MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

Morning broke over Aurethiel in a symphony of gold and choral music. From her window, Amelia watched the city transform under the dawn’s gentle touch. Banners rippled in the breeze, their white and silver fabric catching the light like spun moonlight. Flowers garlanded every doorway, and the streets already teemed with citizens dressed in their finest, all eager to witness a moment they believed would be history.
"The carriage is ready, my lady."
Amelia turned from the window, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Her attendants rushed forward to make the final adjustments to her gown. The dress was a masterpiece of celestial craftsmanship, fashioned from white silk that seemed to possess its own inner glow. It was embroidered with silver thread in patterns that cleverly suggested both angelic wings and the spiraling symbols of ancient, wild magic. Her mother had insisted on the angelic elements, a clear statement of purity and power. Her father, in his quiet way, had ensured the witch sigils were woven into the design, a secret message of her true self.
A bridge between worlds. She had to believe that was possible. She had to believe she would not simply be torn apart by the two shores.
The carriage door closed behind her, a soft click that sealed her into her role. The procession began. Through the flawless crystal windows, Amelia watched Aurethiel pass by in waves of celebration. Children threw flower petals that drifted like fragrant snow. Adults pressed forward against the security lines, their hands reaching toward the carriage with expressions of profound hope and wonder. She represented something to them, she realized with a fresh wave of anxiety. She was not just a princess marrying her prince; she was a promise that different bloodlines could coexist, that peace was more than a fragile dream.
If only they knew how fragile this peace truly is.
The thought came unbidden, a cold serpent of doubt in her mind. She pushed it away. Today was about hope, about building something new. She could not afford the luxury of doubt.
Then, the mood of the crowd shifted.
The jubilant noise of the procession route fell to uncertain murmurs as the crowds parted. Amelia looked ahead and saw them. The demonic delegation was entering the main boulevard. They moved in a procession of their own, their dark carriages drawn by creatures that seemed woven from shadow and flame. The demons themselves were striking figures, tall and elegant in deep crimson and black, their features sharp and beautiful, their presence commanding and unapologetic.
The contrast with the angelic citizens was jarring. Where the angels glowed with a soft, internal light, the demons seemed to absorb it, their forms outlined in sharp relief. Where angels moved with a flowing, water-like grace, the demons carried themselves with a predatory confidence that was both alluring and unsettling. They were two peoples, two aesthetics, two philosophies forced into a tense proximity by political necessity.
Amelia felt the tension crackling in the air like lightning before a storm. The angels watched the demons with a barely concealed suspicion that had been bred into them for generations. The demons met those hostile stares with a challenging pride, refusing to be intimidated. Security forces, angelic and demonic alike, lined the streets, their hands resting on the hilts of weapons they all prayed they would not need to use.
This is what we are trying to heal, Amelia thought, her hands clenching in her lap. This ancient hatred, this reflexive fear.
Her carriage drew closer to the great cathedral, and she could see Harry’s delegation already assembled at the grand entrance. He stood on the top step, resplendent in his formal regalia, a figure of pure celestial light. Even from this distance, she could feel his focus. He was not looking at the crowds or the dignitaries. He was watching for her, waiting.
The sight of him was an anchor, and it steadied her own turbulent emotions.
When her carriage finally stopped and the door was opened, a blast of trumpets split the air, silencing the crowd. Amelia stepped out into a moment of perfect, breathless stillness. Every eye, angelic and demonic, turned toward her. They were united, for just an instant, in witnessing this singular moment.
She looked up at the cathedral, its soaring architecture reaching toward the heavens as if in prayer. The building itself was a masterpiece of white stone that seemed to channel celestial light. Its stained glass windows depicted the triumphant history of the angelic realm, and its spires pierced the sky like lances of faith.
Harry descended the steps to meet her, his eyes never leaving hers. In that shared gaze, the entire world narrowed to just the two of them. He offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation, feeling the familiar warmth of his grip anchor her to the present.
"Are you ready?" he murmured, his voice for her alone.
"No," she admitted with a shaky breath. "But I am here."
"That is all we need."
Together, they turned to face the cathedral entrance. Behind them, the assembled crowds held their breath. Before them, the massive open doors revealed a space filled with light and shadow, with angels and demons, with hope and a barely suppressed hostility that was centuries old.
This was the precipice. This was the moment where everything could change, or everything could shatter into irreparable pieces.
Amelia squeezed Harry’s hand, a silent message of fear and resolve. He squeezed back, a promise of solidarity.
They took the first step forward, into history.