The groom nearly tripped over his own cloak.

A few guests gasped.

Someone whispered, “She speaks.”

The bride kept her eyes on him, steady and unreadable. Then, slowly, she reached up and lowered the visor herself.

Clack.

The sound echoed through the cathedral like a sentence.

The groom looked at the king, pale and confused.

“Your Majesty… why was she wearing that?”

The king’s smile faded.

For the first time, his pride looked like pain.

“Because every man who saw her face wanted the crown more than her heart.”

The groom stopped breathing.

The bride stood still behind the wooden helmet, but her hand tightened around her bouquet.

The king stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“Three princes came before you. All promised love. All asked about the throne before they asked her name.”

The groom looked at the bride.

The silence grew heavy.

Then he took one small step forward.

Not toward the crown.

Toward her.

His voice shook.

“I don’t know your name.”

Behind the visor, the bride went completely still.

The groom swallowed.

“But I’d like to.”

For the first time, her fingers trembled.

The king watched them both, his eyes wet but stern.

Then the bride slowly lifted the visor again.

Her smile was gone now.

Only hurt remained.

“My name is Elara.”

The groom bowed his head.

“Then, Elara… may I start again?”

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then she leaned closer and whispered,

“You may.”

The groom smiled with relief.

Until she added,

“But if you ever ask for my crown before my heart…”

She snapped the visor shut.

Clack.

“I bite harder.”