(KBTCM) Ch 16: Beginning Of The Day Of Celebration!

(Kerren) The streets of Vaeloria were alive. Cheers rose into the bright morning sky like ribbons of joy. Children ran barefoot through the

(Kerren) The streets of Vaeloria were alive. Cheers rose into the bright morning sky like ribbons of joy. Children ran barefoot through the

(Kerren)

The streets of Vaeloria were alive.

Cheers rose into the bright morning sky like ribbons of joy. Children ran barefoot through the stone-paved alleys, waving tiny flags stitched with the oak tree crest. Bakers handed out sweetbread to passersby, and minstrels strummed fast-paced songs on the corners of every district. Even the city's old bells, rarely used outside of high holy days, rang out a rhythm that made the air feel thick with celebration.

But Kerren didn't join the festivities.

Instead, he sat alone on the worn wooden stool outside his small stone house nestled on the edge of the Tanners' Quarter—far enough from the central plaza that the fanfare only reached him in soft echoes. His hammer, the one he'd forged with his own hands, leaned against his leg like an old friend. He tapped his fingers against the steel shaft absently, eyes gazing up at the open blue sky above.

"Rowena," he muttered, as if her name itself was a spell that kept pulling his thoughts away from everything else.

It was today.

The day.

The day the royal family would host the Prince of Draymoor. The day Rowena—Princess Rowena, he reminded himself, trying to keep his heart steady—would meet the man who might become her husband. The kingdom's future king. The beginning of a new era for Vaeloria.

Kerren scratched the back of his head and leaned his back against the stone wall of his home. The morning sun kissed his skin, but he didn't feel its warmth. His mind was somewhere else.

He chuckled to himself. "She's probably already towering over him right now."

He closed his eyes, letting his memory take over.

It had been just another nap.

That's all it was supposed to be. A quiet, uneventful nap in the forest clearing he had claimed as his own, the same spot he'd gone to since he had called this kingdom his home. He'd been sprawled out on the strong branches of his favorite tree, arms behind his head, the weight of the world—for once—not sitting on his shoulders.

Then something soft and heavy had broken his fall.

When he'd opened his eyes, his face had been buried in something... warm. Fragrant. Impossibly soft.

And moving.

His soul had nearly fled his body then and there. No preparation, no warning—just the overwhelming reality that he had somehow stumbled, quite literally, into the arms—no, the bosom—of a giant.

Not just a giant. The princess herself.

It should've been the end of him. She'd called it a crime. Threatened to punish him severely. Even teased him with the idea of eating him.

And yet, somehow, he'd stayed calm. Mostly. He'd apologized, of course. At least he think he did. But he hadn't run. He hadn't cried or begged.

And she hadn't crushed him or eaten him.

That moment, terrifying as it was, had changed everything. She'd spared him. More than that, she'd laughed. Teased him. Talked to him like he wasn't just another little speck under her heel.

And then surprisingly she he had met her again. Him the lowest of the commoners had met the princess more than once, both of them, and it turned out she wanted to see him. Such a thought made him smile.

He looked down at his hammer, brushing a thumb over a groove near the head. It was getting old now—like him. Dented from hard work. Still strong, though. Still reliable.

"I wonder if I..." he whispered.

His voice trailed off into the air like a question that didn't dare finish itself.

She was a princess. A giantess. A warrior. A future queen. And he was... well, he was a man who was destined to be a blacksmith that fixed gates and stoked forges. A man who made his own hammer because tradition said so.

But none of that seemed to matter when they were in the forest, when it was just the two of them, when her laugh echoed through the trees and her gaze—curious, clever, kind—settled on him like he wasn't just some nobody in the dirt.

The cheering in the streets grew louder. Somewhere, someone was setting off fireworks—golden sparks cracked through the sky, faint even this far out.

Kerren smiled faintly and adjusted his seat. "Maybe I'm just a fool," he muttered, more to the sky than himself. "But if she smiles today... I hope it's a real one."

He leaned his head back, the memory of her voice still echoing faintly in his mind.

And for now, that was enough.

***

(Throne Room)

The grand throne room of Vaeloria was a marvel that even the most seasoned noble could hardly absorb in one glance.

Gleaming marble floors stretched the length of a small battlefield, lined with towering banners bearing the royal oak tree crest. Vast windows poured golden light through stained glass, casting soft reds, blues, and greens across the chamber. But none of that compared to the sight at the far end of the hall—where two thrones stood.

Well—one throne, and then something far more modest.

Queen Maelyra sat upon her towering seat of polished stone and silk, carved from white granite and inlaid with crimson jewels that matched the rich red of her dress. Her posture was elegant, her expression unreadable, but her sheer presence radiated power. Her heels—massive and gleaming—rested gracefully on the dais before her, nearly the size of an oxcart. And there, seated calmly between them as though nestled in the arch of a great monument, was King Edric.

The king's throne was small by comparison—small enough to fit within the open arch between his wife's feet, a symbolic position that had long been a subject of both reverence and speculation. But the man himself held a quiet dignity. Dressed in robes of deep blue and silver, his golden hair swept back, he looked every inch the monarch, even as the looming image of his wife dwarfed him in every direction.

Prince Karlor stood with his men just beyond the carpeted path that led up to the thrones. The enormity of the room made them feel like toys in a grand temple. Karlor had expected some grandeur, of course—it was Vaeloria—but he hadn't expected this.

He glanced left, then right.

Two more thrones, empty for the moment, stood on either side of the queen's. Equally massive. Equally daunting.

He didn't need to ask who they were for.

King Thandor, ever composed, broke the silence with his well-honed charm. "Prince Karlor of Draymoor," he said, voice carrying easily across the chamber. "We welcome you to Vaeloria. May this be the first of many such visits between our kingdoms."

Karlor straightened his back, giving the king a practiced bow. "Your Majesty. The honor is mine. I bring greetings from my father, King Halbrecht, and the nobility of Draymoor."

The formalities continued for a few minutes—pleasant words, careful exchanges, diplomatic smiles—but eventually, the king gave a knowing look toward his queen.

"My prince," Thandor said with a sly grin, "I imagine you are eager to meet the lady who may soon stand at your side."

Queen Aelira turned her attention toward the great doors at the end of the hall and raised her hand in a graceful motion. Her voice, like a calm wave breaking upon a shore, echoed with command.

"Bring them in."

The giant doors creaked open with a sound like rolling thunder, and two immense figures stepped through.

Rowena entered first, radiant in a flowing red gown that shimmered like ruby fire under the sunlight. Her crimson hair was done up in an elegant braid, strands woven with golden thread. She walked with the poise of someone born for a throne—but even so, there was a spark of nerves in her eyes as they locked onto the man standing below.

Beside her strode her younger sister, Sylara. Dressed in a stunning blue gown, she looked every bit the royal giantess—though the slight stiffness in her posture and the subtle twitch of her lip gave away her discomfort. She hated dresses. Hated how they clung and billowed. Hated how she had to walk just right so she didn't trip or tear something. But she held herself together for one reason.

Sitting comfortably on her shoulder, holding onto a lock of her golden hair like reins, was Theron. Dressed in a sharp red uniform with black trousers and polished boots, he watched the room like a hawk—calm, observant, and clearly unimpressed by the ceremony.

The two sisters approached the room, heads held high, and with graceful ease they took their seats on either side of their mother. The throne platform now bore the full weight and presence of Vaeloria's royal family.

It was like watching living mountains take their places.

Karlor's mouth hung open. Just slightly.

He hadn't meant to let it. But the moment he saw the scale of them—truly saw it, up close—his brain stopped processing etiquette. Rowena alone was magnificent, her dress stretching across the polished floor like a river of red silk. And her face... Her face was something else. Sharp, strong features softened by the slight blush that rose to her cheeks as she looked directly at him.

She smiled.

It was gentle. Curious. Almost shy.

And for a moment, Karlor felt like his knees might buckle.

He was snapped out of it only by Sylara's gaze—piercing, mildly annoyed, and clearly measuring him with every step he took. Her eyes flicked to his boots, his belt, even the way he stood. If Rowena was an ember glowing warm, Sylara was an iron poker fresh from the forge.

And Theron? The tiny man beside her? He was practically smirking.

The silence stretched until Karlor remembered to breathe. Then bow.

Deeply.

He tried to form words, but all that came out was a hoarse, "It... is an honor."

King Thandor chuckled. "Speechless already, are we?"

Karlor, to his credit, managed a dry cough and straightened up. "Merely struck by the majesty of Vaeloria, Your Majesty."

Queen Aelira eyebrow lifted slightly. "And our daughter?"

Rowena's blush deepened.

Karlor hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "Even more so."

The family of giants now loomed above him, seated in a display of power and unity that no kingdom on the continent could match. The sight was both magnificent and terrifying. They weren't just rulers. They were legends come to life.

And as Karlor stood at the base of their dais, staring up at his future, one thought rang in his mind like a bell.

How in all the gods' names am I supposed to marry one of them?