The Reception

The ballroom adjacent to the cathedral was nothing short of breathtaking.

Towering chandeliers bathed the grand space in a golden glow, their light mingling with enchanted projections of a celestial sky that stretched across the domed ceiling. The stars shifted and twinkled as if alive, creating an illusion of dancing beneath the heavens. The banquet tables, draped in the rich navy and silver hues of House Vosswell, gleamed under the warm glow of candlelight. Floral arrangements intertwined with floating orbs of soft, shimmering light adorned the hall, a perfect blend of tradition and magic.

The faint scent of jasmine and clove wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of spiced wine and honey-glazed pastries. Velvet drapes pooled against marbled floors, and laughter echoed softly beneath the lilting notes of the orchestra, adding warmth to the stately opulence.

A quartet of illusionists summoned gentle arcs of glimmering mist over the ceiling's edge, creating a seamless mirage of twilight rolling across the skies. Laughter echoed from a far corner where a group of nobles admired the illusionary birds perched on a golden arbor near the garden doors, while enchanted music boxes along the periphery added playful harmony to the orchestra's main theme.

Delphia stood near the center of the room, Zypher's warm presence beside her. The hum of conversation, the clinking of crystal goblets, the soft murmur of admiration—it all felt distant. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, keeping time with the rising tempo, a rhythm stitched with anticipation as the master of ceremonies stepped forward.

"It is time for the evening's first dance—Lady Delphia and Duke Vosswell."

A hush fell over the crowd as the orchestra began to play, the soft strains of a waltz filling the air. Duke Vosswell approached her, his expression unreadable save for the slight hesitation in his usually unwavering stride.

Delphia wasn't sure how to feel.

The man before her had been distant for so long—had failed the real Delphia in so many ways. And yet, standing here in front of her now, there was no arrogance, no calculated distance—just a father offering his daughter his hand. A part of her had expected the gesture to feel foreign. Instead, it felt… momentous.

With a deep breath, she placed her hand in his.

There was a faint ripple of surprise among the guests—raised brows, soft murmurs exchanged behind fans and goblets. The Duke of Vosswell rarely danced, and never with such quiet dignity.

As they stepped onto the dance floor, Duke Vosswell's grip remained firm yet measured, guiding her with practiced ease. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the music, before he finally spoke.

"You dance very well," he remarked quietly.

Delphia let out a small chuckle, "I had enough lessons drilled into me over the years."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That's true."

She studied his face—the lines of responsibility etched into his features, the uncharacteristic solemnity in his gaze. "You know," she said, her voice softer now, "I asked you before the ceremony what my mother was like on her wedding day."

His expression shifted, a flicker of wistfulness crossing his eyes. "She was…" He hesitated, as if pulling the memory from a place he rarely visited. "She was the most incredible."

Delphia swallowed. There was no performance in his voice. No polite embellishment. Just truth.

"I remember watching her walk down the aisle, thinking she was like a goddess stepping into the light," he continued. "Ophelia had this… unwavering spirit. She was poised, elegant—" His voice caught slightly before he cleared his throat. "But she also had this quiet mischief to her, a way of looking at me like she knew something I didn't."

Delphia listened, absorbing his words. The old Delphia had spent years resenting this man. Questioning him. Yet, in this moment, the new Delphia realized that no one had ever truly moved on from her mother's death. Not even him.

"I see a lot of her in you," he admitted.

A beat of silence passed before Delphia exhaled. "I think… I would have liked to know her," she murmured.

His grip on her hand tightened slightly before he gave a slow nod. "She would have been proud of you."

The words settled deep within her; A strange kind of warmth—not forgiveness, but something close.

The song drew to a close, and with a final turn, Duke Vosswell stepped back, bowing slightly. Delphia returned the gesture, meeting his gaze for the first time without the weight of the past hanging so heavily between them.

The waltz faded into silence, and for a heartbeat, it was as though the air held its breath—until the orchestra struck the first note of the next melody. This was no stately piece, but a song spun of dreams and devotion, each note woven with a magic only lovers understood.

The master of ceremonies raised his voice: "Presenting the first dance of the newlyweds—Archmage Zypher Thorne and Lady Delphia Thorne!"

A ripple of applause followed as Zypher stepped forward, his maroon eyes locked onto hers, an intensity in them that sent a thrill through her veins. He extended his hand. "Dance with me, my wife." He murmured, his voice a husky promise. A rush of emotion—exhilaration, warmth, absolute certainty—filled her as she placed her hand in his. The moment their hands touched, it felt as though everything around them melted away.

The music swelled, and Zypher pulled her into the first step.

They moved in perfect harmony, his lead effortless, commanding, yet careful. Her dress swept elegantly across the floor, its soft embroidery catching the glow of the enchanted starlight above them. Zypher's hands guided her—one resting securely at her waist, the other holding her hand as if he never intended to let go.

The room, the guests, the entire world blurred until only he remained.

Delphia looked up at him, her pulse thrumming. "I seem to recall you once claiming you had two left feet," she teased gently as he spun her with ease. "I lied," he murmured, lips brushing her ear. "I just hadn't found the right partner."

The man who had once been her future possible-enemy was now her future itself.

"You're radiant," he whispered, the words brushing against her skin like a spell.

A slow, euphoric smile spread across her lips. "I feel… weightless."

The stars above them swirled, their magic responding to the pure energy between them, illuminating them like a scene from an ancient fairytale.

Around them, whispers fluttered: admiration, envy, wistful sighs from young noblewomen watching a love story unfold before their eyes. Some guests began to sway in time to the music, while others watched, entranced by the couple at the center of it all. The enchanted chandeliers dimmed slightly, accentuating the ethereal glow that cloaked the bride and groom.

For the first time in two lifetimes, Delphia allowed herself to be fully present in this moment.

No regrets. No fears. No uncertainties.

Just her, Zypher, and the rhythm of forever.

Around them, the guests watched in a reverent hush—some enchanted, some envious, and a few brushing away tears they pretended weren't there.

The song reached its crescendo, and Zypher twirled her effortlessly before pulling her back into his arms. A hush fell over the ballroom, the final note lingering in the air.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Zypher smiled, brushing a strand of rose-gold hair from her face before leaning in. The kiss he pressed to her lips was not for the audience, not for the spectacle—but for them.

The room erupted into applause.

Delphia barely heard it. Because in Zypher's arms, the world could have ended, and she wouldn't have noticed.

*

As the festivities continued, guests took to the floor in a flurry of color and movement. Couples laughed, clinked glasses, and danced beneath the celestial dome. A line formed at the dessert tables, where an illusionist conjured sugar blossoms atop candied pastries, and children giggled at enchanted trinkets that fluttered from the hands of a masked entertainer.

Delphia and Zypher mingled, exchanging polite conversations and warm smiles with guests. A few dignitaries from distant territories offered well-wishes, veiled beneath courtly phrasing. One of his associates offered a dry quip about finally seeing Zypher in formalwear, prompting chuckles from the inner circle. Another one raised a toast, dramatically reciting a poem he'd penned for the occasion, earning groans and laughter alike.

Later, as the orchestra transitioned into softer nocturnes and the night began to wane, Delphia and Zypher slipped away to a secluded garden behind the cathedral. The soft glow of magical lights illuminated the path, and the scent of roses and lavender filled the air. A gentle breeze rustled through the hedges, carrying with it the faint strains of music from the ballroom and the laughter of distant guests. A small marble fountain bubbled in the corner, its soft trickle echoing like a lullaby.

"So, Lady Thorne," Zephyr teased, his voice low and affectionate, "how does it feel?"

Delphia laughed softly, leaning against his shoulder. "Strange. Wonderful. Like I've stepped into someone else's story… but it's completely mine now."

He turned to face her, his expression serious yet warm. "It is yours. And whatever comes next, we'll face it together."

She smiled, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and determination. "Together."

Under the starlit sky, with the echoes of their vows still fresh in their minds, they shared a quiet, perfect moment—a promise of the future they would build hand in hand.

Above them, one of the stars above flickered brighter than the rest—then gently fell across the sky in a silent arc, like a blessing.