The chamber was silent, heavy with the fragrance of white lilies placed in tall golden vases. Their sweet scent should have filled the room with joy, but instead it clung to the air like suffocating perfume.
In the center sat a young woman before a gilded mirror. Her hands rested tightly in her lap, fingers trembling against the embroidered silk of her wedding gown.
She was breathtaking. Her beauty was the kind that poets struggled to capture, with long strands of white hair cascading like moonlight down her shoulders, and eyes that shimmered as though they held all the secrets of the night sky. The gown wrapped around her frame in layers of snow-white satin, each fold stitched with pearls. A veil, sheer as mist, lay folded on the vanity beside her.
But her reflection betrayed no joy.
Her lips, soft and pale, refused to curve into a smile. Her eyes carried shadows far older than her years. Tension pulled at the corners of her mouth, and a heaviness pressed into her brow. She looked not like a bride awaiting happiness, but a prisoner awaiting judgment.
Her breath caught, and she whispered faintly, as if to the mirror itself.
"Why… must it be me?"
The silence answered her with cruel indifference.
A sudden knock rattled the door. Before she could speak, it opened with a creak, and a manservant stepped halfway inside. His expression was stiff, formal. He bowed slightly, his voice flat.
"Oh… you are ready. You have to go now."
He didn't wait for her reply. His footsteps retreated down the corridor, leaving the door ajar.
The young woman's fingers clenched tighter around the folds of her gown. For a heartbeat she didn't move, as though rooted to the chair. Then the sound of softer footsteps approached. A maid entered hurriedly, a girl with auburn hair tied back beneath her linen cap.
"Milady Evelina," the maid whispered, her tone gentler than the man's. "It is time. The guests are waiting… and so is the Duke."
Evelina Duskbane. That was her name. Daughter of Viscount Adrian Duskbane. To the world, she was a lady of noble birth, a bride destined to marry one of the most powerful men in the empire. To herself, she was nothing more than a pawn.
Evelina lifted her gaze once more to the mirror. For a moment, she tried to imagine a smile. The corners of her lips quivered but fell again, unable to carry the weight of false happiness.
"I'm coming," she murmured.
The maid, Marien, carefully lifted Evelina's veil and lowered it over her head, letting the sheer fabric settle across her hair. Evelina stood, her movements graceful despite the heavy dress. The long train followed her like a river of white silk as she stepped toward the door.
The corridor stretched before her, lined with torches whose flames flickered restlessly, as though aware of the unease in her heart. Every step echoed against the stone floor, each one heavier than the last.
At the end of the hall, the great doors of the palace banquet hall loomed. From beyond, she could already hear the murmur of voices—nobles gathered to witness the union between the Duke of the North and the Viscount's daughter. Their words drifted like whispers of judgment.
The maid pushed open the doors.
The hall exploded with brilliance. Chandeliers of crystal blazed above, scattering golden light across walls draped in velvet banners. Rows of nobles stood along the sides, their silks and jewels glimmering. All eyes turned toward Evelina as she entered.
Gasps rippled softly through the crowd.
"She is beautiful," someone whispered.
"Like a snow maiden," said another.
But Evelina did not hear them. Her gaze was fixed forward, at the empty space where her groom had yet to appear. She stood alone at the altar, her hands clasped tightly before her, her heart pounding with dread.
The hall grew quiet, expectant. Evelina could feel every pair of eyes piercing her veil, wondering, judging. She forced her chin up, but inside, her soul trembled.
Then, as if to the crowd—or perhaps to herself—her thoughts spoke louder than her lips.
You are all wondering, she thought bitterly, why I am not smiling. Why this bride's face carries no happiness.
Her chest tightened.
Then let me tell you…
The memory surged unbidden. The hall before her blurred, the chandeliers dimmed, and in her mind, another scene unfolded. The laughter of children, the soft lull of a mother's voice, the cold cruelty of a father's hand.
Her voice echoed within, filled with pain.
This is who I am. This is the girl you see before you. And this is why I stand here today, not with joy… but with despair.
Her eyes fell shut, and for a brief moment, she let the past consume her.
The scent of lilies faded into the faint memory of another fragrance—her mother's perfume. The murmurs of nobles became the shrill voice of her stepmother. The grandeur of the hall dissolved into the cold walls of the viscount's estate.
There, in her mind's eye, the story began.
The story of Lady Evelina Duskbane.
A daughter unloved.
A child abandoned to cruelty.
A young woman forced into chains of silk and pearls.
And now—
A bride waiting for a groom she neither knew nor wanted.
Evelina's fingers curled tightly, nails biting into her palm beneath the veil. Her breath shivered against the silence of the hall.
She opened her eyes. The chandeliers returned, the nobles whispered, and the empty altar waited.
This was the moment her past and present collided.
And it was only the beginning.