THE WEDDING AND THE DANCE
The wedding day dawned not with celebration, but with silence. No laughter, no music drifting through the halls, only the cold efficiency of servants preparing for a union that was less a joining of hearts than a display of conquest.
Elara stood before a tall mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. The gown they had pressed upon her was spun from white silk, layered so finely it shimmered like water beneath moonlight. Tiny pearls stitched into the bodice caught the light with each breath, each reminder of her body's betrayal of calm. Her hair had been tamed into an intricate braid woven with silver thread, a crown of delicate blossoms resting against her dark locks.
She looked regal. Untouchable.
And utterly trapped.
Her fingers trembled as she touched the neckline, her chest tightening with every heartbeat. This was not her wedding. This was a performance staged for the kingdom, with her cast as the unwilling bride.
The chamber doors creaked open, and two attendants entered. They bowed slightly before stepping forward to escort her. Their eyes held neither kindness nor malice. Elara inhaled slowly, steadying herself, and followed.
The palace chapel loomed at the end of the hall. When the doors opened, the breath caught in her throat.
The space was vast, carved from marble and lined with soaring stained glass windows that painted the floor in shards of jewel-toned light. Hundreds had gathered nobles in their richest attire, clergy in robes heavy with embroidery, soldiers in polished armor that gleamed like fire under the light of a thousand candles.
And at the far end, waiting at the altar, was Adrien Valemont.
The king stood draped in black and silver, his crown a glint of gold against his dark hair. He looked every bit the sovereign, commanding, unyielding, and dangerous. His gaze never wavered as she was led down the aisle. He did not smile, but something sharper curved at the corner of his mouth, a spark that made her skin prickle.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Elara kept her eyes forward, refusing to let them linger on the curious faces of strangers who whispered as she passed. She focused on her breath, on her resolve: she would not be meek. She would not let them see her break.
When she reached the altar, Adrien extended his hand. She hesitated just long enough for the air to thicken then placed her fingers in his. His hand was warm, strong, enclosing hers completely. A shiver rippled through her, unwanted, but impossible to ignore.
The vows were spoken by the high priest, but it was Adrien's voice that claimed her. Low, resonant, threaded with command. When he said her name, it was not a recitation, it was a possession.
"Elara Quinn," he spoke, his eyes locked to hers. "Mine, by oath, by law, by destiny."
Her jaw tightened. When her turn came, her voice did not falter. "I stand as Elara Quinn. No crown can change that."
The words earned a sharp intake of breath from those gathered, but Adrien only studied her with a look that was not anger, but amusement. He seemed almost pleased by her defiance, as though each spark of resistance fed his interest rather than dulled it.
The ceremony ended, and with it, the pronouncement: they were wed.
But the day was far from finished.
That evening, a banquet stretched across the great hall, overflowing with roasted meats, spiced wines, and tables sagging beneath the weight of fruit and sweetmeats. Music swelled violins, flutes, and drums weaving together into a rhythm meant to celebrate. Laughter and chatter rose from the guests, eager to witness not only the king's triumph, but the behavior of his new bride.
Elara sat at his side, her back straight, her every movement watched. Adrien leaned toward her once, his lips near her ear, his voice a murmur meant only for her.
"You wear chains of silk tonight," he said softly, "but they bind all the same."
Elara turned her head slightly, enough to meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. "Chains can be broken."
His lips curved, the ghost of a smile. "Then break them. I'd like to see how."
Before she could retort, he rose, lifting his goblet. His voice filled the hall with ease. "To the prophecy fulfilled. To the kingdom strengthened." His eyes flicked back to her as he added, "And to the woman who will stand at my side."
The hall erupted in cheers, goblets raised high. Elara felt the weight of every eye upon her, heat crawling across her skin.
The music shifted, softening into a melody meant for dancing. Adrien extended his hand once more. "Dance with me, wife."
The word coiled around her, heavy and inescapable. She could not refuse, not here, not now. She rose, slipping her hand into his.
The moment they stepped onto the floor, the crowd fell back, a circle forming around them. The musicians quickened their tempo, and Adrien's hand slid firmly to her waist, guiding her into the rhythm.
His touch was steady, commanding. She moved in spite of herself, her body finding the steps even as her mind screamed against the intimacy. Each turn brought her closer, their bodies brushing, heat seeping through the layers of silk and velvet.
"Relax," Adrien murmured, his breath feathering against her temple. "The world is watching, but they only see what we give them."
"And what do you see?" she asked, her voice taut, almost a whisper.
He drew her nearer, so close she could feel the steady beat of his heart. His lips hovered near hers, not touching, yet burning with the promise of it. "I see a woman who does not yet realize the power she holds."
Her chest tightened, her pulse quickening in a traitorous rhythm that matched the music. The world blurred the nobles, the chandeliers, the murmurs. There was only him, his eyes, his breath, his presence that filled the space around her until she could hardly breathe.
And then, as the dance ended, he spun her outward, releasing her just enough that the crowd saw grace instead of the storm raging within her. Applause thundered through the hall.
Adrien bowed, a gesture both formal and intimate, his eyes never leaving hers. "You are mine," he said, low enough that only she heard. "But I will enjoy watching you fight it."
Elara stood tall, her chest heaving, her body alive with fury and something she refused to name. She had danced with the king, but it felt like something far more dangerous had begun.