Elena rose earlier than usual, still carrying the phantom memory of the masked man's crimson eyes from the night before. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince herself that it had been nothing more than imagination—an overactive mind conjuring nonsense out of exhaustion and wine. But she knew better. Somewhere deep inside her, she could still feel the shiver that his absence had left and his dizzying scent that still made her mind weak.
She was brushing out her long chestnut hair by the window when the sound of horse hooves broke the stillness. She immediately suspended her activity and rushed to the windows to check. From her vantage point, she could see a gilded carriage rolling up the graveled path, pulled by four pitch-black stallions. The crest emblazoned on its side glittered with the rising sun: the three-headed dragon of House Von Carstein.
Her heart shook within it's cage. That was the crest of the royal family!
The carriage stopped, and from it stepped a man clad in silver and scarlet livery—an emissary of the royal family. A chill shiver washed down her spine. No one from the palace came to the Voss household without reason. Infact, no one from the palace had ever visited their house.
By the time the butler ushered the messenger into the great hall, Sir Voss and his Lady were already waiting, seated stiffly upon the velvet chairs with wide smiles. Elena lingered at the corner of the stairs clutching her skirts as she listened with a shaky heart.
The messenger bowed deeply to the couple before reading from the official scroll of the King.
> "By decree of His Highness, Third Prince Damien Von Carstein, a marriage shall take place within the week. The chosen bride is Elena Beaufort, daughter of the late servant Gregory Beaufort. Her presence is required immediately within the royal palace as per this decree."
Elena's hand flew to her chest. The air left her lungs with lightening speed.
Sir Voss shot to his feet. His wife's lips curled in a sneer so sharp it could draw blood.
"Impossible!" Sir Voss barked, pacing. "The Prince cannot possibly want her!." he barked. "She is but a lowly maid of a traitor! It is impossible for the Grand Prince to desire her as his woman!."
"She is the daughter of a traitor," Lady Voss hissed,supporting her husband. "How dare he stain the royal bloodline with filth?"
The messenger's expression remained composed, though his eyes glinted with something like cruel amusement.
"It is not your place to question the will of a Prince," he said in a steely voice. "Once a Prince names a bride, the woman's consent is irrelevant as well as the family's or guardian's. To resist is treason as you well know. And treason, as you well know, is punishable by death—of the lady and her family or guardians."
At those words, silence thundered through the hall. Sir Voss' jaw clenched and he fiddled with his fingers before seating down quietly. Lady Voss' nails dug into the armrest of her chair, the fury making her hands tremble uncontrollably.
Elena could feel the hatred radiating from them both, directed entirely at her. The air grew heavy and suffocating busy she still listened on.
"Fetch the girl and her things!," Sir Voss snapped at at the servants though his eyes never left the Commissary who returned back the stare. They gleamed with something darker than resentment, much worse than envy and jealousy combined. A Prince had seen worth in her where he, a man of stature, had never bothered to look.
The messenger shook his head at the Lord's words.
"There will be no packing. The bride is to leave immediately as all provisions necessary shall be provided by the palace."
Elena barely had time to process before she was ushered forward. The maids had scuttled up the stairs and found her at the top. Without wanting their heads chopped by the Lord, they grabbed her by the arm and hurried her downstairs.
She so wanted to protest badly. She was marrying a Prince she hadn't even met. The mysterious dark prince that everyone feared. But her father's death warned her sternly in her mind like a burning brand. Disobedience meant death.
So she followed quietly.
Her slippers clicked gently against the marble floor as she followed the messenger out. She didn't dare glance back, though she could feel Lady Voss' poisonous gaze piercing her back like knives.
The moment she stepped into the carriage, the doors clanged shut with finality. The horses surged forward, carrying her away from the only life she had ever known.
---
The ride was long and the silence inside the carriage heavier than chains. Elena's hands twisted in her lap. The only thing she was able to take with her was her locket. As she held it's warm case in her hands, her thoughts swirled: the masked man, the ritualistic dance, the silver woman. Could it be connected? What weighed on her mind now was her marriage to the 'Mysterious dark prince.'
The palace loomed ahead at last—a sprawling fortress of obsidian stone and towering spires, crowned with banners of blood-red silk that snapped in the wind. Gargoyle statues perched upon its battlements and their fanged mouths froze in silent roars.
The gates opened without a word, and the carriage rolled into a courtyard vast enough to house armies. Servants in muted colors lined the path with their eyes sweeping the tarred ground.
Elena was led through the sprawling halls that smelled faintly of incense and iron, until at last she stood before a set of colossal gilded doors.
"His Majesty, King Alexandria Von Carstein," the herald announced, pushing them open.
Elena swallowed the lump in her throat and entered. The throne room was a cathedral of shadows and grandeur. She remembered it as the place her father had been dragged and sentenced to death by boiling. The memory of the place rushed back heavily on her even though the court now looks nothing like it did fifteen years ago.
The King sat upon a throne carved of black diamond and gems with a crown weaved with golden pearls resting upon his silver hair. His eyes, dark brown and cold, studied her with the kind of intensity that could shake even the strongest man.
Elena dropped into a deep curtsy, her forehead nearly touching the cold marble floor.
"Rise, child," the King's voice boomed, echoing like thunder rolling across mountains.
She obeyed, trembling as she rose to her feet.
"So you are the one my son has chosen," he said, his gaze boring into her. "You shall reside within his quarters until the wedding. Do not shame the name you are about to bear, maiden."
"Y-yes, Your Majesty," Elena replied the King with her gaze fixed to the floor
With a wave of his hand, the audience was dismissed.
She was escorted to the Prince's quarters—if such a word could contain what she beheld.
It was less a residence and more a city within the palace walls. Towering spires rose into the mist, bridges arched over moonlit gardens, and entire wings of marble halls stretched farther than her eyes could follow. Yet despite its beauty, an eerie stillness clung to the place. No laughter, no bustling servants, only silence thick enough to hear her own heart pounding.
The few maids who worked there helped her bathe, dress and prepare for her lunch with the Prince. They moved quickly, never meeting her eyes, as though afraid of her presence.
At last, dressed in a gown of deep emerald silk, she was led to a grand dining hall. A long table stretched across the chamber, adorned with silver candelabras and platters of untouched delicacies.
She sat, her hands folded tightly under the gleaming mahogany table.
Then she felt it, someone was approaching. As the footsteps got closer, her heart beat louder and louder within her rib cage.
Elena rose swiftly and fell to her knees before the doors opened.
Prince Damien Von Carstein entered.
He paused before her, and for a moment the hall felt utterly silent, as though even time dared not intrude. Elena felt the entire dining hall go freezing cold just from his presence alone. The off shoulder dress that clung to her skin wasn't helping matters either.
"Rise," he commanded softly before going to the head of the table to sit.
She obeyed, trembling. As soon as she settled in her seat, their eyes met.
And in that instant, a wave of déjà vu slammed into her. The memory of the dance, the intoxicating fragrance...
Her breath caught. Cold blood flooded her veins, yet her skin burned with fear as she struggled so desperately to wave the feeling aside.
What is this? I have never even met the prince before so why am I feeling like this? she asked herself. She immediately turned away her gaze and stared down hard at the table as if it owed her answers.
Damien's lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, though it never reached his eyes. His dark brown eyes like his father's glinted softly under the chandelier light making it appear like black diamonds.
"Welcome to my palace, My Lady," he said as he moved closer to her, taking her chin in his long slender fingers.
Elena stared into his dark, obsidian eyes. They were truly mesmerizing like a force pulling her into eternal darkness. As she held his gaze, she saw a flicker of red cross his eyes in less than a second. Before she could react, he leaned in and kissed her square on the lips in a hungry, searing kiss.