The Sovereign's Curse

Chapter 1: The Wedding Night

The grand hall of Valenor’s palace glittered under the light of countless chandeliers, each one casting a soft glow across the gathering of nobles who had come to witness the union of two powerful families. Gold-trimmed banners of both the royal house of Valenor and the noble Ashford line hung above the scene, reminders of the centuries-long feud now ostensibly mended by the marriage of Crown Prince Leon and Lady Elysia.

Leon stood at the altar, his face a practiced mask of indifference. He could feel the weight of every gaze upon him, the anticipation in the room as thick as the incense that filled the air. At his side, Elysia was silent, her features hidden beneath the lace of her veil. She stood as still as stone, as though carved from the same marble as the columns that lined the hall.

For all its grandeur, the ceremony felt suffocating. Leon's fingers flexed at his sides, a subtle indication of his unease. He had never been one for theatrics, yet here he was, playing his part in a game of politics far older than himself. His gaze flickered toward Elysia, the bride whose beauty masked an unknown, dangerous ambition. He knew little of her true intentions, only that she was far more than the obedient daughter her family portrayed.

As the high priest droned on, Leon's mind wandered. The vows passed in a blur, his own voice sounding distant as he repeated the ancient words. Elysia’s voice was soft but steady, betraying nothing of the storm that must have been brewing behind her composed exterior. This was not a union born of love or trust—this was war, masked by the elegance of a wedding.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, Prince Leon?” the priest asked.

Leon hesitated, his eyes meeting Elysia’s through the thin veil. Her gaze was sharp, challenging him in a way that no one else could see.

“I do,” he said, the words clipped, final.

The same question was posed to Elysia, who responded just as smoothly, “I do.”

The priest’s voice boomed through the hall. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A kiss sealed the vows, brief and cold, more symbolic than genuine. The cheers of the crowd erupted around them, but Leon felt a chill crawl up his spine. Something was wrong—something that went beyond the bitterness of a forced union.

---

The reception flowed like a well-rehearsed play. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt like a mask, as though everyone here knew the true stakes of this marriage. Leon exchanged pleasantries, his movements mechanical, his mind elsewhere.

“You don’t seem happy for a groom.” The voice was low, sardonic.

Leon turned to see his cousin, Lord Garrick, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. “I didn’t realize my wedding was meant for my amusement,” Leon replied, his tone cool.

Garrick chuckled. “Come now, cousin. You’ve just secured peace for Valenor. Surely that’s worth at least a smile.”

“Peace,” Leon echoed, the word bitter on his tongue. “I doubt this union will be enough to hold back centuries of resentment.”

“Then perhaps you should enjoy the temporary truce while it lasts,” Garrick suggested, lifting his wine glass. “It may be all you get.”

Leon watched as his cousin melted back into the crowd, his words lingering like smoke in the air. This wasn’t peace. This was a battlefield in disguise, and Leon knew it. The question was—who would make the first move?

---

As the night wore on, Leon found himself drawn to the quieter corners of the palace. The oppressive atmosphere of the reception, the constant smiles, and congratulations were stifling. He slipped away, unnoticed, into the dimly lit corridors that led deeper into the palace.

His thoughts were a tangled web of suspicion and doubt. He had known this marriage would come with risks, but the sense of unease gnawing at him was far stronger than he had anticipated. Something was happening, just out of sight, something that—

A flicker of movement.

Instinct kicked in, but too late. A figure, cloaked and masked, emerged from the shadows. Leon barely had time to react before a blade flashed in the dim light. Pain exploded in his chest, sharp and all-consuming. His breath hitched as he stumbled backward, blood soaking through his tunic.

The masked figure stood over him for a brief moment, then vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Leon gasping for air, his vision narrowing to a single point of light—then darkness.

---

He awoke in a bed.

For a moment, he thought it had been a nightmare, a vivid dream brought on by the stress of the wedding. But as his senses returned, Leon realized something was wrong. This wasn’t the grand bedroom he had expected to wake up in after his wedding night. No, this was his own chamber—a room he hadn’t slept in for over a week.

He bolted upright, his heart pounding. His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. The familiar tapestries, the carved wooden furniture—everything was as it had been the week before the wedding. But how?

There was a knock at the door, and his steward, a man named Aldric, stepped inside. “Your Highness, I didn’t want to disturb you, but your father expects you for council this afternoon.”

Leon blinked, his mind racing. “Council?”

Aldric looked at him strangely. “Yes, the preparations for the wedding. There is still much to be done.”

The blood drained from Leon’s face. This was the week before his wedding. The same week he had already lived through. The same week that ended with his murder.

“Aldric,” Leon said, his voice quiet but urgent, “what day is it?”

“Why, it’s the 15th of Celos, Your Highness,” Aldric replied, his brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?”

The 15th of Celos. Five days before the wedding.

Leon’s breath came shallow and fast. He had been sent back, back to before it all began. But why? And more importantly—who?

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End of Chapter 1

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