The room was dim, the flames in the hearth casting long shadows upon granite walls. King Fabio sat at the round table, facing the Circle of Elders. They were some of the oldest wolves among Wolfkind and in the entire Kingdom, all too old to hold any active position in court but active enough to share their wisdom. Every great Wolf King before him had consulted with the Elders before making heavy decisions that would affect Montegnera. Cloaked in deep, ancient silks and heavy furs, they regarded Fabio with varying expressions as he told them what transpired yesterday at the wedding ceremony.
Elder Theon spoke first, asking in a tense tone, "You are certain?"
"Absolutely." The King leaned forward, jaw tight. "The woman I married is not Genevieve. She's her twin, Giselle."
"And you are fated mates? You felt the bond?" Another asked.
"I did," he replied, a hard edge to his voice, "But now I wish to know how to break it."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
He continued, "I feel nothing for her except our bond. I wish to find Genevieve and—"
Elder Moria, whose eyes had seen five kings crowned, raised a wrinkled hand.
"The bond is real, Your Majesty. No spell can forge that. If the Goddess bound you to her, then she is your true mate."
"Even if it's a mistake? Even if I still feel—" Fabio stopped short, emotions still fresh. Her name lodged in his throat like poison. Genevieve. He just couldn't believe that his childhood friend, the woman he loves and whom he believed loved him as well, would run away a day before their wedding. He simply couldn't. In his mind there had to be another reason, a coverup by her parents and sister perhaps. And he was determined to find it out.
"The heart is stubborn, my king," Elder Moria said softly. "But the bond knows better. Besides, the letter does prove that Lady Genevieve left of her own accord."
Another Elder Fabio couldn't recognize grunted, "Exposing this deception could fracture the Court. The nobles already whisper. They saw you marry a daughter of Vonteguarde. If you reveal now she was not the one you expected, many will see weakness and indecision. An unhappy Court is a dangerous one."
"Besides," Another Elder continued, "Nobody in the Court knows the name of your intended, yet. That privacy was necessary for your relationship to progress quietly and now it is to your advantage. All they know is that you were to wed a Vanderbilt firstborn."
The King clenched my fist, eyes darkening at the bitter truth. "So I'm to live with a liar? Pretend she belongs here?"
Theon met his gaze. The elder was easily the oldest of them all and the closest thing Fabio had to a father, with the latter always going to him for counsel whenever he needed it, "She does belong here. By law. By bond. And perhaps—by destiny."
Fabio scoffed, pushing back from the table. "I will never stop looking for Genevieve."
"You may find her, young King" Moria said. "But whether she is your mate...that answer has already been given."
***
A small entourage made up of a few guards and the King's personal chauffeur had come to the Vanderbilt chateau to pick Giselle up the next morning. She had barely said goodbye to her father and mother; much of the time was spent packing every dress she owned into three suitcases. The Duchess, her mother, was sniffling by the time they were finished packing and even her father had a hard time looking at her. She could understand. Genevieve was gone and their second daughter was getting married to the most powerful Alpha in the country out of necessity, not of love.
Giselle showered quickly, refusing assistance from the maids. She needed some time to herself, she needed to think. Leaning on the tiled wall with water running down my hair for Goddess knows how long, reality suddenly struck her. She had only come home for a brief holiday with her parents and sister and now she was married to Montegnera's King. Not to mention he's her true mate with even her wolf, as dormant as it was, sensing the bond.
Giselle stayed in the bath for as long as she could until it ran cold, only coming out when her mother banged on the door. She allowed the maids to dress her at least, stuffing her into a mercifully lighter lavender dress with a moderately wide satin skirt. The chauffeur stood primly outside a luxury carriage driven by purebred horses, ready to open the door for her as the guards loaded her suitcases into the trunk of the vehicle.
"I'll miss you so much, father and mother." Giselle hugged her parents, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Be strong, Gigi. Don't let royal life break you, I beg of you." Her mother squeezed her tightly, her voice shaky with emotion. "Write us when you have the chance, alright?"
When they let her go, her mother held her face in her palms, tears already streaming down her cheeks. Her father was uncharacteristically quiet, bent over in despair like a wilted tree.
"I am sorry, my rose. It is my fault, I should have noticed sooner that something was wrong. I should have pleaded with his Majesty, perhaps he would've shown us mercy–"
"–No, father don't say that. I made the choice, I would follow it through. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine, I promise."
With one final hug, she departed reluctantly, continuing her solemn journey to the carriage alone.
Looking back to wave at her parents, Giselle suddenly realized that she was going to an unfamiliar place and that now she was truly alone. A rush of despair filled her chest and then the tears came relentlessly.
She kept waving as the carriage pulled out of the estate, followed by the other carriage driven by the guards. She kept waving until her parents faded from view.
It had been barely five minutes since they'd driven away and Giselle was already homesick.
Wiping her tears with a silk napkin, she steeled herself; crying won't change anything, she said to herself.
The streets leading up to the palace grounds were packed with a merry crowd cheering with much fanfare. Both sides of the streets were alive with song and music and some people crowding up close to see their new 'Queen'. Children ran alongside the cars tossing white rose petals, the traditional flower of blessings. Vendors waved, and musicians played flutes and drums as the carriage passed through the gold-trimmed archway that led to the palace road. Banners bearing the royal crest flapped in the morning breeze—two silver wolves on crimson silk. A young boy waved at Giselle through the curtained window, holding out a red rose in one hand.
She opened the curtain to accept the flower, smiling softly at the child and waving at the rest. The crowds cheers grew louder and in an instant the car was filling up with flowers. She pulled down the curtain once more.
Pressing a trembling hand to her chest, she held the flower carefully in one hand, wary of its thorns. "They must think I'm with the King, or another royal," Giselle whispered to herself.
The chauffeur seemed to hear her through the grate that seperated passenger from rider, because he let out a small bark of laughter, speaking with an accent she couldn't recognize, "Believe me, yer Highness, the people love ye. The wedding yesterday was reported in papers across the Kingdom with yer pretty face plastered in banners everywhere! It's the most popular wedding in a thousand years, I tell ye!"
To say Giselle was speechless was not an exaggeration. The Kingdom, the people…they loved her?
As though he heard her question, the chauffeur continued, "Ye even have a nickname now; the Red Queen of Our Hearts, an acknowledgement of yer lovely red hair." he said, "Take it from me, I've been doing this job for years, seen nobility come and go, there's never been this much of a crowd in years!"
"Oh, that's… lovely of them."
Giselle said nothing to him after that, she didn't know what else to say. A glimpse of her reflection in a gilded mirror caught her eye. The emerald and silver gown was tailored to perfection, her red hair braided with white pearls. To anyone watching, she was regal, the picture of nobility and poise but on the inside, she was breaking.
They soon arrived at the palace and the gates opened to let them in, the palace gleaming in the morning sun like a living monument of marble and obsidian. Giselle had only been here once a long time ago for a grand ball with her family before she left Montegnera to attend university in a foreign country. The memory was faded but everything seemed the same as it was. Guards bowed and the chauffeur rushed to open her door.
As Giselle stepped out, she felt him before she even saw him.
King Fabio, her soulmate. Her husband.
He was dressed in silver-embroidered, formal black with that matched his long, tied-back hair, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and flanked by his bodyguards, a perfect statue of royal power. His eyes met her and narrowed slightly, but his lips held a ghost of a smile for the benefit of those present. Thankfully, the media folks weren't allowed on palace grounds so she didn't have to worry about making a fool of herself on the national telegraph. Not yet at least.
"Your Majesty," Giselle greeted stiffly with a low courtesy, extending a hand but not touching him first, just as her mother's impromptu etiquette class taught her.
"Giselle." He acknowledged simply, accepting her hand. He noticed the rose she held, a gift from the young boy in the crowd earlier. "Where did you get that?" He asked.
"O-oh, just some kid in the crowd, he-"
Fabio snatched the rose from her hand and threw it on the grass.
Giselle gasped. A guard behind the King raised a curious brow but of course no one dared utter a word.
"Nothing unvetted is allowed in your possession," he said coolly. "A poisoned petal could undo an empire. This is basic knowledge, Lady Giselle."
She nodded, cheeks heated in embarrassment, trying not to let the sting of his words show. She glanced at the flower through the corner of her eye; the rose wasn't just a gift to her, it was the first kind gesture she'd received since her marriage.
"Come," Fabio said, gesturing forward. "We don't dawdle in the royal court."
He walked ahead without waiting, leaving me to catch up like an afterthought. Giselle scrambled forward, her heels clicking on the cobbled path as palace staff bowed in sequence along the carpeted hallway. He seemed to me like everything a king should be: stuck-up, rigid and authoritative.
"You walk too heavily," Fabio muttered as she fell in step beside him.
She looked at him, startled. "E-excuse me…your Majesty?"
"You're not in a provincial parade anymore. You're a queen, or rather, you will be 'acting as one', if you manage to survive etiquette training." He grunted, his words scathing.
Her brows knitted together in confusion, "Etiquette training?"
"Yes. A royal governess will begin working with you tomorrow. You'll learn the language of fans, of courtly glances, of silence. You'll learn how to carry yourself with grace and diplomacy. This is Montegnera, Giselle, not a country fair."
"B-but I'm already nobility, born to a Grand Duke-"
"A duchy is not a palace, Giselle," He said with an exasperated scoff, then stopped suddenly and leaned in to whisper, "You will learn everything possible to look like a competent Queen of this country or forfeit your claim, and by the gods I hope you fail."
He pulled away and for a split second Giselle could see the viciousness he hid behind his smirk.
"I… I'll do my best then." was all she could say, trying not to sound as shaken as I felt. The King seemed to be doing everything possible to belittle her and hurt her feelings.
"Hmm, see that you do."
They stepped into the Great Hall. Servants opened the massive gold-trimmed doors with a flourish. Giselle felt she should be more impressed or even enthralled by the fact that she was in the palace but the chill in Fabio's voice and the weight of it all suddenly made everything feel… less.
Fabio showed Giselle to her quarters, a room beside his. It was significantly bigger than her room back home with rich purple draperies on the walls, tall ceilings hand painted with abstract art, a small nook by the window for resting and a gold and lavender theme that tied the room together.
He started to walk away but paused by the door's threshold.
"Tonight, we fulfill tradition."
Her breath caught. "You mean—"
"Yes. The consummation," he said flatly. "Unfortunately, we are required by…law." Disgust clearly riddled his otherwise handsome face.
Giselle swallowed hard, her eyes following his retreating figure, unsure if she could make it through the night.