HUMAM REALM- ALDERAN
CAPITAL- EL'GOROTH
I balanced the tray of wine glasses as I navigated through the crowded ballroom. The masked birthday party for Princess Maisie Woods was in full swing, with guests from all walks of royalty mingling and laughing. I, Emma Woods, was just a shadow in the background, a seventeen-year-old illegitimate daughter of the king, treated more like a servant than family.
My eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone had enough to drink. My stepsisters, Maisie and her friend, were enjoying themselves, their laughter, and smiles a stark contrast to my own forced grin. My stepmother, Queen Elizabeth, watched me with an icy glare, her hands clenched on the table where she sat with other noble women.
I looked down and shivered from her dagger look before approaching the high table where the king and his noble guests sat while chatting and sipping their wine. Suddenly, I felt a push, and my world tilted. The tray slipped from my hands, and the glasses shattered on the floor. I tried to break my fall, but it was too late. I landed on the broken glass, the shards piercing my palms.
Pain shot through me as I frowned, embarrassment washing over me. Everyone's attention was on me now. Their faces were a blur. I attempted to stand, but the glass dug deeper into my skin, and I winced in pain. Undeterred, I tried again, but before I could steady myself to stand, a firm hand wrapped around my waist, holding me in place. "Let me help you," a deep, velvety voice murmured close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
I looked up slowly, and my gaze met a pair of eyes behind a black mask. Those eyes... they drew me in, mesmerizing and calming. For a moment, I forgot about the pain, the embarrassment, and the crowd. All I saw were those eyes filled with kindness and concern. My chest constricted, and my breath caught in my throat. Time seemed to freeze, and all I was aware of was the gentle pressure of his hand on my waist. Who was this stranger? Why did his touch feel like... I just couldn't find the right words.
I stared into his eyes, completely motionless. Those golden eyes drew me in.
Golden?
His eyes looked like golden flames. Was that possible?
I swallowed a spittle, hard. Those golden eyes charmed me. They burned like flames, captivating me. I'd never seen eyes like that before.
"Are you alright?" His stern voice asked, jolting me back to reality. He was bent beside me, holding my waist with one hand and my hand with the other. I noticed I was still on the floor, surrounded by the partygoers, including my stepmother and stepsisters, all gazing at me.
Slowly, I found my voice. "I'm...I'm fine...My Lord," I stuttered, looking down. I didn't dare meet his gaze again; it would be disrespectful.
"You are seriously injured," he said, holding up my hands. Blood seeped from the cuts, and I winced in pain. I'd forgotten about the injury until he mentioned it.
A maid approached us, and I recognized Lexi, my friend. "My Lord, let me take her," she said, her eyes filled with pity and fear.
The man looked at Lexi for a while before reluctantly releasing his grip on my waist, and Lexi helped me up. "Make sure she gets treated," he ordered, his voice strong and intimidating.
Before Lexi led me out, I caught a glimpse of the man's face again, or rather, his mask. I wondered who he was, but my thoughts were interrupted by Lexi's gentle touch.
Once we left the ballroom, the weight of embarrassment settled in, and my mind raced with dread. I could already imagine Mother's wrath for causing a scene at Maisie's celebration. My pulse quickened, and my breath came in short gasps, my body tensing in anticipation of the punishment that awaited me. Just then, I remembered the stranger who had been unexpectedly worried about me. Who was he, and why did he seem so concerned about me? I glanced back, but he was nowhere in sight, and neither was the ballroom. We were halfway down the stairs leading to the maid's room.
Meanwhile, the man, Deva, watched them leave, his attention fixed on the exit. Something about the maid's accident bothered him. He felt... worried. Strange. Why was he worried about a stranger?
Deacon, his right-hand man, tapped him on the shoulder, breaking the spell. "Your Highness," Deacon said, his voice respectful.
Deva's eyes locked onto Deacon's, and for a moment, his golden eyes shone unnaturally. He shut them, trying to regain control. His demons were stirring, threatening to surface. Deva took a deep breath, calming himself. "We need to leave," he said coldly, his voice sending shivers down Deacon's spine.
"Is...is....something wrong, my Lord?" Deacon asked, confused.
"No." He answered sharply, but that was a lie. His body was aching all of a sudden. "Let's go." Deva turned to the exit with his fist clenched.
Deacon nodded and trailed behind Deva, his footsteps quiet on the polished floor. Just as they were about to reach the exit, a vision in light pink intercepted them. A lady, her gown flowing like a cloud to the floor, stood before Deva, her pink mask glinting in the light. Deva's eyebrow arched in surprise, his expression otherwise impassive, as he halted in response to the sudden interruption.
Maisie curtised. "Good day, my Lord." She greeted with a smile. She was well aware of Deva's identity, having recognized him the moment he rushed to assist her stepsister, Emma, after the young woman's embarrassing fall amidst the party revelry.
Deva raised an eyebrow at her. "You are?" He asked curiosly. He hadn't anticipated anyone approaching him, let alone recognizing him, thanks to the anonymity provided by his mask. The only person he expected to be aware of his presence was Deacon, his trusted right-hand man.
Maisie's smile disappeared. He was asking who she was... Couldn't he recognise her? "Princess Maisie Woods, my Lord."
Oh! The princess he is betrothed to. Deva nodded and turned to leave, his impatience evident. He didn't want to spend another second talking to her. Maisie stepped forward, blocking his path once more. He raised an eyebrow at her, a frown appearing on his face. "Is there a problem, Lady Maisie?"
She looked down at her toes. "Not at all, my Lord. Are you... leaving?"
Deva's frown deepened, his features clouding over as he gazed at the timid lady before him. "Yes," he replied curtly, his tone devoid of warmth.
Maisie's gaze drifted upward, her eyes locking onto Deva's, the golden hue of his irises striking a contrast to the black mask that covered the rest of his face. Even partially obscured, his chiselled features and piercing eyes rendered him impossibly handsome, the mask barely concealing the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. "Can I walk you to your carriage?" She asked, her voice low.
Deva's countenance darkened, irritation etched on his features. He thought about how silly it was to agree to marry this woman. If it wasn't for the alliance his father wanted to form with her kingdom, he wouldn't even be talking to her. "I'm afraid I must decline, Lady Maisie. I beg to take my leave." He said with gritted teeth. Before Maisie could say anything, Deva had already walked past her with Deacon.
While they walked to the carriage, Deva suddenly remembered the maid from earlier. He remembered how his hands had held hers and how she had looked at his eyes. He remembered the feeling that came with holding her and how his demons had purred at their contact. What was wrong with him today? Why was he thinking of a slave? He couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. He'd never lost control like this before. Was it because of her? The mysterious maid with the captivating scent? No, it couldn't be. He'd been with countless women, but none had ever affected him like this. There was something about her, something about her drew him in, making him feel...different.