The heady scent of jasmine floated in the air, mingling with the sweet aromas of roasted figs and spiced wine. The banquet hall, vast and opulent, was illuminated by hundreds of chandeliers suspended from golden and marble vaults. The soft, shimmering light reflected off silver goblets and richly decorated plates piled high with tender meats, candied fruits, and spiced bread.
The murmur of noble conversations blended with the tinkling of cutlery, forming a refined and carefully crafted melody. Everything here exuded luxury, power… and illusion.
Elena felt suffocated.
Seated in the place of honor at the center of the long ebony table, she felt as trapped as if her wrists had been bound in chains. Her posture was straight, her smile practiced, yet every word exchanged around her made her stomach churn.
She lowered her gaze to her plate. A perfect meal. A feast prepared by the finest chefs in the kingdom, meant to celebrate the eve of her union. But she had no appetite. She felt nothing.
A duchess with powdered curls spoke, fanning herself lazily.
— The duchess: "Prince Adrian is an exceptional match. I had the privilege of seeing him at a tournament. Such a strong and charismatic man!"
Another man, immensely wealthy, couldn't resist sharing his own thoughts on the prince:
— The other man: "A man who has conquered more hearts than battles," he murmured mockingly from a little further down the table.
A few muffled laughs broke out, and the princess felt her stomach tighten even more.
They spoke of her as if she weren't there. As if she were merely a chess piece, a bargaining chip in an alliance. She gripped her wine goblet tightly, trying to ignore the heavy gaze of her mother, seated at the far end of the table.
Queen Isabella remained silent. She didn't need to speak. Her silence was a more effective warning than any words could be.
A man in his forties, who had served as the queen's advisor for seven years, turned his gaze toward the princess.
— The advisor: "Your Highness, you must be excited, no?" he said, a curious smile playing at the corner of his lips.
The young woman's heart clenched. She felt many things, but excitement was not among them.
She had to lie. Again. As always. So, she slowly raised her eyes and offered a graceful smile.
— Elena: "Of course. It is a great honor for me." she replied in a measured tone.
A wave of relief swept across the table. As if the slightest doubt on her part could taint this perfect evening. But in her mind, a silent scream echoed.
"I don't want this honor. I don't want this life," she repeated over and over, a cry of despair trapped in her throat that she could never release, not here, not in the midst of this assembly. They cared nothing for what she wanted. After all, she had been born for one sole purpose: to ensure the continuity of the kingdom.
She forced herself to lift the goblet to her lips.
She let the wine slide over her tongue, but instead of soothing her unease, the bitterness of the drink seemed to anchor her even more deeply in this gilded prison. Her gaze was drawn to the flickering flames of the chandeliers, their reflections dancing on golden plates and luxurious fabrics. Each glimmer of light reminded her of the inescapable trap closing around her.
She was promised to Prince Adrian. An alliance sealed by duty and the interests of the state. A union where love had no place, where she was nothing more than a political instrument, a vital piece on the kingdom's chessboard. Since birth, she had been taught the art of obedience, sacrifice, and silence. And yet, tonight, as the idle chatter of the court swirled around her like a poisoned whisper, a quiet rebellion stirred in her chest.
She wanted to stand up, to shatter the goblet in her hands, to scream at all these indifferent faces that she refused this fate. But the only thing she would break was herself.
A hand gently rested on her wrist.
— The duchess: "My dear, you are very quiet."
The duchess with powdered curls offered her a polite smile, her eyes scrutinizing Elena's every move, searching for the slightest misstep, the tiniest crack in the mask she was forced to wear.
Elena swallowed her distress and lifted her chin slightly.
— Elena: "I am simply savoring the moment, Duchess."
Another lie. One of the many they expected from her. The noblewoman seemed satisfied with the response and turned away to comment on the cup of a young knight seated nearby.
But the pressure on Elena did not ease.
Across the table, her mother, Queen Isabella, had never stopped watching her. Her face remained serenely cold, a perfect mask of authority and control. Since childhood, Elena had learned to fear that gaze. It betrayed neither anger nor affection, only an unyielding expectation.
A single mistake, a single moment of hesitation, and she would feel the Queen's silent reproach fall upon her like an invisible blade.
The advisor, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying the exchange. He swirled his wine in his goblet, watching her with that smirking expression that gave him the air of a predator.
— The advisor: "It's only natural to be a little nervous, of course. After all, tomorrow marks the beginning of a new era for the kingdom. Your marriage will unite two of the greatest powers in this region. What a blessing for our people!"
Elena nodded with measured slowness, not allowing herself the slightest sign of displeasure. She knew he wasn't really speaking to her. It was a disguised reminder, a subtle way to ensure she wouldn't stray from the path laid out for her.
— Elena: "A blessing, indeed."
Her own voice felt foreign to her.
The rest of the banquet continued in a whirlwind of elegant exchanges and veiled flattery. The dishes passed before her untouched, and every smile exchanged around her felt more false than the last.
Then came the moment she dreaded.
The musicians had taken their place on the gilded stage, and the first notes of a graceful melody rose into the perfumed air. The hall gradually fell silent, and all eyes turned toward her.
— The advisor: "Your Highness, your fiancé is not present tonight, but that shouldn't prevent you from opening the ball." he declared with false benevolence.
A murmur of approval rippled through the assembly. Her heart clenched. She did not want to dance. Not tonight. Not for them. But her refusal did not exist.
She rose with studied grace and stepped toward the center of the room. The silence became almost suffocating.
A knight bowed slightly before her and extended his hand. He was a man with pleasant features, his name escaping her, but he had undoubtedly been carefully chosen to avoid any breach of propriety.
Elena placed her hand in his, and the dance began. At first, she forced herself to follow the steps with the precision she had been taught. But little by little, reality began to distort.
The music faded, replaced by the roar of her thoughts. Her breath felt too short, her corset too tight, the hall too stifling. She saw the faces turning around her, watching, judging, expecting.
A future already written. A gilded cage. Her heart pounded violently against her chest, but no one saw it. No one heard it.
She was still smiling. And yet, deep inside, something had just broken.
Tomorrow, she would become Prince Adrian's wife. And tomorrow, she would die a little more.
But tonight, as the dance swept her into a whirlwind of shadows and gold, a dangerous thought took root in her mind.
Hope. A tiny, foolish hope.
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
The
♥
Twilight
Kiss
♥
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
As Elena twirled beneath the glittering chandeliers, presenting the world with the perfect image of a disciplined and graceful princess, another dance, far more subtle was unfolding at the far end of the hall.
Around Queen Isabella, a circle of nobles and dignitaries had gathered, like planets orbiting a sun too powerful to be ignored. They were there, the courtiers, the opportunists, the strategists, and the ambitious, all engaged in the same invisible waltz: the dance of words, of flattery, of alliances woven in the shadows.
The Queen, seated in an intricately carved chair bearing the kingdom's crest, was motionless. Her posture was impeccable, her back straight, her hands crossed with an elegance that bordered on severity. Her face, frozen in an expression of absolute composure, betrayed neither emotion nor fatigue. And yet, she ruled here as surely as she did from her throne.
Every noble who approached knew they had to choose their words carefully.
The first to speak was the Duke of Veldran, a large man with a round belly, whose wealth came from the silver mines of the North. His tone was honeyed, his voice falsely humble.
— The Duke: "Your Majesty, what a splendid evening! Your daughter is the jewel of the kingdom, and what an exquisite dancer she is!"
The Queen inclined her head slightly, accepting the compliment as one accepts a tribute long overdue.
— Queen Isabella: "She was raised to represent her blood."
A simple statement, spoken with perfect neutrality. But the message was clear: Elena did not exist as an individual. She was an extension of the kingdom, a carefully crafted piece meant to serve.
The Duke nodded eagerly before adding, in a more calculated tone:
— The Duke: "I am certain that this union with Prince Adrian will bring the prosperity we all hope for… It is true that the tensions with the neighboring Empire have some merchants concerned."
A trap disguised as a question. A subtle attempt to gauge the Queen's stance on a delicate issue.
Isabella's lips curved in an almost imperceptible smile.
— Queen Isabella: "Merchants are always concerned. And yet, our coffers remain full."
A sharp response, leaving no room for further discussion. The Duke realized he would get nothing more and bowed slightly before stepping back.
Next came the Marquise of Lierne, an aging woman whose silk fan was always in motion. Her sharp gaze swept the room like a hawk searching for prey.
— The Marquise: "Your Majesty, your daughter is radiant tonight. A future Queen who will inspire as much as she reigns."
The Queen's cold eyes settled on the Marquise, assessing the intention behind her words.
— Queen Isabella: "She will fulfill her role."
The Marquise smiled behind her fan.
— The Marquise: "Naturally. But I must admit, I have a small curiosity… I have heard that Prince Adrian is… shall we say, a man of a free spirit."
A barely veiled provocation, a test to see if the Queen would express any concern over the prince's character or fidelity.
But Isabella did not waver.
— Queen Isabella: "Powerful men often have distractions. What matters is that they know their duty."
An implacable response, brushing aside any insinuation that it might be an issue.
The Marquise understood she would get nothing more and withdrew with a satisfied smile.
More nobles approached, each seeking a favor, a hint of information, a whispered promise. Some murmured concerns about politics, while others offered compliments meant to disguise their own ambitions.
But Queen Isabella never gave anything unless she wished to. She always let people hear what they wanted, and yet they left with nothing more than what she had allowed them to take.
Beneath her mask of courtesy lay a formidable intelligence. She did not believe in useless emotions, in youthful whims, or in romantic dreams. To her, only the kingdom's stability mattered. Only duty mattered. And her daughter, Elena, was part of that duty.
Her gaze lingered for a moment on the young woman who continued to dance, a frozen smile on her lips.
She knew this child had not been born to be happy.
She had been born to be useful. This is her tragic destiny, her reality. And nobody is gonna save her from her own faith.