The festivities continued with dizzying opulence. The throne room was bathed in golden light, cast by hundreds of chandeliers suspended from richly adorned vaults.
The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine, melting wax, and the heady perfumes worn by the nobles, all dressed in their finest attire. Everywhere, goblets clinked together, muffled laughter rose, and conversations intertwined in a soft murmur.
Elena stood there, frozen in this illusion of magnificence, a prisoner of her own role. Standing to the right of Prince Adrian, she felt the weight of the courtiers' gazes on her, each one trying to catch the slightest of her gestures.
She knew they were scrutinizing her reactions, curiously assessing this new alliance, admiring the couple she and her fiancé formed. But beneath her impassive mask, she felt nothing but an immense void, a chasm of bitterness and helplessness threatening to consume her.
In the hollow of her palm, the golden ring encrusted with a ruby felt heavier than the entire world. It was a splendid piece, designed to symbolize her engagement and the power of this union, yet to her, it was nothing more than a mark of possession.
At that moment, everything around her seemed like a grotesque masquerade, a theater where she played a role imposed upon her, where every smile she had to wear was just another lie.
Suddenly, the first notes of a waltz rose, soft and languid, floating in the air like an unavoidable omen. Immediately, the conversations quieted slightly, giving way to an almost solemn anticipation. Elena felt her breath hitch in her throat. She knew what was coming.
Even before he spoke, she sensed the movement of Prince Adrian beside her. With a slow and ceremonial gesture, he turned toward her and extended his hand, a satisfied smile stretching his thick lips.
— Prince Adrian: "Will you grant me this dance, my dear fiancée?" he asked, his voice laced with false sweetness.
For a fleeting second, she wanted to step back, to shatter this perfect illusion and flee from this suffocating hall. Yet she knew that refusing was unthinkable. A princess could not shirk her duties, especially not on such a crucial day. She could not afford to give the nobles surrounding her the slightest doubt, the slightest hesitation that might tarnish the image of a perfect union they all expected.
So, with an impassive expression, she placed her hand in the prince's. The unpleasant warmth of his skin sent a shiver through her, but she forced her body to remain still. He closed his fingers around hers, a little too tightly, as if already reminding her that she now belonged to him.
Polite applause echoed through the hall as they stepped onto the dance floor, a crimson carpet edged with gold that seemed to stretch endlessly beneath her feet. Around them, the nobles moved aside, forming a perfect circle. All waited to witness this symbolic moment: the first official dance between the Princess of Asteria and her future husband.
The waltz's melody swelled again, more intense this time, and the prince placed a firm hand on her waist before pulling her close.
At the first touch, Elena felt her body instinctively tense. She wanted to recoil, to break free from this grip that repulsed her, but she knew she could not. Every gaze was locked onto them, expecting an image of harmony and grace.
The dance began, fluid and practiced. The aging prince led the steps with surprising ease for a man of his age and stature. His arm pressed firmly against the small of her back, his movements precise and assured.
To everyone, he was the embodiment of the charming prince, a nobleman gracefully leading his young fiancée in an enchanting waltz. But beneath this refined façade lay a far darker reality.
Little by little, the prince's hand drifted downward, lingering at the edge of propriety. At first, Elena thought it was a mistake, a simple movement dictated by the dance. But when she felt the insidious brush of his fingers against her hip, she realized his actions were deliberate.
Under the watchful eyes of the entire court, he dared to do what no one could see, certain that she would not react.
She wanted to push him away, to step back and remind him that she was not prey at his mercy. But she knew that the slightest abrupt movement would be immediately noticed. So, she did what she had been taught to do all her life: she wrapped herself in a silence of ice.
She forced her body to obey the music, to follow the rhythm imposed upon her. But inside, she was nothing but a firestorm of anger and disgust. The old prince leaned slightly toward her, his voice slithering into her ear in a suffocating whisper.
— Prince Adrian: "You are exquisite, my dear Elena."
She held back a shudder of revulsion. His breath reeked of wine and arrogance, his tone laced with a perverse satisfaction, as if he were savoring this moment when she could do nothing to escape him.
She closed her eyes for a second, forcing herself to breathe calmly. She could not react. Not now.
But when he tightened his grip once more, his warm breath grazing her skin, something inside her broke. She opened her eyes and, for the first time, locked her gaze onto the prince's with cold, unwavering intensity.
It was a warning. A mere exchange of looks, but enough for him to understand that, despite the image of docility she presented to all, she was not broken.
The old prince smirked, as if he accepted her challenge.
Then, slowly, the waltz came to an end. Applause erupted throughout the hall, enthusiastic and admiring. The young woman stepped away from the prince the moment she could, inclining her head with all the dignity she could muster. Adrian, on the other hand, seemed more satisfied than ever.
As she returned to her seat, she felt her legs tremble slightly beneath her gown. But no one saw it. No one saw the battle she had just fought.
No one saw the fire burning in her heart, the cold and silent hatred that had just been born within her soul.
This marriage would take place but she would never be his. She would find a way, even if she had to break every rule.
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
The
♥
Twilight
Kiss
♥
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
As the waltz ended and applause still echoed beneath the palace's high vaults, Elena slowly made her way back to Prince Adrian's side. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if an invisible weight clung to her ankles, keeping her from moving forward.
The nobles continued to smile and converse among themselves, delighted by the spectacle they had just witnessed. To them, this dance had been nothing more than a demonstration of grace and harmony, a perfect image of the union that would seal peace between their two kingdoms.
But she knew what had truly happened, what no one had noticed… Or perhaps what everyone had chosen to ignore.
She lowered herself onto her seat with measured slowness, keeping her back straight despite the storm raging within her. Before her, lavish dishes continued to be served along the long ebony table: roasted meats, candied fruits, spiced breads… Everything was perfect, everything was in its place. Just like her. Just like this royal doll, shaped by customs and traditions.
She felt the old prince's gaze settle upon her insistently. When she turned her head slightly, she caught him watching her, a satisfied smile on his lips, like a man who had just claimed a trophy.
— Prince Adrian: "You dance beautifully, my dear." he said in a falsely admiring tone.
She wanted to respond with something sharp, something that would shatter his arrogance in an instant. But instead, she gave him a practiced smile, a hollow smile, a queen's smile.
— Elena: "You flatter me, Your Highness." she replied in a composed voice.
She felt the old man's amusement grow. He knew. He knew she was playing a role, that she was trapped in this masquerade. And it entertained him. The disgust she felt for him only deepened.
The banquet continued in a whirlwind of conversations and toasts in honor of the engagement. For her, every minute spent in this hall was another form of torment.
And as she absentmindedly lifted her wine glass for an unconvincing toast, her gaze met that of her mother. Queen Isabella was watching her from across the table, seated with her regal posture, hands folded in her lap, impassive. Elena held her gaze with a composure she struggled to maintain. Yet inside, every part of her was crying.
She did not want this life. She did not want this man. But who cared about what she wanted? Her duty was already sealed.
And tonight, for the first time, she truly understood what it meant to be a princess: a woman sacrificed on the altar of power.
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
The
♥
Twilight
Kiss
♥
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
The evening stretched on, endless and suffocating. The air was thick with hollow laughter and the intoxicating perfume of the court ladies, a sweet, overwhelming blend that made her nauseous. The heat from the chandeliers made the gilded ceiling gleam, casting immense moving shadows on the walls, as if they too were dancing in this masquerade.
Elena remained still. She played her role to perfection, smiling at compliments, nodding at toasts made in her honor, resting her delicate fingers on the rim of her glass without ever truly drinking. But her mind was elsewhere.
The conversations around her were nothing but a distant murmur, an indistinct hum of flattery and political calculations. She heard praise for her beauty, for the intelligence of this union, for the bright future she and Prince Adrian would bring to their kingdoms.
Lies! These people were not celebrating a marriage. They were celebrating a victory, the triumph of an alliance sealed without bloodshed, a treaty not written on paper but on her skin, her life. She was the price to be paid for peace. And they were delighted.
— Prince Adrian: "You seem rather quiet, my dear."
The old prince's voice pulled her sharply back to reality. She felt his presence before even turning her head.
He was sitting far too close, his imposing frame distorting the velvet of his chair. In his hand, a half-empty goblet of wine swirled lazily.
— Elena: "I was simply reflecting on the greatness of this day." she replied, her voice measured.
A deep chuckle escaped the prince's lips.
— Prince Adrian: "A great occasion indeed. I hope you are as eager as I am to make this union official."
Her stomach tightened. Eager? He dared to say that word when she was fighting every second not to flee?
But she could not reveal her distress. So, she inclined her head slightly, lowering her gaze, playing the modesty expected of a submissive fiancée.
— Elena: "It is an honor, Your Highness."
Prince Adrian smiled, visibly satisfied with her response. But what unsettled her most was the way he looked at her... As if he already owned her.
He raised his goblet, toasting loudly with a noble nearby, before leaning slightly toward her.
— Prince Adrian: "You are even more beautiful up close. Your skin is so delicate… like satin."
His voice was lower, more intimate. And this time, no watchful eyes were there to observe his actions.
Before she could react, he reached out and slowly brushed his fingers against her wrist, where the fine lace of her sleeve revealed a sliver of bare skin. It was a fleeting touch, barely noticeable to anyone else. But to her, it was a shock.
A cold shiver ran down her spine. Every fiber of her being recoiled at this caress disguised as an innocent gesture.
She wanted to pull away. She wanted to snatch her arm back, stand up, leave. But she did nothing. She remained still, her face a frozen mask, praying that no one would notice the imperceptible trembling of her fingers beneath the table.
Adrian smirked, amused. He was testing her limits. And she realized, with terrifying clarity, that this was only the beginning.
— Prince Adrian: "One day, you will learn to appreciate me, my dear Elena." he murmured.
She clenched her teeth, her jaw tight with effort. She wanted to spit in his face, to tell him that day would never come. But she knew she was not allowed.
So, she took a slow, steady breath. And when her gaze met the prince's, she gave him a perfect smile, false and calculated.
He straightened, returning to his wine, slipping effortlessly back into his conversations as if nothing had happened.
But for Elena, everything had changed. She was no longer just a young woman trapped in an unwanted marriage. She was a woman chained to a man who already believed he owned her.
She lowered her gaze to her wrist, where the ghost of his touch still burned. Then, slowly, she clenched her fingers around the fabric of her dress, as if grounding herself in reality.