Chapter 5

The Wedding of the Sun and Moon

The day of the royal wedding dawned beneath a sky brushed in pale gold.

The air shimmered with the hum of anticipation — the empire itself seemed to hold its breath. Bells rang from every cathedral tower, their songs carried across valleys and rivers to announce the union of the Sun and the Moon, the Emperor-to-be and his chosen Empress.

From the marble terraces of the Grand Cathedral of Solencia, nobles gathered in silks and gemstones that glittered like constellations. Carriages lined the streets in an endless parade of banners: silver for De Claire, gold for Salastian.

Even the commoners, crowding the outer square, threw petals and prayers into the wind.

They said the heavens had never looked brighter.

But brightness, Elisana would later learn, often hides the shadow that follows.

—

The Bride of the Moonlight

Inside her chamber, Elisana sat before the great mirror as her attendants worked in reverent silence.

Her gown shimmered like morning frost — layers of white and pale silver tulle embroidered with threads of moonlight and pearls that cascaded like dew down her sleeves. Around her waist, a belt of jade and soft rose stones gleamed faintly — a subtle tribute to her house.

Mariette adjusted her veil, hands trembling slightly. “You look ethereal, milady. Like the goddess of dawn herself.”

Elisana smiled gently. “Dawn belongs to the sun, Mariette. I’ll keep to my moonlight.”

“Then today, the world will see how even the moon can outshine the sun,” her maid whispered.

Elisana did not answer. Her gaze lingered on the reflection before her — the silver-blonde hair pinned high with pearls, the calm emerald eyes that revealed nothing.

A face serene as marble, but inside, her heart raced like a captive bird.

Her mother, Grand Duchess Elisabeth, entered softly. “My dear,” she murmured, smoothing her daughter’s veil. “You remind me of the night I married your father. I was terrified — not of marriage, but of being seen by so many.”

Elisana turned toward her, smiling faintly. “And yet Father always says you shone brighter than the chandeliers.”

“Only because I had your father beside me,” the Duchess said with warmth. “Love, my dear, is not always born of passion. Sometimes, it grows from patience.”

Elisana nodded. Then let patience be my vow, she thought.

Even if love is slow to bloom, I will wait for it.

—

The Procession of Gold

When the cathedral bells tolled noon, the carriages began to move.

Elisana’s carriage, veiled in sheer white drapery, glided through the streets lined with cheering citizens. Children waved ribbons, women tossed blossoms, and men bowed their heads in reverence. “Long live the Empress!” they cried. “Blessings to the Sun and Moon!”

She looked out through the lace curtain — and for a fleeting moment, saw Marcus ahead of her in his own golden carriage, his posture regal and still. The sunlight seemed drawn to him, gilding his hair and casting his shadow far ahead.

He looked every bit the Emperor.

But as she watched, Elisana felt something strange — a quiet distance, as though they were two celestial bodies destined to share the same sky, yet forever revolving apart.

—

The Vows beneath the Dome

The cathedral doors opened to a flood of light.

The crowd fell silent as Elisana stepped inside — each step echoing across the marble floor, her train trailing behind her like spun silver.

At the altar stood Marcus, clad in robes of white and gold, the imperial crest embroidered across his chest. His amethyst eyes found hers as she approached.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

“Elisana Laurel De Claire,” the priest intoned, “do you take His Highness, Crown Prince Marcus Alastair Von Salastian, to be your husband, bound by the grace of the gods and the light of the two heavens?”

Elisana’s voice was steady, though her heart trembled. “I do.”

The priest turned to Marcus. “And do you, His Highness, take Elisana Laurel De Claire as your wife and future Empress, to honor and cherish as your equal under the eyes of the gods?”

Marcus hesitated — only for a heartbeat, but Elisana saw it.

The silence that followed was long enough to draw curious glances.

Then, softly, “I do.”

Applause erupted through the hall, the organ thundered to life, and sunlight poured through the stained glass windows, scattering prisms of color over the couple.

As Marcus placed the crown of the Empress upon her head, the choir began to sing — a hymn that would later be called The Blessing of the Sun and Moon.

But beneath the radiance of the ceremony, Elisana felt something faint but cold — like the first shadow cast at dusk.

—

The Banquet of Radiance

That evening, the palace was transformed into a dream.

Golden draperies hung from the ceilings, chandeliers spilled light like liquid fire, and the banquet table stretched endlessly, adorned with crystal goblets and dishes of rare delicacies.

Every noble who mattered — and many who did not — attended.

Elisana sat beside Marcus at the high dais, the new imperial couple framed by banners of gold and silver entwined.

“You’ve done beautifully today,” Marcus said quietly, his tone polite, almost formal.

She turned to him, searching his face. “And you’ve made an empire proud.”

His lips curved faintly. “That was the goal.”

A pause. A space between words that used to be filled with laughter.

And though they sat side by side, she felt miles apart from him.

The nobles toasted them endlessly.

“To the Sun and the Moon!” cried Duke Hartwell, raising his goblet. “May they rule in harmony and light!”

“Harmony and light,” Marcus echoed with a smile, clinking his glass to hers.

Elisana smiled too, her eyes shimmering beneath the candlelight — a perfect mask for the quiet ache beneath her ribs.

—

The Dance of Crowns

When the orchestra began the royal waltz, all eyes turned to them.

Marcus extended his hand. “Shall we, Your Majesty?”

Elisana rose gracefully, her gown whispering across the marble.

They moved to the center of the ballroom, the crowd parting like waves.

As the music swelled, they danced — flawlessly, beautifully.

Every step measured, every turn elegant. They looked like the very embodiment of divine perfection: the Sun and Moon entwined, radiant and eternal.

But to Elisana, the dance felt hollow. His hand in hers was steady but cold, his smile precise but distant.

She looked up into his amethyst eyes and whispered so softly only he could hear, “Do you remember the garden fountain?”

His steps faltered just slightly — a flicker of the boy he once was.

“Yes,” he murmured after a pause. “I remember.”

Then the moment passed.

He spun her away, and the court erupted in applause.

—

The Night of Vows

Later, when the celebration ended and the palace quieted under the weight of midnight, Elisana stood alone on the balcony of her new chambers.

The city below glimmered with torchlight, the scent of roses drifting up from the imperial gardens. Somewhere far away, she could still hear faint music — fading, like a memory already beginning to dissolve.

Behind her, the door opened. Marcus stepped in, his robe unfastened, his expression unreadable.

“Elisana,” he said softly. “You’ve had a long day.”

“As have you,” she replied, turning toward him.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other — two crowns, two destinies, bound by a promise that already felt fragile.

“You’ve always been the calm one,” he said after a moment. “I admire that.”

She smiled faintly. “And you’ve always been the light. I only follow where it leads.”

He looked away at that, as though her words struck somewhere he didn’t wish to feel.

The silence between them was long and delicate — the kind that holds everything that cannot be said.

“Goodnight, Elisana,” he said finally, his tone gentle, polite… distant.

“Goodnight, Marcus,” she answered.

When he left, the candlelight trembled in the draft.

Elisana turned back to the balcony, her veil catching in the wind.

Far above, the moon shone full — radiant and lonely — while the first stars began to fade into dawn.

—

And so began the reign of The Sun Emperor and The Moon Empress — two celestial hearts joined by law and ceremony, but already separated by light and shadow.

The empire rejoiced. The people sang.

And the gods, perhaps, wept quietly for what they knew would come.