Hands bang at Elsie's chamber door, and a voice that is so familiar to her floats in with urgency. "Elsie, they are here. Come out! Aren't you ready yet?"
A sigh slithers past Elsie's dry lips, everything feels dry, especially her mouth as she opens it to call back to Mise. "I'm coming, you can go."
Her eyes drag down over her body reflecting in the mirror, heart thudding a dangerous rhythm inside her chest, against the ribs. She doesn't know what will be brought to her for doing something as absurd as wearing mourning clothes for her own mate meeting.
It could be close to a death sentence, maybe a slap to her face in front of the King of Leivca, her future husband, but Elsie couldn't care less.
"I will accompany you, my Elsie." Mise's voice rings through the walls of her chamber, making her jaw tick. A flash of yesterday's event floods into her mind— Mise's usually gentle hand pushing Elsie rather harshly down on the dressing table chair, forcing her to dress out of the robe she chose to spite her father.
If she lets Mise stay here for long, she's definitely going to crush Elsie's intentions. She cannot risk that. "No need, Mise. You can go." Calling Mise by her name leaves a burn on her tongue.
There's a few moments of silence from the other end of the door, and Elsie can almost see the crumbled eyebrows of Mise, wrinkles styling her frown in Elsie's mind's eyes. She clenches her hands around the table, eyes darting to the door for a reply.
For a second Elsie thought she was not going to say anything. But, then comes her timid voice. "Thank you, your highness." She bites on his bottom lip to not let the whine that tries to slip away.
Relief washes over her at hearing Mise's footsteps getting muffled by the space that has been created between them by their journey.
The royals are here. She reminds herself. There's no time to waste standing here now. She has to get out and in front of the King before anyone here will see her committing this sin.
With a deep intake of breath, Elsie shuffles toward the door, hands hovering over the doorknob for a flick of a moment before she urges herself to yank the door open. She can't be a coward now.
Hallways are all empty with no human companionship when she steps out. She doubts the maids are all in the royal kitchen stumbling over their own feet to get the work done before the feast. A bitterness creeps up into her throat at the thought.
As Elsie strides through the empty hallways, the weight of her decision presses heavily on her shoulders. She knows she's defying tradition, risking the wrath of not only his father but also the horrendous King of Leivca. But the thought of conforming to a marriage she doesn't want is unbearable.
Her footsteps echo against the polished marble floors, each sounds a reminder of the path she's chosen. Elsie rounds a corner and sees the grand doors leading to the courtyard.
Drawing a deep breath, Elsie walks for the entrance, holding her head high as she does, determination burning in her gaze. She approaches the people present in the courtyard, every step a defiance against the expectations placed upon her.
A shiver spider-walks down her spine when Elsie's eyes stumble upon her father's silhouette. Forgive me, father. Her throat bobs in a gulp she takes around the growing lump of rock inside her throat.
Elsie stands behind her family and the maids along with the councils, she watches as the horses emerge from the thick snow, their breath forming clouds in the chilly air. The sound of hooves against the frozen ground echoes through the courtyard as the magnificent creatures approach the palace gates.
Each horse is adorned with elaborate saddles and bridles, a testament to the wealth and power of their riders. Elsie's gaze follows the procession as it draws closer, anticipation building in her chest.
At the head of the group rides the King of Leivca, his presence commanding and regal despite the harsh conditions. Behind him, his companions follow closely, their faces obscured by scarves and hoods to protect against the biting cold.
When the horses come to a stop in front of the palace gates, Elsie feels a sense of apprehension wash over her. Though she knows that this meeting will shape the course of her future, she cannot help but feel a twinge of dread crumbling her demeanor at the prospect of what lies ahead.
The King's eyes fall on her and it can't seem to stray away from her own. It manages to knock the breath out of Elsie's lungs, though she stands tall, determination burning in her veins.
Elsie draws in a shaky breath as the horses come to a stop a few feet ahead of the courtyard. It reminds Elsie of the day when the guards of Leivca came with the jewels and pearls, gold and silks.
Her father wanted her to dress in them, and be elegant and she thinks she's nowhere near oozing the power and prestige she's supposed to give away as the Princess of Sevannah, now all but clad in mourning attire.
Elsie's broken off from her thoughts weaving in together in a long streaks of thread as she feels the heat of the King's stare. She drags her eyes up, breath hitching in her throat when she locks eyes with the almighty King of Leivca.
Her hands close around the side of her robe, the black silk soaking in the wetness of sweat springing in her hands. Elsie's omega whines and mules inside her for reasons unknown, making her sink her teeth into the plush skin of her bottom lip.
"Welcome, Welcome, my lord. What a pleasure to have you here." Despite how hard her father tries, his voice still comes out as distant unlike how he wanted it to be, friendly and amiable.
Elsie wants to laugh.
"It's actually my pleasure to be here, my King." Comes the deep voice rolling out of those beautiful, pink, petal-like lips and strikes Elsie right on her heart. The King's lips stretch into a light smile. Eyes which are as dark as the midnight sky itself not giving any of his sentiments away.
Elsie's mouth runs dry when he catches the King's eyes again, legs feeling like jelly all of a sudden. She fists her robe tightly, gulping as she averts her gaze down to the whiteness of the shiny marble floor.
Her father's laugh feels like a distant noise to her ears which feels like they've been filled by cotton. Elsie's heart thumps hard inside her ribcage like a wild beast when the people before her start to turn around, blood running cold inside her veins when she hears her father saying. "My daughter's getting ready inside."
The words hang in the air, and Elsie feels the weight of his father's expectations pressing down on her like a lead cloak. Every nerve in her body screams with tension, urging her to flee, to escape the suffocating grasp of tradition and duty.
But she stands her ground, a flicker of defiance igniting within her. Elsie refuses to be shackled by the chains of a predetermined fate, to be traded like a commodity in a game of power and politics.
With a steely resolve, Elsie lifts her chin, meeting the penetrating gaze of the King once more. Despite the tension coiling in her stomach, she forces herself to maintain a facade of composure, to project an image of strength and determination.
The King's eyes linger on her for a moment longer, a silent exchange passing between them—an unspoken challenge, a clash of wills. Elsie can feel the weight of the King's gaze bearing down on her, with an intensity that sends a shiver down her spine.
But she refuses to falter, to bow beneath the weight of that piercing gaze. Instead, she squares her shoulders, steeling herself for whatever comes next. The King cuts his eyes away from Elsie as if unable to look at her any longer.
And with that ember burning brightly within her, Elsie stands ready to face whatever destiny has in store. Even if it's to be at the receiving end of her father's wrath.
But all that resolve only stays for a second as her father swirls back, his eyes landing right on her. The gasp that leaves his mouth makes a wince threaten to slip past Elsie's lip which she swallows down her groggy throat.
"Elsie?" Her father's voice is not more than a whisper, betrayal swimming in his eyes. He looks as if Elsie has dared to slap him right across his face.
"Father…" I'm sorry. She wants to say. But she leaves those words locked inside her chest and lets the unspoken hanging in the air between them.
"You—" He swirls toward the King of Leivca in a flash as if he realizes the weight of the sin his daughter has committed. "Your Majesty." He falls on his knees, the sound of his knees touching the marble floor echoes through the courtyard and through the walls of Elsie's ears, heart crumbling inside her chest at the sight in front of her.
Before a thought could sink its teeth into her brain, Elsie's trodding forward to get to her father. "Father!" she calls out, falling on the ground beside him. "No!"
"Please forgive us for my daughter's shameful doings, my Lord. Please forgive her—"
"Please do stand, My King. Don't do this." Elsie's eyes go wide upon hearing the calmness in the King's voice.
What?