They stand in eerie silence, the wind whispering secrets among the frost-kissed trees as Elsie's heart weighs heavy in her chest, Each beat was a sorrowful song, echoing through the empty land.
"Why the mourning robe then?" The king's question pierces the stillness like a sudden gust, his head whipping around to fix Elsie with a piercing gaze that seems to strip away all pretense. "If you're not a widow," the words hang in the air, a question veiled in curiosity, leaving Elsie feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath the relentless scrutiny of the king's penetrating stare.
"I—" Elsie cuts herself off, for a moment not knowing what to say, the words catching in her throat before she gathers the courage to continue. "It was a protest. Against you and my father," she admits, the bitterness dripping in her tone. A bitter laugh escapes her lips as she adds, "It wasn't a wise decision, was it, My King?" Her eyes flit up to the king, meeting his pearly dark gaze, something inside her chest aches.
The king stays silent, his lack of response creating a deafening void in the space between them, refusing to offer any words to Elsie. In that pregnant silence, Elsie feels the weight of their tension hanging heavy in the air, an abyss separating them despite their forced union.
When Elsie comes to the realization that the king is not going to graze her with a reply, she exhales a weary sigh and asks, "What do you wish to talk to me about, Your Majesty?"
The King turns fully and faces her, his piercing gaze locking onto Elsie's. "I wanted to make the alliance between us clear," he declares, the heaviness of his words fall on Elsie in an unpleasant way. She now's the life she has ahead which is to be spend with the King of Leivca will be anything but pleasant or will there be a life for her live, really?
She wants to laugh at her fate. How ironic that she, who once dreamed of marrying for love, now finds herself hrust headfirst into a purely strategic alliance of marriage. The bitter taste of absurdity coats her tongue as she grapples with the harsh reality of her circumstances, her once lofty ideals dashed against the cold, hard truth of her duty necessity.
"What is it, My King?" Elsie asks, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty, wondering what the King's intentions may be as they stand in the chilly embrace of the fading light.
She doesn't know what to make of all of this. But what comes out of the King's mouth next catches her off guard.
"I want to assure you that you will be taken care of and respected in my Kingdom, as you will rule beside me, with me. I want to personally ask you to be my mate, to be my wife," the king says, his words carrying both sincerity and sobriety. Elsie's heart aches at the weight of the king's words, her omega trembling with a mix of uncertainty and longing, caught between duty and desire.
Elsie shakes her head, no, she can't do this, she can't be fooled by soft-spoken words. "You know you will never love me, Your Majesty," Elsie breathes, her voice tinged with denial. At that moment, standing before the Almighty King of Leivca in the setting rays of the sun, she realizes the futility of longing for a love that can never be, resigned to the reality of their union being one out of duty rather than affection.
"Do you want me to bear your mark just to kill me afterward like you killed your wife?" Elsie's whispered accusation pierces through the tense silence, reaching the king's ears and igniting a reaction she never anticipated. A low growl rumbles from the king's throat, his eyes flashing red with anger and resentment. Elsie's words hangs heavily in the air, casting a shadow over their already strained relationship.
"How dare you!" The king's voice echoes through the land with blazing fury, his fangs bared like a predator about to strike. His eyes blaze with the intensity of a raging inferno, the flames of anger consuming his usually composed demeanor. With a guttural growl, he clenches his fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white, hands shaking by his sides.
Elsie visibly flinches back, her heart dropping to her stomach like a stone sinking into the abyss. The king's ferocious growl strikes Elsie like a physical blow, leaving her reeling and vulnerable, her brain forgetting even the mere act of thinking.
Elsie curses her own audacity to speak to the King in such a tactless way. What madness had possessed her to utter such provocative words directly to the almighty King of Leivca? The reality of her reckless actions bears down on her like a crashing wave, drowning her in a sea of regret and apprehension. She can barely understand the extent of her stupidity, fearing the harsh consequences that may follow her impulsive outburst.
The king's hand flies to Elsie's neck, wrapping around it in a vice-like grip, choking her with an intensity that steals her breath away. "How dare you speak to me like that?" The Monarch snarls, his voice dripping with venomous rage. "You are nothing but someone who lives with a hideous heart who believes they know everything when they know nothing! What do you arrogant bastards know about me and my Queen?" Each word is a searing lash, branding Elsie with the sting of her own recklessness as she struggles against the suffocating hold of her betrothed.
Oh moon, how foolish Elsie is? How can she talk to the king like this?
"Ph— Please, m— kh— kingh—" Elsie stutters out, her voice barely a whisper before the king's grip tightens around her neck like a vice. Before she can muster the strength to utter another word, the king's hand recoils as if scorched, his eyes widening in shock at his own sudden violence. Elsie staggers back, clutching her throat with both her hands and gasping for air, the king too stumbles, her own disbelief mirroring the King's is a blur of colors in her tear smeared eyes.
Elsie battles to catch her breath, lungs on fire, but it's the King who appears as if he's the one who got suffocated, not Elsie. His eyes widen in shock, a mixture of horror and disbelief contorting his features as he recoils from the sudden realization of his own actions.
"No. No. No. I didn't do it. No!" The king's words spill out in a frantic stream, his voice laced with denial as he retreats, his steps faltering as he walks backward. Panic and desperation drips from his tone as he tries to distance himself from the shocking reality of his own actions.