Chapter 5

SONG VIBE: BTS - The Truth Untold

________

SAPHIRA

The Inner Keep, Castle Renatus

Outside, it was a humid summer’s evening, and the crimson dusk sky bled through the glass windows, the world painted in a sickening shade of red. She muttered under her breath, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them: “Red skies—blood will be shed tonight.”

Servants flitted about, parting to let her pass, their expressions carefully blank. One of them handed her a pouch of gold coins. The weight of the coins felt like a stone in her hands. The crowds outside were already pressed against the gates, eager for their scraps. She threw the coins, her movements mechanical. The people scrambled, shoving and clawing at each other in a mad race for the scattered gold, their desperation playing out as a grotesque frenzy.

Saphira passed the pouch back to the servant and, with a quick glance at Celestine, ducked into the carriage. The world beyond was a blur of noise and chaos as they drove through the courtyard, past the manicured gardens, and toward the Cathedra Aeternum. But Saphira kept her gaze staring blankly ahead.

Inside the carriage, Celestine settled beside her, adjusting the train of her sister’s gown. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she checked Saphira’s expression.

Saphira wanted to speak—to say something, anything to distract herself—but her throat was dry, and her tongue thick with dread. All she could do was clutch the bouquet tighter, the stems crushing beneath her fingers. She felt the sweat forming on her brow; it was stifling hot in the carriage, and summer’s humidity made it only worse.

The horses slowed as they entered the inner courtyard, the summer air cooled as it flowed through the leafy trees and bubbling fountains. Saphira had always hated this part—the way the crowd seemed to watch her every move, their eyes devouring her like vultures waiting. The Renatii denizens stood in an orderly line, their expressions a carefully crafted mask of indifference, but their eyes flicked to her and Celestine as they passed. Saphira could feel the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny of hundreds of strangers.

Saphira could hear their whispers, muffled but sharp, cutting through the humid air. “She looks pale,” one noble murmured. “The Ashen Knight won’t be able to stop Golgog,” another hissed. Saphira tried not to react. She clenched her hands tighter, holding her bouquet over her chest.

As the carriage came to a stop at the foot of the cathedral steps, two Renatii knights assisted Saphira out, their hands cold and firm on her arms. One of them stiffened as his gaze landed on soldiers of the Ashen Blades, who stood to the side, their cold, steely eyes fixed on the procession.

Celestine followed closely behind, adjusting Saphira’s train. She gave Saphira a small, reassuring smile, but it was fleeting, long gone before it could bring any comfort. Saphira wanted to say a joke, a smile, something to break the heaviness, but nothing came—all she could do was stand still as Celestine readjusted her veil and bouquet.

With Celestine following, Saphira ascended the steps and entered through the enormous wooden doors.

The Cathedra Aeternum stood on fourteen pillars, which form an arcade of twelve pointed arches on three sides of the nave. The outer pillars had carvings representing the Saints of Renatus slaying legendary elderspawn, and dragons descending. However, on each of the inner pillars were carvings of human faces with greenery all around them, eldenberries and rowan leaves growing out of their mouths, and crystalith stones for eyes. Thousands of candles lit the room, casting ghostly, moving shadows over their ethereal faces.

Saphira had spent many hours gazing at the ancient art of the cathedral. It had always been a place she was allowed to go without Matron Helena questioning her. The familiarity of the cathedral should have put Saphira at ease, but instead, she felt uncomfortable.

To the left of the cathedral, Saphira’s half-siblings awaited, flanked by the most prominent members of the nobility. Their jewels glittered under the filtered light, a stark contrast to the stoic figures across the aisle. To the right, the Ashen Blades stood like silent sentinels, their faces as unyielding as the stone carvings that adorned the cathedral walls. They were clad in their battle-worn leathers, their eyes attentive and hands ready.

At the forefront of the gathering were the six Mountain Knights. They stood apart, a commanding presence even amidst the grandeur. Each one was a vision of refined strength, dressed in a blend of courtly attire and sturdy leathers. Richly dyed tunics layered over supple leather with understated embellishments—a clasp here, an embroidered hem there—despite their refinement, all the knights kept their swords close to their sides.

Saphira thought, even in celebration, they are prepared for battle.

At the altar, her father stood tall, his gaze unwavering.

Nocturne stood beside him, clad in black, his presence effortlessly commanding attention. His fitted doublet, dark as midnight, was tailored to perfection. A single titanium pauldron rested on his shoulder, catching the candlelight with a muted gleam, while a matching vambrace encased his forearm in cold steel. A heavy cloak, black with a whisper of crimson lining, draped over his frame, shifting slightly as he moved. His gloved hand rested on his sword’s hilt, flexing as he saw Saphira.

A gust of wind howled through the cathedral, making the candle flames tremble. The stone creatures carved into the vaulted ceiling seemed to watch her, their crystalith eyes gleaming with unsatisfied hunger. The air smelled of wax and incense, but beneath it lingered something colder, something ancient. Saphira shivered.

Saphira exhaled slowly and stepped forward.

Then, Daisy’s foot jutted into the aisle, a spiteful tripping hazard.

Seamlessly, Saphira lifted the heavy train of her gown just enough to clear the obstacle. She took a deep breath and continued her walk.

The aisle stretched before her like an execution path, and every whisper, every rustling fabric, reminded her that this was an audience awaiting a spectacle. She dared not lift her eyes—not to the guests, not to the towering arches above, and certainly not to Lord Nocturne. Not with father’s shadow looming so closely.

Instead, she fixed her stare on the polished marble floor, watching the soft glow of candlelight ripple across its surface. Each step felt heavier than the last, yet she moved forward, carried by the seductive taste of the freedom that awaited her.

Before she reached the altar, she turned, and gave her bouquet to Celestine. She kissed her sister on the cheek and whispered, “Is it too late to swap places with the blacksmith?”

Where Daisy failed, Celestine succeeded; she stamped on Saphira’s foot. Saphira suppressed her yelp with a fake sneeze. She looked up to see the disappointment in her father’s steely eyes.

Saphira ascended the steps, took her father’s hand, and kissed his giant crystalith ring.

“Your Grace,” Saphira murmured.

The Duke grasped her hand, and indicated for Nocturne to approach.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Nocturne’s dark cloak swayed with each step, the fabric almost blending with the shadows around him. With his gloved hand, he took Saphira’s tiny hand gently in his own, his touch both firm and tender, as if he were holding a delicate flower. An unnatural strength radiated from him, and the foreignness of it terrified Saphira.

Saphira glanced up, her heart pounding in both fear and anticipation, trying to make sense of the man holding her hand. His features were obscured by the shadows of the flickering candlelight that shaded his face, but she could make out the dark, closely cut beard that framed his jawline.

The scar that ran along his upper lip emphasised his stoic, almost snarling expression—one that made him look perpetually displeased, even though his umber eyes held a quiet, intense power. His skin was ghostly pale—almost grey—like one who spent too much time in the darkness of the shadowlands. The difference in their sizes was striking—Nocturne was tall and broad-shouldered, towering over her.

Saphira could not help but pull back just slightly, instinctively seeking her father’s presence—for what little comfort it offered.

Nocturne held her hand with an unyielding grip, a mix of cold strength and control that made her heart beat faster, a strange combination of admiration and trepidation building within her.

Her father smiled. “I, Duke Crassus of Renatus, give my daughter to you, Lord Nocturne, Count of Firestone, in marriage.” He paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on Nocturne. “It is now, in the presence of many witnesses and before the Almighty, that you both make your vows upon truthstones.” His voice dropped lower, each word heavy with warning. “If you speak untruth upon these stones, they will turn red. Red as the blood that will be spilled for your lies. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Saphira said, her voice steady.

“I do,” Nocturne echoed, his tone unreadable.

Gregor drew a truthstone from his robe, rolling up his sleeves to reveal decayed black arms. The sight made Saphira’s breath hitch. Corruption clings to him like a second skin.

Gregor drew a knife over his forearm, dropping his blood over the truthstone. He pressed the stone into Saphira’s palm, and the damp, sticky warmth of his blood made her stomach churn. Swallowing hard, she held the stone between herself and Nocturne.

Nocturne turned to his six Mountain Knights and gave a small nod as he removed his gloves. “Sir Augustus. Bring the stone.”

Augustus stepped forward, fingers stained black—whether from corruption or ink, Saphira could not tell. His nails were painted with a dark lacquer, likely to mask the creeping signs of his magic use.

Nocturne took his truthstone—wet with the magician’s blood—from Augustus. He placed his hand atop her stone, and she placed her hands on his stone. Their fingers touched, skin against skin. Her breath hitched. His skin is warm. I didn’t expect that.

image [https://img.wattpad.com/383a4bf4b761ff5d16d1e1a1fb578075792dd6a3/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f616e3731565f4a5f7371593054673d3d2d313535303233393933342e313834613236303663633936656366653139323137333432303132332e706e67]

Caption: Saphira and Nocturne swear on the truthstone

[This is just for vibes and not a totally accurate depiction. AI-generated image]

When he spoke, his voice was quiet but unwavering. “I, Lord Nocturne, Count of Firestone, swear to take you, Lady Saphira of Renatus, under my protection as my wife. In the presence of witnesses and before the Almighty, I vow to give you the first fruits of my labour, the strength of my sword, and to give you children, with the right to be called my heirs. I vow to honour you and shield you, until death sunders us.”

The truthstones darkened, then swirled into a deep cobalt blue.

Augustus inclined his head. “The truthstones have shown the truth of his intent.” His dark eyes flicked to Saphira. “Do you accept his vows, Lady Saphira?”

Saphira’s throat tightened. I didn’t expect for it to feel this personal, she thought, as the warmth of his bare skin lingered on hers, This is duty, politics…a business transaction.

She nodded.

Gregor’s ruined hands flexed at his sides. “And now, your vows, my lady.”

She inhaled. “I, Lady Saphira of Renatus, swear to be faithful to you, Lord Nocturne of Firestone, as my lord and husband. In the presence of witnesses and before the Almighty, I vow to honour you and obey you. I vow to give you heirs to continue your line. I pledge to be loyal and faithful to you alone, until death sunders us.”

After a moment of silence, the stones shifted from black to indigo blue.

Gregor let out a low murmur. “Lady Saphira’s intentions are truthful.” His gaze slid toward Nocturne. “Do you accept her vows, my lord?”

Nocturne’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. Then, in a voice rougher than before, he growled, “I do.”

The stones were taken from them by their magicians. In their stead, a basin of bronze, beaten so smoothly it shone like a mirror, was placed before them. Inside, water from an untouched crystalith cave glimmered, untouched by time or impurity. Crassus, his jaw clenched, dipped his hands into the water, his gaze cold as he washed them.

“Knowing the faithfulness of your intentions, I give my daughter to you.” The Duke’s words rang hollow, a formality more than a blessing. Crassus’ eyes flickered over to Nocturne briefly, but his expression remained unreadable. “I hand over to you the responsibility of protecting, providing, and loving her until you are parted by death.”

Nocturne grasped Saphira’s hands, his fingers warm against the icy water as he immersed them. She felt the heat of his skin against the coldness of the liquid. She watched, relieved, as the blood of the magicians was slowly washed from their hands, the water turning a shade of red.

Crassus said, “By the shedding of blood, a new creation. Emerge, as husband and wife.”

Nocturne lifted Saphira’s hands from the water, his grip steady, as though to ground her in the moment. Their eyes met briefly, and for the first time, she saw something flicker in his gaze—not cold or calculating, but fear.

The type of fear that only comes from deep wounds. The realisation hit her, This union isn’t easy for him.

He turned then, his expression hardening once more, and faced the crowd.

The Ashen Blades behind them stood tall, their backs straight, eyes trained forward, hands hovering near their weapons. The audience was silent at first, their eyes fixed on the newlywed couple, waiting for a sign of what would come next. Birch smiled faintly at Saphira, his lips curling in a soft, almost sympathetic gesture, but his brother quickly elbowed him, signalling for him to quiet his expression.

The youngest of the Duke’s bastards, Heath, was the first to break the stillness, clapping his hands together with uncoordinated excitement. His enthusiasm was innocent, a moment of raw emotion in a place where it had been carefully stifled. Slowly, the rest of the crowd joined in, though the applause was hesitant, unsure.

Nocturne stood tall and still, his posture unwavering as he held his arm out, palm facing upwards. Saphira hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond, but then she placed her hand gently on his, and his fingers closed over hers.

They walked down the aisle in measured steps, nodding to the nobles lining the cathedral. Nocturne’s expression remained composed, his gaze cool and impassive. Only when he passed the six mountain knights did his eyes soften, a flicker of warmth before the mask returned.

Outside, the air was thick and stifling, heavy with the dense, humid scent of rain. Clouds loomed overhead, swollen and dark, the kind that swallowed the sky just before a storm broke.

Beyond the thick stone walls, a wave of cheers and applause rolled through the courtyard. The nobles' voices rang out, jubilant but uncertain, their celebration edged with watchfulness.

As the applause grew, Saphira’s heart fluttered, her breath catching in her throat. And just like that…this is my life now. She glanced at Nocturne once more. His eyes were forward, his expression unreadable.

As Saphira took a step down, her heel nearly missed the edge of the step. But before she could falter, Nocturne’s hand was at her waist, steadying her. The sharp, primal scent of him—ash and leather—invaded her senses as his hand brushed the edge of her veil, just for a second, lifting it slightly before he gently set it back in place.

image [https://img.wattpad.com/99ff040050aae2974932004dbf9458c2b0af3c27/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f494b3976695936705062337958773d3d2d313535303233393933342e313834613236323831306363303034313738363632313636353636312e706e67]

Caption: Saphira trips on the steps.

[This is just for vibes and not a totally accurate depiction. AI-generated image]

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but his grip tightened just enough on her hand. Without another word, they continued down the stairs, the weight of the moment lingering between them.

“Stay in one piece,” he murmured, “We have a wedding feast to get to.”

“It’ll be so hot inside. I’d rather skip it and go straight to bed,” Saphira shot back.

Nocturne’s grip on her hand tightened, a flicker of amusement passing through his eyes. “Straight to bed, hm? You’re eager.”

Saphira blinked, her mind racing. “What I meant was, I just want to rest. In a bed.” She paused, catching her breath. “Sleeping. Not that…” She felt her cheeks warm. “Not that I don’t want that. But—” She bit her tongue.

Nocturne’s lips twitched, but his stoic gaze remained unreadable.

Saphira composed herself. “I just want something real. Not all this...pretending.”

Nocturne’s gaze sharpened, the corners of his mouth curving slightly as the scar over his lips twitched. “Hmm.”

Saphira resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands, the weight of his silence making her wish for a quick escape