AWAKENING OF THE HIDDEN HEIR (REBORN INTO THE THRONE)

009: The wedding interruption

Kael woke up that morning with a determination, today was the wedding day of Lysera and Rykal and he would not let it happen.

He gathered the books that spoke about the tournament and got ready to go to the wedding chapel.

Lysera stood in front of the dressing mirror, her hands right around the folds of her white dress.

She dreaded this day, the day she would marry Rykal instead of kael.

Her instincts screamed for her to run away but that would cause war between her kingdom and this kingdom.

Her maids came in

“Princess Lysera it is time”

“Lysera followed them and walked to the altar, she stood at the altar, her hands tight around the folds of her white gown.

Across from her, Rykal’s presence was like a shadow across the room. His posture exuded arrogance, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he whispered, “You will learn to obey, Lysera. Your resistance amuses me… but it will end.”

“You flatter yourself Rykal”

His jaw clenched, he could not hit her here, in the prescence of everyone

But he would deal with her later.

The old priest stood at the altar and said so many things that Lysera did not register.

All she heard was

. “Do you, Lysera, take this man, Rykal, to be your lawful husband, to honor and obey him?”

Lysera’s lips parted, a word of defiance trembling on her tongue, but the pressure of the room—the noble eyes, the council’s scrutiny—pinned her silence.

She almost said no but she held her tongue

“I… I do,” she said finally, voice tight with restrained fury.

Approval murmured through the hall. Some whispered uneasily, knowing the marriage was forced; others nodded, pleased that palace politics seemed secure.

Rykal’s grin widened. He reached for her hand, grasping it with possession, not affection. “Finally,” he said softly, “you belong to me.”

Then the doors burst open.

Kael stood in the church, looking every inch the prince he had been reborn to be. Calm authority radiated from him, the sunlight catching his dark hair, eyes sharp and commanding as he scanned the room. His suit was simple, but the cut revealed the growing strength in his frame.

“I… am well enough,” Kael said, voice clear, carrying across the chapel. “And I claim my right to marry Lysera.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nobles exchanged glances, council members stiffened, and Rykal’s eyes widened, disbelief and fury twisting his features.

“Kael…” he growled, low and dangerous. “You are weak. Sickly. This is absurd!” a council member yelled

Kael stepped forward deliberately, posture straight, hands relaxed. “Do not mistake appearances for reality. I am neither weak nor sickly. I am here, fully recovered, and I challenge you Rykal —for Lysera, and for the throne.”

The council murmured, anxious whispers threading through the air. “This cannot be allowed!” one shouted. “The prince is not well! He cannot assert this claim!”

Kael’s gaze swept the hall, landing on Selara. She snapped, her voice sharp with disbelief.

“What are you talking about, are the herbs getting to our brain?“

“There is a tournament that I can use to claim my rights”

“What tournament are you talking about?”

“The scrolls,” Kael replied, calm, eyes meeting her challenge. “Royal law allows a tournament to resolve disputes between heirs of equal age. The victor earns the right to claim succession and, in certain cases, marital arrangements.”

Rykal laughed, sharp and cruel. “A tournament? You think you can win that? You can barely stand without the pretense of illness. This is foolishness, Kael. The crown is mine. The girl is mine. And the council will see it so.”

“Strength is not always visible,” Kael said evenly. “Skill, wisdom, and preparation are as decisive as brute force. You assumed victory, but you underestimated me—and the forces that brought me here.”

The council exchanged glances, reluctant acknowledgment flickering in their eyes. The legality of Kael’s claim was undeniable. Rarely invoked, yes—but legitimate.

“Very well,” a senior council member said at last, voice firm. “The tournament will decide this matter. Rules, conditions, and dates will be set immediately. All contenders will abide.”

Rykal’s eyes blazed with fury. “Preposterous!” he spat. “I am the rightful heir! This weakling cannot possibly prevail!”

Kael’s gaze shifted to Lysera. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but hope and relief radiated from her.

“You… you truly are well?” she whispered.

“I am,” Kael said softly. “And no one will force you into a marriage against your will. Not him. Not Selara. Not anyone else in this palace. I will see to it. Trust me.”

Lysera’s fingers tightened around his hand. “Please… be careful,” she murmured.

Kael’s smile was faint, controlled, but unwavering.

The tournament would proceed, and the stage for the palace’s reckoning was set.

Kael turned toward Rykal one final time, eyes burning with quiet intensity. “Prepare yourself. This will not be a simple test. I will win, and when I do, Lysera’s choice—and the throne—will be indisputable.“

Rykal pressed his lips into a thin line, fury brimming, but no words would defy the council.

“You are a weakling prince, because of some energy herbs you think you have a claim to the throne?, I will beat you with or without the tournament” Rykal sneered

Kael’s glance returned to Lysera. Her expression was a mixture of shock, relief, and newfound hope. She squeezed his hand, a silent promise passing between them: he would not fail, and she would not be forced into submission.

As the doors closed behind him, Kael walked through the palace halls, each step deliberate, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. The challenge had been set. The game had begun. The stakes were higher than ever, but he had taken the first move—and nothing could stop him now.

***