations. “You do not need to involve yourself.”

“And you cannot stop me,” she replied. “My family once guarded this kingdom. Whatever comes, I will not stand idle.”

Together they raced through the corridors, joining the defensive line along the balcony overlooking the northern courtyard. Torches flared below as enemy forces surged from the shadows. Arrows flew like streaks of night, and steel clashed with sparks that vanished into the rain soaked air.

Rowan unsheathed his sword, and Elara felt the old rhythm return as she fought beside him. They moved in perfect harmony, as though the years had never driven them apart. Each parry, each strike, each breath followed an unspoken rhythm they both remembered deeply.

When the last of the rebels retreated into the darkness, the courtyard lay littered with broken stone and wounded guards. Rowan exhaled heavily, lowering his blade.

“You fought like the Elara I once knew,” he said.

Elara wiped the rain from her face. “Perhaps she never left.”

The night passed in repairs and strategic briefings. The rebellion was small but organized, a sign of greater unrest brewing beyond the horizon. Rowan ordered council meetings at dawn, and though exhausted, he refused to rest.

Elara found him hours later on the balcony outside the war room, staring at the first hints of sunrise. Soft gold illuminated his profile, revealing lines of fatigue etched around his eyes.

“You should sleep,” she said gently.

“So should you.”

They stood in silence, watching the morning thaw the remnants of the storm.

“Elara,” Rowan said quietly, “tell me the real reason you left ten years ago. I deserve to know.”

She hesitated, heart tightening. “I left because I feared I would become a burden. My family was falling apart, and our enemies were circling like vultures. Rumors spread that my presence at court invited danger. I thought distancing myself from you would protect you.”

Rowan turned sharply. “I never asked to be protected from you. I asked for your honesty. I asked for your partnership.”

“I was young. And afraid,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, voice softening. “And now?”

She met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Now I know fear does not grant safety. Courage does.”

Rowan exhaled, relief and longing mingling in his eyes. “Then stay. Not for duty. Not for diplomacy. Stay because our story is not finished.”

Elara felt the weight of the past between them, but also something brighter, fragile and new. The kingdom needed strength, unity, and hope. And she? She needed to stop running from the love she had once abandoned.

“Very well,” she said. “I will stay.”

Rowan reached for her hand, not as king but as the man she had once loved. “Then let this be our vow.”

The sun rose fully over Aveloria, painting the sky with colors like petals drifting into eternity. As the city awakened, Elara felt her heart open to the promise of a future she had feared lost forever.

For the first time in ten long years, she felt truly home.

And the oath they forged under the starlit remnants of the storm would shape the destiny of Aveloria for generations to come.