"And believe me… you will end up crawling."
Adrian's words burned into her like a red-hot brand.
A wave of terror washed over Elena, a cold fear that clung to her skin and seeped into her bones. Never before had she felt such helplessness. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling erratically from the shock, and her legs trembled, unable to support her.
She lifted a trembling hand to her burning cheek. The pain was real. Adrian's strike still echoed in her skull like a death knell, a brutal reminder of what he truly was.
Prince Adrian, her future husband, a man of fifty, fat and smug, drunk on power, and more than twice her age, had struck her without hesitation, as if disciplining a disobedient child. And he had done so without fear of consequence, convinced that his age and status granted him every right.
She, on the other hand, was just a nineteen-year-old girl. A girl who, since birth, had been raised in the shadow of duty, molded to become an instrument of peace, a guarantee of alliance. But she had never imagined being reduced to this: an object, a body claimed without her consent.
She had always known her marriage would not be a union of love, but she had not foreseen horror. She had not foreseen fear.
The thought of being trapped with this man, enduring his alcohol-laced breath, his hands on her with the same casual ownership he showed his goblet of wine… The idea of having to obey him, endure his presence, his orders, his control…
It was unthinkable. Unacceptable. She had to escape. A violent nausea churned in her stomach at the thought.
She lifted a trembling hand to her bruised cheek, feeling beneath her fingers the heat of the swollen skin, the tender flesh where Adrian's fist had struck her. She also felt the sticky wetness of blood from her split lip.
A shiver ran down her spine as she stepped back hastily, as if her very space still carried the prince's presence. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
She could not stay here. She had to see her mother. Not to seek pity, not to ask for comfort. She knew Queen Isabella was not a woman who offered such things. But she had to tell her. She had to show her what this man had done.
With desperate energy, she rushed out of her chamber. The palace corridors were deserted, bathed in the flickering glow of torches mounted on the stone walls. Each step echoed violently against the marble floors, amplified by the suffocating silence of the night.
Without realizing it, she quickened her pace, her long nightgown billowing around her bare legs, her ragged breaths blending with the frantic rhythm of her heart.
At last, she reached the queen's quarters. Without hesitation, she knocked. Her hand trembled against the heavy wooden door, her breath faltering, yet she persisted.
After a long moment of silence, a tired, measured voice broke the stillness.
— Queen Isabella: "Enter."
She pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The queen's chambers were vast, decorated with the austere elegance that defined her. A still-burning fireplace cast flickering red-gold light across the rugs and mahogany furniture. Her mother sat near the fire, draped in a velvet nightgown, her impassive face illuminated by the dancing flames.
She did not look surprised to see her daughter appear so late in the night. She calmly set her book down on the armrest of her chair and lifted an unreadable gaze toward her.
— Queen Isabella: "What are you doing here at such an hour?" she asked in a neutral tone.
Elena felt herself falter under the weight of her emotions. She wanted to scream, to accuse, to pour out her pain.
But all she managed to say was:
— Elena: "Mother… He struck me."
She took a step forward, her breathing labored, and turned her head slightly to reveal her bruised cheek.
For a fleeting moment, just an instant, she thought she saw something flash in the queen's eyes. But it was so brief she wondered if she had imagined it, for her mother's face remained impassive.
There was no reaction: No horror, no cry of outrage. She observed the injury without a word, without a flicker of emotion.
Then, calmly, she asked:
— Queen Isabella: "And?"
Elena felt her heart break. A broken, incredulous laugh escaped her, a laugh that wasn't a laugh at all.
— Elena: "And?" she repeated in a trembling voice. "Mother… He hit me! He insulted me! He..."
Her voice caught in her throat. She inhaled sharply, her fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms.
— Elena: "How can you remain so indifferent?"
The queen studied her for a long moment.
Then, she sighed lightly and rose from her chair.
With the same measured grace as always, she approached Elena and placed a cool hand on her shoulder.
— Queen Isabella: "Because it is not a surprise."
The princess recoiled, stunned.
— Elena: "You knew…"
The queen nodded.
— Queen Isabella: "Men of power are like this. They take what they want. They do not ask for permission. If you do not control him, he will possess you, he will break you."
— Elena: "He tried to touch me without my consent and before we are even married. He sought to stain my honor."
— Queen Isabella: "You will be married in a few weeks. You need only find the right words to make him wait. That is what a queen does. She lets her husband believe he controls her and the kingdom. But in truth, it is the queen who rules."
__ Elena: "How can you...? I'm your daughter, and you treat me like an object to trade."
__ Queen Isabella: "We are not ordinary people, Elena. We rule a kingdom. We do not feel the same emotions as ordinary people. The sooner you accept this, the better off you will be."
The young woman recoiled further, her legs almost hitting the chair behind her.
__ Elena: "So you're not going to do anything?"
The queen fixed her with that characteristic hardness.
__ Queen Isabella: "What do you want me to do? This marriage is necessary. It is strategic. It will ensure peace between our kingdoms. Your role is to be a queen, Elena, not a spoiled child crying because her husband isn't gentle."
__ Elena: "He abused me. He threatened me. And you want me to marry him?"
She felt a wave of nausea wash over her.
__ Queen Isabella: "I will not annul this marriage." the queen continued. "It is up to you to find a way to have power over him. If you cannot dominate him with force, then do it another way. Be smarter."
A silence settled. Then, in a cold voice, the queen concluded:
__Queen Isabella: "A queen does not suffer. She manipulates."
Elena stood frozen, paralyzed. A deathly silence fell over the room. She trembled, her hands clenched on the fabric of her nightgown.
She had come seeking help. She had come looking for aid. But there was nothing.
Her own mother offered her as a sacrifice without hesitation, as if she were nothing more than a pawn to be placed on a chessboard.
__Elena: "So you condemn me." she murmured in a broken voice.
The queen held her gaze without flinching.
__ Queen Isabella: "No. I am preparing you to survive."
The princess closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her fear had disappeared. She finally understood. She was alone. Alone against this man, against this court, and against her own mother.
But if they thought she would submit, they were wrong.
With slow, measured steps, she moved back toward the door.
Her gaze met the queen's one last time, and this time, there was no plea, no expectation of help that would never come. There was only contempt.
__Elena: "I will never marry him."
And before her mother could respond, she turned on her heel and left the room.
This marriage would never take place. She would make sure of it, no matter the cost. If no one would save her, then she would save herself one way or another.
The princess walked swiftly through the palace corridors, her breath ragged, her fists still clenched around the light fabric of her nightgown. Each step echoed violently against the cold marble, pounding in the darkness with the rage that burned in her veins. She had hoped, foolishly, that her mother would protect her. But Queen Isabella would not protect her.
She would not lift a finger to save her. She did not see a daughter to defend, but a pawn to sacrifice.
The truth was unbearable. Elena had never been safe. Not under her mother's watchful eye, not under the weight of the expectations placed upon her. And now, not under Adrian's threat.
She felt a tremor of pure rage sear through her skin. Adrian thought she would eventually break. Her mother thought she would eventually resign herself.
But they were all wrong. She would not let them win. This marriage would not happen.
She reached her room and slammed the door behind her, her breath still erratic. The air was cold, but she felt as if she were burning, as if a blaze had been lit under her skin.
She sank down against the door, her body trembling with anger, frustration, and disgust.
She ran a hand over her bruised cheek. The swelling had worsened, her skin pulsing beneath her fingers. An indelible reminder of what Adrian had done to her.
She imagined his hands on her. His fetid breath in the hollow of her neck. His satisfied smile as he finally realized what he had waited for so long. A wave of nausea overtook her violently.
She pushed herself off the floor and ran to a basin of water on a table near the bed. She plunged her hands into the cold water and brought them to her face, as if she could erase the stain he had left there.
But the water did nothing. She scrubbed her skin harder until the pain replaced the sensation of his touch. Until all she felt was the burning of her own fury.
She lifted her head and met her reflection in the mirror before her. And what she saw terrified her almost as much as Adrian himself. Her face was marked by the violence of the night. Her lip was split, a dark bruise spreading across her cheek, but it was her gaze that stood out the most.
Her blue eyes no longer gleamed with innocence or naïveté. They were no longer those of a docile princess, a young woman destined to be offered like a trophy.
They were the eyes of an animal cornered, a beast ready to strike before it was finished off. She straightened slowly. Her heart still raced wildly, but it was no longer fear that filled her.
It was a promise. She would not be Adrian's wife. She would not be possessed. And if the whole world expected her to bend, then she would burn that world before giving them the satisfaction.
Her breathing slowed slightly. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the chaos in her mind.
She had to think. She had to find a solution. She couldn't just run away. The palace was under surveillance, every road leading out of the kingdom was controlled. And if she failed, she knew she would be punished.
Adrian would not forgive her for trying to escape. Nor would her mother. She had to be smarter than that. She had to plan her revolt carefully. Make sure she would never be found. But how was she going to do that?
How could she escape a royal marriage, an alliance between two kingdoms, without starting a war or being hunted like a criminal? And how would she survive in a world she had never known?