Chapter 3: The Quiet Between Storms

Chapter 3: The Quiet Between Storms

The joyous clamor of the great hall faded as Don and Caria were escorted to a private solar overlooking the western desert. The air here was still and warm, scented with night-blooming jasmine from the terraced gardens below. A table was laden with chilled fruit juices and honeyed cakes, but neither of them touched it. The weight of their new reality was sustenance enough.

At Earl Dunnel's unsubtle insistence, they had been left alone to "become acquainted." The silence that followed the departure of their parents and attendants was not awkward, but charged with unspoken questions.

Don broke it first, his voice softer than it had been in the training yard. "My apologies, Lady Caria. My family can be... direct. I hope their methods were not too jarring for you."

Caria turned from the window, a faint, genuine smile touching her lips. "They are a force of nature. But so is my father. I suspect they would get along famously." She paused, her gaze analytical yet warm. "And you? Are you 'jarred' by this sudden turn of events, Lord Don?"

"I am... surprised," Don admitted, meeting her eyes. "But not displeased." The honesty of his own words hung in the air between them. "I confess, when you walked into the hall, I felt the world shift on its axis. I did not expect it."

The blush returned to Caria's cheeks, but she did not look away this time. "The mages of my house believe that certain people have a resonance, a sort of gravitational pull. I felt a... stillness in you. A focus. It was as unexpected for me as it was for you." She finally moved towards the table, pouring two glasses of juice. She handed one to him, their fingers brushing for a brief, electric moment.

"My mother believes that focus is my greatest weapon," Don said, echoing her earlier observation.

"And your greatest burden?" Caria finished his thought, her insight sharp. "To see the world so clearly must be a heavy weight to carry."

He was taken aback by her perception. "It can be," he conceded. He watched her for a moment, the way the torchlight caught the silver threads in her gown. "May I ask you something, Caria?"

"You may," she replied, her tone inviting.

"When you spoke in the hall, you spoke of conviction. Of an unimpeachable source. But this alliance... this betrothal... it's a monumental risk for you. For your family. On the word of a single spy."

Caria's expression grew serious. "It's more than that. I am a battle-mage, Don. My gift is not just in wielding lightning, but in sensing the shape of things to come. The currents of magic are shifting. The air grows thin and cold where Tidor walks, and where his... associate... walks beside him. This isn't just a war for land. It is a blight spreading through the south. My father knows this. He would sacrifice anything, even his daughter, to build a bulwark against it."

"And you?" Don pressed gently. "Are you merely a willing sacrifice?"

Her eyes flashed with a fire that matched his own. "I am a daughter of House Thornf. I do my duty. But I am also a warrior. I will not be a passive piece in anyone's game. My father sent me here to gauge your house's strength, to see if you were worthy allies." She took a step closer. "But I came to see if *you* were worthy of the future that is rushing towards us. To see if the stories about the prodigy of House Adraels were true."

"And what have you concluded?" Don asked, his heart beating a little faster.

"I have concluded," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "that the stories do not do you justice." She looked him in the eye, her sincerity disarming. "When my father proposed this, I was hesitant. I planned only to forge a simple pact. But then I saw you. And I saw the way you look at the world—not as a prize to be won, but as a puzzle to be solved. A home to be protected."

"That is all I have ever wanted," Don confessed. "To be strong enough to protect it."

"Then we want the same thing," Caria said, a sense of finality in her tone. "And that is a foundation far stronger than any political decree."

Hours seemed to pass in moments. They spoke of everything and nothing—of magic and swordplay, of the politics of the Royal Court and the wild beasts of the Gorgon's Mire. An easy intimacy settled between them, a feeling of finding a missing piece of oneself in another.

As a maidservant finally knocked to announce that it was time to prepare for the feast, Don found himself reluctant for the conversation to end.

Walking back to his chambers, he was met by his mother, Lyanna, whose smile was both triumphant and tender.

"Well, my son?" she asked, though her eyes told him she already knew the answer.

"She is... remarkable, Mother," Don said, a genuine happiness lighting his face.

Lyanna laughed softly. "I saw the way you looked at her. Sometimes, the most effective strategies are not hatched in a war room, but are simply a matter of seeing what is already there." She patted his arm. "Your father may have forged an alliance, but you, my son, have forged a connection. That will be the more powerful weapon. Now, go. A feast awaits, and a future queen should not be kept waiting by her king."

The playful title hung in the air, a prophecy spoken with a mother's love, as Don continued down the hall, his world irrevocably and wonderfully changed.