The sound of drums grew louder, deep and rhythmic, vibrating through the floor beneath Charlotte's feet. She set the teacup aside and hugged herself, every nerve in her body screaming that this was not her world, not her life, and definitely not her wedding.
Yet the women around her moved with brisk certainty, gathering silks and ornaments as though this moment had been planned for years. The maids rushed to the wardrobe, pulling out layers of fabric that shimmered under candlelight.
"Quickly," one muttered, holding out a gown of ivory and gold. "The prince's men are almost here."
Charlotte took a step back, her palms clammy. "I'm not wearing that. This isn't my wedding. I'm not marrying anyone."
Her supposed mother placed both hands on her shoulders, her eyes glistening with something between fear and pleading. "Charlotte, please. You must not resist. Salvador does not tolerate defiance. If you anger him, if he suspects anything is amiss… we will all pay with our lives."
Her voice cracked at the last word. Charlotte froze. This wasn't just formality. These people were genuinely terrified of the prince.
One of the maids brought forward a box of jewelry. The lid opened to reveal a heavy crown-like headpiece glittering with rubies. She muttered, "You will look like a queen, my lady. His Highness will be pleased."
Charlotte almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but the sound caught in her throat. Her gaze drifted once more to the portrait on the wall. The painted version of herself seemed to mock her with calm indifference.
Why me? Why here? Where is the real Charlotte they think I am?
Her thoughts were cut short by the sharp sound of hooves. The drums had ceased. Outside, the clatter of armored boots and neighing horses echoed in perfect rhythm.
The woman she was meant to call mother stiffened. "He is here."
The maids froze in place, bowing their heads as if the very sound of his arrival demanded reverence.
Charlotte's chest tightened painfully. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to find an exit, to do anything but face the man they were forcing her toward. Yet the door opened before she could even move.
A soldier stepped in, clad in black armor polished to a sheen. His voice was deep and unbending. "The prince awaits his bride."
The maids lowered their eyes. None of them dared to speak.
Charlotte felt her throat dry. The soldier's gaze landed on her, firm and calculating. Without another word, he gestured for her to follow.
Her supposed mother squeezed her hand. "Be strong, my child."
Charlotte wanted to shout that she wasn't her child, that this was all a mistake. But the soldier's stare was too sharp, and the fear in the room pressed down on her until she could hardly breathe.
Step by step, she followed him.
The corridors of the manor stretched endlessly, torches flickering against stone walls. Every corner was guarded by men in black, their faces hidden behind helmets, their movements precise and silent.
Finally, they stepped out into the courtyard.
Charlotte's breath caught. The night sky above was velvet dark, pierced by a thousand stars. Torches lined the path, casting a golden glow on the arriving procession. At the center stood a carriage like nothing she had ever seen before. Carved from obsidian wood and trimmed in silver, it gleamed ominously under the torchlight. Two massive black horses pawed at the ground, their eyes fierce, their breath misting in the cold air.
And then she saw the so called prince.
Prince Salvador.
He was taller than she expected, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding even from a distance. A cloak of midnight silk draped from his shoulders, brushing the ground as he moved. His dark hair fell in loose waves, framing a face carved with sharp lines and unreadable expression.
But it was his eyes that made her falter. Cold, piercing, as if they could strip away every secret she tried to hide.
He stood beside the carriage, unmoving, watching her with the stillness of a predator. Around him, soldiers kept their heads bowed, none daring to meet his gaze.
Charlotte's steps slowed. Her heart thudded painfully. For a moment, she thought she might collapse under the sheer weight of his presence.
The soldier beside her cleared his throat and muttered, "Your Highness, your bride."
The words made Charlotte's stomach flip. Bride. As if she truly belonged to this place, to this stranger.
Salvador's gaze lingered on her for a long, unbearable moment. His expression betrayed nothing, yet she felt as if he had seen straight through her panic, her disbelief, her refusal to accept this world.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, rich, and chillingly calm. "So, you are the one they chose for me."
Charlotte's lips parted, but no sound came. Her hands trembled at her sides, yet she forced herself to meet his stare.
She had fallen into another world, trapped in another woman's life, and now she stood before the man everyone feared.
Prince Salvador.
The man she was supposed to marry.