The darkness of the night had faded. A pale glow seeped through the ornate stained-glass windows, casting fragile shadows on the stone walls. In the hushed silence of the chamber, everything seemed suspended.
Then came the sound, soft yet relentless: the rustling of fabric, the faint click of polished wood, the muffled steps on the thick carpet.
Silhouettes entered the room, settling in as if performing a ritual repeated a thousand times. They did not knock. They did not announce their presence. They entered as one steps into a sacred temple because today, they were preparing a sacrifice.
The blonde-haired princess felt their presence before she even opened her eyes.
She wished she could cling to the softness of sleep, to that brief illusion where everything was just a dream.
But reality struck, merciless and unyielding.
Today, she was delivered to her fate.
— The Servant: "It is time, Your Highness."
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder.
"Time." Such a simple word, yet today, it sounded like a sentence.
She opened her eyes slowly, her throat tight. The ceiling, painted with celestial frescoes, felt strangely distant, as if she were observing a scene that no longer belonged to her.
Her body felt heavy. Her heart, even more so. She wished she could stay there, buried beneath silk sheets, outside of time. But that was not an option. So, with measured slowness, she sat up, the room's chill clinging to her skin.
The ritual began.
A servant approached and handed her a blue silk robe, its shade matching the royal colors. Elena put it on mechanically, feeling the fabric glide over her skin like a second prison. Two other women entered silently, carrying lacquered boxes filled with pins, pearls, and jewels.
They moved around her with precision, their gestures practiced to perfection. A brush glided through her hair, untangling it with soft yet methodical strokes. A delicate fragrance filled the air as another servant massaged a few drops of jasmine essence onto her wrists.
Elena watched it all through the mirror's reflection, detached, as if witnessing another woman being sculpted before her eyes.
Was this truly her? This young woman with an impassive face, dark circles beneath her eyes, yet with a flawless posture? This porcelain doll, molded to fit the world's expectations?
A pang tightened her chest. It was all so absurd.
They prepared her with care, adorned her like an offering on an altar. But no golden necklace could hide the invisible chains binding her. A servant knelt to slide delicate silver-threaded shoes onto her feet.
Another clasped an emerald necklace around her throat, adjusting the jewel as if fastening a noose. Every gesture was gentle. Every movement filled with reverence. Yet Elena felt herself slipping away. As if they were stripping her away, layer by layer, until only the princess remained. Nothing else.
Her heart clenched. She should have been strong. She should have been resigned. But a deep, silent pain swelled inside her, a scream she had no right to utter.
She took a slow, deep breath, forcing down the anger, the helplessness that threatened to consume her. She could not break. She could not give them that spectacle. But when her eyes met her reflection, something cracked.
It was there, in the mirror, that gaze. A gaze that screamed in silence. She could have been anyone else. She could have lived differently. Loved differently. But that choice had been stolen from her before she even understood she had one.
A noise in the room shattered the moment of introspection. A heavy rustling. A shadow loomed behind her. A familiar scent. She didn't need to turn around. She knew who stood there, the person meant to protect her, yet who was leading her to ruin.
The servants immediately ceased their movements and bowed deeply before stepping back against the walls.
Silence grew suffocating. Elena kept her gaze locked on the mirror. Her mother, Queen Isabella, stared back.
Their resemblance was striking. The same regal posture. The same poised demeanor. The same mask of impassivity. But where Elena's features still trembled beneath the weight of emotion, the Queen's were carved from stone.
— Queen Isabella: "This day is greater than you, Elena."
Her voice fell like a blade. There was no warmth, no comfort. Only an unyielding truth, a reminder that there was no room for doubt.
Elena's fingers unconsciously gripped the armrests of her chair.
The Queen stepped forward, positioning herself just behind her daughter. Their reflections stood side by side in the mirror.
— Queen Isabella: "The future of the kingdom does not rest on the whims of your heart. It rests on your ability to do what must be done."
The young woman did not flinch. But inside, she was breaking. She could have begged.
She could have cried, screamed, said she did not want this fate.
But she already knew what would happen. Her mother would never yield. She never had. So instead, she lifted her chin. She did what was expected of her.
She smothered the pain, the anger, the fear. She donned her mask like armor. Then, in a controlled voice, she murmured:
— Elena: "Yes, Your Majesty."
A faint smile touched the Queen's lips. She had won. She took a step back, observing her daughter for a moment before turning on her heels.
— Queen Isabella: "Be ready in an hour."
Then she left the room, her shadow vanishing as if she had never been there. And yet, her presence lingered, suffocating.
Elena stared at her reflection for another moment. There, in the glass, she saw the princess they wanted her to be. She saw the queen they expected her to become.
But beneath this perfect image, beneath the diamonds and silk, a flame still burned. It was weak, barely flickering, but it was alive.
The time had come.
She heard the bells ringing in the distance, announcing the start of the ceremony. Inside the palace, the rustling of fabrics, the hushed footsteps of servants, and the ceaseless murmur of nobles filled the air like an oppressive melody.
Her heart pounded dully in her chest as the final adjustments were made to her attire.
Her gown, a deep shade of blue, was a masterpiece of silk and golden embroidery. The sleeves were long and delicately fitted to her wrists, where pearls gleamed under the dim light. The bodice, cinched with precision, accentuated her slender figure, while the skirt cascaded around her in a sumptuous wave.
Golden strands of her hair had been braided and pinned into an elaborate chignon, with soft curls left to fall down her back like threads of light. At the center of this intricate hairstyle, a delicate crown of silver and sapphires shimmered, a reminder of her rank.
She was magnificent. Magnificent and condemned.
The servants stepped back, and silence fell for an instant. Then, the door opened, revealing two guards in royal livery. They bowed slightly.
— The Guard: "Your Highness, it is time."
She took a deep breath, willing herself to ignore the dizziness threatening to take hold. She was not allowed to tremble.
She was not allowed to hesitate.
Her gaze swept across the room one last time, this space that had been her refuge and that, in this moment, felt like a cage whose door had just been unlocked to lead her to her fate. With measured steps, she moved forward. The guards immediately flanked her, and one of them took the lead.
The palace corridors passed by in slow procession beneath her steps. Every corner was familiar, and yet, today, everything felt foreign.
Nobles had gathered along the hallways leading to the grand hall. They turned as she passed, observing the prince's future fiancée with admiration. Some smiled approvingly, others whispered behind their fans.
Elena felt their gazes pressing down on her like a crushing weight. She recognized a few faces.
The Duke of Veldran, looking pleased, a glass of wine in hand. The Marquise of Lierne, her piercing gaze analyzing every detail of Elena's attire.
There were politicians, diplomats, royal advisors, all present to witness this crucial alliance.
But none of them saw the young woman she was.
They only saw the heiress, the centerpiece of a meticulously planned game of power.
She wanted to look away, to tear herself from this crowd that scrutinized her like a displayed trophy. But she could not.
So she continued forward, tall, silent. A princess in all her splendor. A perfect illusion.
When the grand doors swung open before her, a wave of light and music crashed over her.
The great throne hall was resplendent. Hundreds of candles burned in the immense crystal chandeliers hanging from the gilded vaults. The walls were adorned with richly colored tapestries depicting the kingdom's past glories.
At the center of the room, a vast crimson carpet stretched toward the platform where her future fiancé awaited her: Prince Adrian.
The princess halted, her heart pounding harder in her chest. When her gaze fell upon him, a wave of dizziness overtook her.
It was worse than she had imagined. He was old. Far older than she had hoped. He was a man in his fifties, broad-shouldered but weighed down by years and overly lavish feasts. His prominent belly stretched the silk of his crimson tunic, embroidered with gold and pearls. His thick features bore the marks of time, excess, and weariness.
He was nothing like the princes of legends. Nothing like the knights from the stories told to children. And yet, he was the one she was being forced to marry.
Her stomach twisted. A chill ran down her spine. She was only nineteen. And this man, her future husband, could have been her father. She had never been under any illusions. She knew that royal marriages were not unions of love but strategic alliances.
She knew her hand did not belong to her. But standing before this man,vthis prince who was nothing more than a king without a crown, waiting for his aged father to die, the horror hit her with full force.
She would have to share her life with him, sleep in his bed, let him touch her, bear his heirs. A wave of nausea rose within her. She felt bile burn her throat, but she did not flinch. She had to smile. She had to be perfect.
Prince Adrian stepped forward at a slow, deliberate pace, observing his future wife with a satisfied smile.
His gaze traveled over the young woman's figure, appreciative. He was proud. Proud of this young bride being offered to him.
— Prince Adrian: "Princess Elena." he said in a deep voice.
She forced herself to bow slightly.
— Elena: "Your Highness."
Her tone was measured, controlled. But inside, she was screaming. She wanted to run, to flee until the icy wind tore this mask from her face. But she couldn't. So she lifted her head and met his gaze. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
The
♥
Twilight
Kiss
♥
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
The engagement ceremony unfolded with suffocating solemnity. After exchanging a few meaningless words with Prince Adrian, Elena allowed herself to be guided to her designated place, at the right of her future husband, beneath the immense crimson velvet canopy where the symbols of their two kingdoms intertwined in elaborate embroidery.
The nobles had gathered, forming a perfect half-circle around them. Dozens of eyes watched her, scrutinizing and evaluating her.
The murmurs had ceased, replaced by an almost feverish anticipation.
The Grand Chancellor stepped forward, unrolling a parchment bearing the royal seal. His deep voice echoed through the throne room, reciting the terms of the coming union, detailing the political agreements and mutual commitments between the Kingdom of Asteria and Prince Adrian's realm.
Each word struck Elena's mind like the blow of a hammer. Her fate was written in ink and gold. And it did not belong to her.
When the moment of the vow arrived, her fingers barely trembled as she extended her hand to receive the ring. It was a massive piece of jewelry gold, set with a blood-red ruby, the emblem of Prince Adrian.
He slid it onto her ring finger with a slow, almost possessive gesture. His fingers were thick, his skin rough. When they brushed against hers, a shiver of disgust coursed through her, as if an invisible weight had just fallen upon her.
The hall erupted in polite applause. It was done. She was engaged. An alliance sealed under the approving gazes of the nobility.
A smile was expected of her. So she gave one. A perfect, controlled smile. One more lie. But inside, something was crumbling.
She could still hear the laughter of the court ladies, the whispered conversations about the greatness of this union.
Royal blood alliances were always praised as blessings. But where was the blessing when a nineteen-year-old girl was bound to a man who could have been her father?
Where was the justice in surrendering her body and future to a stranger who saw her as nothing more than another trophy to add to his collection?
Prince Adrian turned to her, his satisfied smile making her stomach churn.
— Prince Adrian: "We will accomplish great things together, my dear."
She wanted to reply. To tell him that there was no we.
That there would never be a we.
But she never got the chance. The nobles were already approaching to congratulate her. But who were they congratulating? Her? Or the kingdom that had just secured an alliance? She heard praises, empty compliments about her beauty, about the splendor of Prince Adrian.
She just wanted to escape, to leave this hall, to rip this ring from her finger, to find a breath of fresh air. But she did not move. Because she was a princess. And princesses did not break alliances. They sacrificed themselves in silence. But if that was her role, then she would play her part. Until the day she overturned the chessboard.