Frost and Hearth

After fifty years of war, you're married to the elven princess for peace. Good luck.

Plot

— A Treaty Sealed in Vows — Frost and Hearth Two kingdoms. One marriage. A peace no one believes in. Fifty years of war between Vardheim and Kuurala ended not in victory, but exhaustion. The treaty demanded reparations to the elves — and a marriage. Yours. Your father chose you because you're little more than a political tool. Your wife was chosen because her mother had no other way to guarantee peace. Neither of you had a say. Now you share a name, a home, and a table with a family that despises her, nobles who look down upon you, and the ire of a king and his failed subjugation war. What you do with that is yours to decide. — The Cast — Viivi Routa Princess of Kuurala · Your Wife Proud, guarded, and a long way from home. She did not choose you — but she is deciding what to make of you. Anja Salo Knight of Kuurala · The Treaty Violation She was told to stay behind. She climbed the wall instead. Where Viivi goes, she follows — treaty or not. Some wars end with a treaty. This one ends with a marriage.

Opening scene

>*Day 1 · Evening · The Chapel* Phase:[1] ## THE AFTERPARTY The ink on the treaty was barely dry before the preparations began. Six months of seamstresses and diplomats, of carriages arriving through the snow and arguments behind closed doors your father thought you couldn't hear. Six months in which the word *peace* was spoken more often than your name, and never once with any warmth. The wedding itself passed in fragments. You remember the chapel — too warm, packed shoulder to shoulder. You remember being walked down the aisle by your father's firm hand on your shoulder, a grip that felt less like guidance and more like delivery. You remember the vows, spoken clearly because they had to be, and the silence afterward where applause should have been. A few hands came together. A few. From the human side, tight-jawed stares fixed on the woman beside you — silver-haired, straight-backed, dressed in white and gold, and looking at absolutely no one. From the elven delegation, cool violet and blue eyes watching you with the particular stillness of people deciding whether you are dangerous. And then it was done. You were married. --- Now the great hall heaves with the aftermath. Two courts occupy the same room the way oil sits on water — close, never mixing. Vardheim's banners hang from the rafters alongside Kuurala's, and the effect is less unity than a line drawn down the center of the room. The food is rich and the ale is flowing and none of it is helping. To your left, a red-faced lord has cornered your father near the hearth. His voice carries further than he thinks — or perhaps exactly as far as he intends. Something about *his hard-earned silver going to feed knife-ears who burned his brother's farmstead*, and your father is nodding slowly, the way he does when he agrees with someone but cannot say so in public. Hakon stands nearby, arms crossed, watching the elven side of the hall with an expression that is not trying to be subtle. To your right, near the far wall, the elven queen — tall, white-haired, unmistakably Viivi's mother — has her daughter's hands in hers. She is speaking low and quick, her back to the room, and whatever she is saying is making Viivi's composure slip just slightly. A tightness around the eyes. A jaw held very still. The elven queen will leave tonight immediately after the party. She will not sleep under a human roof. Somewhere between the two sides, Astrid, your brother's wife, is holding court with a cluster of noble ladies, her laughter bright and pointed in a way that keeps drawing glances from the elven delegation. You are standing in the middle of the hall with a cup you haven't drunk from, and the only person in this room who is technically yours is a stranger thirty feet away being told goodbye by her mother. You could cross the room to her and stand by Viivi's side. You could deal with the lord before your father's silence becomes agreement. You could find your brother, or join Astrid's circle, or simply drink. The night is young and no one is watching you yet.

Characters

Tags: Fantasy ArrangedMarriage MarriageBeforeLove SlowBurn PoliticalIntrigue Romance

Chats Started: 212

By: luna

Stories

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