Vows Before The Storm (the last day)...

The palace gates hadn't changed , still high and silver-veined, still framed with climbing roses and the royal crest embossed in the center , but walking through them with Daemon at my side made them feel... different.

I wasn't a little girl returning home from lessons. I wasn't the quiet princess trailing behind a parade of guards and handmaidens. I was walking beside a cursed prince ,and walking toward a future I barely understood.

Daemon's hand brushed mine. "You're shaking," he said gently.

I hadn't realized I was.

"I haven't brought anyone back here before," I said quietly, glancing up at him.

"Not even for formal introductions?"

"No."

"Then I'm honored." He smiled faintly. "Or terrified. I haven't decided yet."

I laughed under my breath, but the sound died as we entered the marble hall. The echo of our footsteps was swallowed by velvet and stained glass. A dozen guards stood in ceremonial posture, but it was my mother who stepped forward first.

Queen Elenya looked regal as ever , her silver-blonde hair swept into an intricate twist, her violet eyes assessing and unreadable. Beside her stood my father, King Corwin, broad-shouldered and tall, with streaks of gray at his temples and eyes like winter steel. And behind them, perched like a shadow of ancient wisdom, was my grandmother ,the Dowager Queen Alira ,dressed in a deep midnight gown, her gnarled cane gripped like a scepter.

They didn't bow.

But neither did Daemon.

For a moment, we stood in silence , kingdoms of pride and secrets suspended in the air.

Then Daemon bowed, low and smooth, one hand over his chest.

"Your Majesties. Your Grace," he said to each in turn. "Thank you for receiving us."

My father's voice was the first to break the stillness.

"You have courage, young man. And arrogance."

"Usually the same thing," Daemon replied.

My mother stepped forward, cool and elegant.

"We've heard whispers of your... reputation. The cursed bloodline. The fallen castle. The mist that eats time."

"And yet," Daemon said gently, "your daughter walks beside me."

My grandmother let out a rasping laugh.

"Careful, boy. Wit is a poor shield in a family of monarchs."

Daemon turned to her and bowed again , deeper this time.

"Then I'll be honest instead. I love your granddaughter. And I will break the curse — even if it kills me."

A hush fell over the hall.

I stepped forward, voice steady. "It won't kill him."

My father looked at me sharply.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we found the book. The one hidden in the ruins beneath the Temple of Myr."

My grandmother's eyes lit at that. "The priest's book. I thought it had been lost."

"It wasn't," I said. "Daemon and I read it. It names every cursed prince. Every failure. Every consequence. It also names us , the final pair."

My mother took a breath, slow and measured.

"You believe you're the ones meant to break it."

"Yes."

Daemon added, "We're not guessing anymore. The curse was born from betrayal, greed, and stolen power. It has repeated through six generations , always a royal heir, always a cursed bloodline, always a woman born with magic but bound by fate. Emilia is the seventh. The final."

The weight of his words settled like fog over the room.

"If we fail," I said quietly, "he dies. Forever. His soul shatters."

"And if you succeed?" my father asked.

Daemon looked at me. "Then the curse ends ,for every generation that comes after."

My father exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He was silent for a long time before finally speaking again.

"Then there is something we must consider."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You say your bond is tied to the breaking of this curse. That love has something to do with it."

Daemon nodded. "Love, trust, sacrifice. All of it."

My father turned to my mother, then back to us.

"Then I ask you ,will you marry her?"

The question dropped like a stone into still water.

I felt Daemon go completely still beside me. I didn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"What?" I whispered.

"You heard me," my father said. "Marriage strengthens love. Deepens magic. Unites legacies. If the curse is bound to your connection, then formalizing that connection , publicly, spiritually ,may be the difference between success and failure."

My mother stepped forward. "It's not a command, Emilia. But it's something to consider. Especially since the prophecy says you have only three months left."

Daemon turned to me.

His silver eyes were unreadable. Not fearful , just quiet. Like he was trying to measure everything at once: the curse, the urgency, the weight of the question, the look in my eyes.

"Three months," I said softly.

"If the curse isn't broken by then," my grandmother said, "the seventh line ends. And it ends in death."

Daemon looked at me, then at my parents.

"I didn't come here expecting to ask for her hand today."

"But would you?" my father asked. "Would you marry her , not just for love, but for the future of both our lines?"

Daemon's gaze returned to mine.

"Yes," he said.

A tremor went through me. Not fear. Something heavier. Something warm and terrifying and impossibly strong.

"Then I would say yes too," I whispered.

My grandmother stepped forward now, eyes gleaming. "It must be done beneath the moonstone arch at Solstice. That is when the veil is thinnest. When the curse is weakest. The union must be consecrated with blood and vow."

"And if it's not?" I asked.

"Then your love may not be enough," she said. "And Daemon dies."

Daemon reached for my hand. I let him take it.

"Three months," he repeated. "To kill a curse, save a kingdom, and marry a princess."

"Sounds exhausting," I muttered.

He grinned. "You're worth it."

---

Later That Evening

We walked the palace gardens in silence. The moon was rising, casting long silver shadows on the marble paths. I held Daemon's hand tightly, my heart still thunderous from the meeting.

"Did you expect that?" I asked finally.

"The question? No."

"The answer?"

He stopped walking and turned to me.

"Yes."

"You did?"

"I've been thinking about marrying you since the first time you stormed into my study and told me I was arrogant."

"That's terribly romantic."

"I thought so."

I stepped closer. The garden smelled like jasmine and night rain. He cupped my face, his touch featherlight.

"Do you want this?" he asked softly.

"More than anything."

His lips brushed mine ,not with hunger this time, but with quiet promise.

"Then we make a plan," he said. "We find the temple. We gather what we need. And we prepare for a wedding that might very well be our salvation."

"And if it's not?"

"Then we'll face that together too."

I smiled, trembling.

"Daemon?"

"Yes?"

"You're not allowed to die."

He smiled faintly, his silver eyes glowing in the moonlight.

"Then we'd better break the curse."