Chapter 3

The Bloom of Promise

The days following the royal betrothal were bright and golden, as though the heavens themselves celebrated the union of two ancient houses. Every morning, sunlight poured through the high glass windows of the De Claire manor, painting the marble floors in hues of honey and ivory. The scent of lilies — the royal flower of Salastian — filled every corridor, replaced only at dusk by the delicate perfume of white jasmine from the gardens.

Letters of congratulations arrived daily. Couriers came from every province: dukes, counts, and distant lords, each bearing gifts sealed in gold wax and accompanied by words of flattery.

For the first time in years, the De Claire estate felt alive with laughter.

And yet, amid the bustle and festivity, there was a quiet thread of apprehension — one that only Elisana seemed to sense.

—

Echoes of Youth

The Crown Prince visited often in the weeks that followed. Each visit began with all the formality expected of a royal heir — guards at the gates, heralds announcing his title, servants bowing so deeply they nearly touched the ground — but before long, the weight of the crown seemed to slip from his shoulders.

In the orchard, where the trees were heavy with white blossoms, Marcus and Elisana walked together, far from the echo of ceremony.

“Elisana,” he said one afternoon, his tone lighter than the polished one he used before the court, “you still walk the same path to the orchard. Even after all these years, you never take the shorter way.”

“That’s because the shorter path doesn’t pass the fountain,” she replied, her voice soft with laughter. “Do you remember when you almost fell into it?”

He chuckled. “Almost? I did fall into it. You pushed me.”

“I warned you not to climb it!” she teased. “You said you wanted to save a butterfly — that it was the spirit of spring.”

“I was seven,” he said, grinning. “And you cried the entire day, as if I had drowned.”

She smiled, her fingers brushing one of the petals drifting from a low branch. “You always exaggerated your bravery. But you did break your arm that day.”

“I was trying to impress you,” he admitted with mock solemnity.

Elisana looked up, meeting his eyes. “And did you?”

Marcus held her gaze for a heartbeat longer than politeness allowed. “I think I did.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The sunlight flickered through the leaves, dappling them in gold.

The air between them carried something fragile and unspoken — the warmth of memory, and the trembling possibility of something new.

—

The Festival of Stars

When the announcement of their engagement reached the capital, the Emperor declared a celebration — the Festival of Stars, a centuries-old tradition revived in honor of the empire’s future sovereigns.

The city of Solencia was transformed into a sea of light. Every street hung with lanterns, every fountain overflowing with petals, every church bell singing until dusk. In the night sky, fireworks painted silver trails across the heavens — stars created by human hands to honor two who were destined to rule.

Elisana stood beside Marcus on the grand balcony of the royal palace, gazing out at the glowing expanse of the capital below. The cheers of the crowd rose like waves, and in that moment, she felt both exhilarated and small — a woman beloved by thousands, yet uncertain if she truly belonged to any one heart.

“Look at them,” Marcus murmured, his voice carrying faintly above the music. “They see us as the future of this kingdom.”

“And do you?” she asked quietly, turning to face him. “Do you see me as your future too?”

He hesitated — just long enough for the silence to sting. Then he smiled, that familiar boyish curve of his lips. “Of course, Elisana. You’ve always been by my side.”

She returned the smile, but the words echoed differently inside her.

You’ve always been by my side — steady, safe… perhaps too easily taken for granted.

As the fireworks flared overhead, Marcus took her hand before the watching crowd. “To the Empress of tomorrow,” he declared, and cheers thundered through the square.

But when Elisana looked at him, his eyes were on the stars — not on her.

—

The Banquet of Bonds

That night, the palace ballroom glittered like a dream. Chandeliers dripped with crystal, and the marble floors mirrored the gold of candlelight. Nobles from across the empire gathered to toast their engagement — every laugh rehearsed, every compliment heavy with motive.

Elisana sat beside her father, Grand Duke Laurence, who watched the festivities with quiet pride and weary eyes.

“You’ve made the House of De Claire proud,” he said softly. “But remember, my dear — pride is a guest that overstays easily. Let grace be your true companion.”

Elisana nodded. “I will, Father.”

Across the room, Marcus stood among his peers — young nobles, knights, and ministers — his laughter bright and careless. For the first time that evening, Elisana studied him not as her betrothed, but as the man he was becoming: regal, charming, admired by all. The room seemed to orbit around him.

And beside him stood a woman Elisana had never seen before.

Her hair was dark as obsidian, her emerald eyes alight with intelligence and warmth. Her gown, though modest, seemed to shimmer when she moved. She laughed at something Marcus said — not shyly, but as though they shared a secret no one else could hear.

“Who is she?” Elisana asked softly, turning to Mariette, who stood discreetly behind her chair.

“The Viscount’s daughter, Lady Alessandra Torresano,” Mariette whispered. “She’s newly arrived from the southern provinces.”

Elisana’s gaze lingered on the woman for a moment. “She’s… different.”

Mariette frowned slightly. “Perhaps too different, milady.”

But Elisana smiled faintly, dismissing the thought. “She looks kind.”

Still, something inside her — something quiet and instinctive — trembled.

—

The Terrace of Moonlight

The banquet stretched long into the night. Music, laughter, and the faint hum of whispered politics filled the grand hall. Elisana danced when asked, smiled when spoken to, but her thoughts were elsewhere — caught between duty and an unease she couldn’t name.

When the final waltz began, she slipped away to the terrace overlooking the royal gardens. The air was cool, the moon high and luminous, the scent of jasmine thick around her.

She stood by the balustrade, looking down at the gardens that glimmered faintly with starlight reflected on their fountains. A memory stirred — of another night long ago, when she and Marcus had snuck away from the festival lanterns to lie in the grass and count the constellations.

He had called her his moonlight.

She had called him her sun.

The sound of footsteps drew her back to the present.

“You’re not joining the last dance?” Marcus asked, stepping beside her.

“I was watching you,” she said gently, her lips curved in a faint smile.

He laughed. “You should’ve come. It would have made the others jealous.”

“Jealous?” she echoed, a hint of curiosity — or perhaps sadness — in her tone.

“Of course. No one dances like you do, Eli.”

Her heart fluttered at the nickname, that small remnant of their childhood. “Then why didn’t you ask me to dance?”

He froze, caught off guard. For a moment, the Crown Prince’s composure faltered, revealing the boy she once knew. “I—there were guests to attend to. I couldn’t ignore them.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice light but fragile. “You are the Crown Prince, after all.”

“Elisana…” he began, but she was already turning away, her expression composed and serene — a mask she was only just learning to wear.

He hesitated, then simply said, “Goodnight.”

When she was alone again, Elisana looked up at the moon. The ring on her finger shimmered faintly in its light — the symbol of her future, heavy as destiny itself.

—

A Quiet Beginning of Distance

That night, Elisana couldn’t sleep. She sat by her window, the moonlight pale across her face, her thoughts tangled in a silence that had no shape.

Marcus’s words echoed in her mind:

You’ve always been by my side.

Were those words of love? Or merely remembrance?

She turned the ring on her finger, the metal cold against her skin.

Down in the courtyard, movement caught her eye — a figure in royal blue walking beneath the lanterns, another beside him in emerald green.

Even from this distance, she knew them.

Marcus… and the lady with dark hair.

They were talking quietly, their steps slow, deliberate. Alessandra’s laughter drifted faintly on the night air.

Elisana’s breath caught. For a moment, she pressed a hand to her chest, as if to quiet the ache blooming there.

She didn’t know what to call it — jealousy, fear, or something even more delicate.

All she knew was that, for the first time, the warmth between her and Marcus felt like a candle flame — beautiful, bright… and dangerously close to flickering out.

She turned away from the window, drawing the curtains closed. Her heart was heavy, but her expression calm. The next morning would come as it always did — with sunlight, duty, and another smile she must learn to wear.

And though she didn’t know it yet, this was the night when her story — the story of love, devotion, and the shadow of betrayal — truly began to unfold.

—

Author's Note:

​Hey there, and a huge welcome to The Moon and Sun Saga! 🌙☀️

​I'm so glad you're here. This is the story of three massive fates colliding: the Forsaken Empress, the radiant Heir of the Salastian Sun, and the mysterious Crown of Eternal Dusk. If you love tales about destiny, heart-wrenching sacrifice, and a kind of love that literally rips through different realms and past lives—you're in the right place.

​💖 How to Help: Seriously, thank you! The best thing you can do is just leave a like, drop a comment, or share the series. It helps me out more than you know.

​Thank you for taking this journey with me. It means the world. 🌙