Velvet curtains shrouded the windows of Prince Rifael's chamber, shutting out the morning sun as though he could command the heavens themselves. The air inside was heavy with incense, sweet enough to make the lungs ache. Gold gleamed from every corner—goblets, filigreed tables, statues of forgotten gods stolen from temples. Yet the prince paced as though trapped in a cage.
Ariel's face lingered in his mind.
The curve of her cheek, the fire in her eyes that reminded him of summer sunlight. His sister. His blood. His forbidden jewel.
He pressed his hand to the wall, fingers curling against the velvet wallpaper until it nearly tore. She should never have been given to him. That cursed Duke. That monster.
Rifael's lip curled. His attendants entered at his snap of fingers—three women draped in gauzy silks. Each carried some fragment of Ariel in her features: one with hair the same shade of gold, another with a tilt of her chin that mimicked hers, another with lips almost, almost right.
They bowed low. He did not smile.
"Stand closer," he murmured, his voice like honey hiding a knife.
They obeyed, trembling under the weight of his gaze. He lifted one's chin, studied her face with an expression caught between hunger and disgust. The resemblance faltered in the wrong light. His hand tightened until she whimpered.
"You are shadows," he hissed, shoving her back so she stumbled to the marble floor. "Do you understand? Reflections. Nothing more."
The women lowered their heads, too afraid to speak. His laugh, low and cold, filled the chamber.
"When she is mine," he whispered to himself, to them, to the dark, "the world will know she was never meant for Maximilliam. Never."
His goblet clattered to the floor, crimson wine spilling like blood across the gold.
---
The following dawn painted the countryside in pale silver. Ariel stirred awake to the warmth of sunlight filtering through tall windows. She blinked at the glow, at the delicate lace curtains that swayed with the breeze. Her heart thudded with a strange unease. Had the Duke really entered her chamber last night—or had it been her tired imagination?
She touched her cheek, still damp from yesterday's tears. Compose yourself, she told her reflection in the glass. You must not tremble over shadows.
A knock, soft yet firm.
"Duchess Ariel," came a maid's voice, muffled but polite. "We must prepare you. The Duke has ordered our departure within two hours."
"Enter," Ariel answered, smoothing her nightdress quickly.
The maids bustled in, carrying gowns of pale silk embroidered with silver thread. Brushes and ribbons glimmered in their hands. They moved around her like a gentle storm, voices hushed in awe rather than chatter. Fingers combed through her hair, coaxing it into golden waves that spilled over her shoulders. Another laced her bodice with such care it felt almost reverent.
Ariel caught their lingering stares in the mirror.
"Why do you look at me so?" she asked, her lips curling into a shy smile.
"Forgive us, my lady," one maid whispered. "It is only that… you shine so brightly. Like a goddess stepped down to earth."
Heat rushed into Ariel's cheeks. "You flatter me too much. Without you, I would be lost." Her gaze softened as it found Rina, the maid she trusted most. "Especially you, Rina. I am glad you came with me. You make me feel… less alone."
Rina bowed, though her eyes were warm with something more than duty. "I swore to follow you wherever fate takes you, my lady. I am your maid, but more than that—your friend."
The words clung to Ariel's heart like balm. If not for them, I would feel like a doll dressed for display. She pressed her lips together and allowed herself a quiet laugh.
When the last ribbon was tied, she stood before the mirror. A Duchess stared back at her, regal and untouchable. Yet inside, her pulse fluttered like a bird desperate for freedom.
---
The carriage rattled as it rolled down the stone road, its wheels biting into the earth. Banners snapped in the wind, guards riding in formation, swords flashing at their sides.
Inside, silence pressed thickly.
Ariel sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the silk of her skirts trembling with every bump of the road. Across from her sat Duke Maximilliam of Drakin—her husband. His cloak cast half his face in shadow, his broad shoulders filling the carriage as though the space itself bent around him.
He had not spoken since they departed. His gaze was distant, his jaw tight, as if carved from the same stone as the mountains they passed.
Ariel's throat ached with unsaid words. She wanted to ask what he thought of the journey, of her, of this marriage forced upon them. But whenever his eyes flicked toward her, cool and unreadable, her courage withered.
Then the world shattered.
Horses shrieked. The carriage jolted violently, throwing Ariel sideways. Steel rang against steel outside, men shouting.
Her breath caught. "Duke!" she gasped, clutching the seat as the carriage swayed. "What is happening?"
Maximilliam's eyes, suddenly sharp as blades, locked onto hers. His voice was low, steady, unshaken.
"Stay inside."
He flung open the door. Two soldiers rushed to shield Ariel, their blades drawn. The clash of battle roared outside. Through the window she saw dark figures pouring from the treeline—mercenaries, armored in mismatched steel, their faces twisted with hunger.
"Kill the Duke!" their leader bellowed.
Maximilliam descended into the chaos like a phantom cloaked in fury. His sword flashed once, twice, leaving arcs of crimson in the air. He moved with lethal precision, each strike fatal, each motion honed to perfection. The earth grew wet beneath fallen bodies, blood seeping into the dust.
Ariel pressed her hands over her ears, tears stinging her eyes. She had never seen war, never smelled death so raw. The metallic tang clung to her tongue, choking her. This is the man I married? A noble Duke—or a monster in flesh?
The mercenary leader was dragged before Maximilliam, his arms bound, face swollen from the fight.
"My lord," Roxan, the Duke's secretary, said as he wiped his blade, "shall we take him for questioning?"
Maximilliam's lips curled into a smile too sharp to be kind.
"No. Kill him here. Send his head to Prince Rifael as a gift."
The condemned man begged, screamed—but the order was carried out without hesitation. Steel fell. His voice was silenced.
Ariel turned away, bile rising in her throat. The world outside quieted once more, save for the drip of blood into the soil.
---
By the time their carriage rolled through the gates of Drakin Manor, Ariel's heart still raced like a hunted bird.
The estate loomed vast before her—dark towers rising against the sky, banners whipping in the dusk wind. Servants lined the courtyard, bowing low as their Duke strode past, every step radiating command.
An elderly woman, her back straight despite her years, stepped forward. Her hair, though streaked with white, was bound neatly, her eyes bright with unfeigned warmth.
"Welcome home, Duke Maximilliam," she said, then turned to Ariel with a bow. "And welcome, Duchess. You must be weary. A bath has been prepared, and afterward, a meal."
"I will not eat," Maximilliam answered curtly.
"My lord," the woman—Seena, head of the household—ventured gently, "you grow thinner by the day. At least—"
"Not tonight. I have work." His eyes flicked briefly toward Ariel. For a heartbeat, the harsh lines of his face softened. "Rest well."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the manor's shadowed corridors.
Ariel stared after him, her lips parting, words too soft to escape. "Please… be safe."
Seena touched her hand, squeezing gently. "Do not be afraid, child. He may seem carved from stone, but I raised him with my own hands. Beneath that stern face, he carries a heart softer than he dares let the world see. For you, he even smiles."
"Smiles?" Ariel echoed in disbelief. "I have yet to see it."
Seena only chuckled and guided her deeper into the manor. They stopped before a chamber where silk draped from the ceiling, candles flickered in golden sconces, and a bed strewn with petals gleamed like an unspoken promise.
Ariel froze, heat rushing to her cheeks. Her chest tightened. This is… our bridal chamber.
"The Duke will not return tonight," Seena said kindly, mistaking her look for fear. "Rest, my lady. Tomorrow will bring much to prepare."
When she was gone, silence pressed close, broken only by the soft flutter of curtains in the evening breeze.
Ariel stood alone in the glow of candlelight, staring at the bed as if it were both sanctuary and snare. Her fingers brushed the silk coverlet, trembling.
Am I truly ready? she wondered, lowering herself onto the mattress. No… not yet. But one day, I will tell him. I will find the courage.
She pulled the covers close and let her eyes slip shut, though sleep came slowly. Outside, the night deepened, wrapping the manor in shadows—shadows that whispered of secrets yet to unfold.