.
Elena sat rigidly in her chair with her fingers pressed so tightly to the edge of the table that her knuckles turned pale. Seconds ago, Damien sat across from her, as if carved from marble. The silence stretched and she could even hear the ticking of her own pulse in her ears.
Then, without warning, he rose. He rounded the long table, his crimson gaze fixed on her, and before Elena could process what was happening, his hand cupped her chin. Her lips parted in shock.
"My...your Highness. Wh—"
"Hush now my lady. You'll ruin the moment." he replied calmly.
And then his mouth claimed hers.
His lips pressed against hers with firm insistence while his other hand held her in place so she could not turn away. The warmth of him was overwhelming, the faint taste of wine on his lips filled her senses coupled with his intoxicating scent. It was like losing your mind.
Elena froze the moment his lips touched hers. She had never been kissed before not once in her hidden, controlled life. No man had ever dared because she was the daughter of a traitor and an orphan. She had never imagined her first kiss would be with the cold, terrifying prince who now held her captive.
Her instincts screamed at her to pull back, but she didn't know how. She sat utterly still, her lashes trembling shut, her heart battering against her ribs. His lips were so soft and she felt herself melting into his gentle touch on her wrist. Elena's mind became a puddle and her entire body went limp as if paralysed.
Then, just as abruptly as he had taken her, Damien pulled away.
He looked at her for one long, unreadable moment with his dark liquid fire eyes then, without a single word, he turned and resumed his seat at the head of the table.
Elena sat frozen, her lips tingling and her entire body trembling as though lightning had passed through her veins.
The prince calmly picked up his silverware and began to eat, resuming smooth and unhurried movements as if nothing unusual had just happened.
Elena blinked. Once. Twice. She glanced around the hall, but no one else was there—no witnesses to the kiss that had just stolen her breath and fractured her world.
Her hands fumbled against the spoon in front of her. It took her several moments to remember how to hold it properly, to even remember that she was meant to eat. Her stomach churned, but to refuse the meal after the Prince had already begun was unthinkable.
So she forced herself to raise a spoonful of broth to her lips, though her hands shook so violently she nearly spilled it.
Each swallow tasted of ash.
By the time she found her rhythm, Damien had already finished. He rose gracefully, dabbing his lips with a cloth, and without so much as glancing in her direction, strode toward the great double doors.
Elena scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking her chair back in her haste. She bent into a deep bow, her hair falling over her shoulders, her head hammering with the desperate need to show her respects before he left.
But when she lifted her head, the doors were already closing. He was gone.
She stood there a moment with her ragged breath, staring at the doors that had swallowed him whole.
And then she was alone again, left in the cavernous hall with a meal she no longer wished to eat and the ghost of a kiss still burning on her lips.
..........
The day passed in a haze. The maids moved about quietly, avoiding her gaze. She wandered her chambers restlessly, pausing by windows to stare out at the sprawling expanse of Damien's quarters, which stretched like a silent kingdom.
By evening, she had retreated to her room. The high-arched ceiling and velvet-draped bed should have felt like luxury, but the space felt colder than any prison cell.
She stood before a mirror, fumbling her fingers with the laces of her gown. The maids had offered to assist her earlier, but she had waved them off with a smile. Afterall she was the one dressing herself all these years.
Piece by piece, the heavy fabric fell away, until she stood in nothing but a thin linen shift by the window with the moonlight spilling across her milky skin.
As she ran her hands over her shoulders, Elena suddenly heard a creak. Her breath caught when the door swung open.
She spun around, clutching her arms across her chest.
Damien stood in the doorway. He simply leaned against the frame, his deep brown eyes gleaming in the dim light, watching her.
The silence stretched, heavy, unbearable.
Finally, his voice broke it, low and smooth as as a prince's.
"Why do you struggle alone when the maids exist to serve you? You are my wife and a noble lady now."
Elena's throat closed. Had he just called her his...wife?. Words tangled inside her, spilling out only in broken fragments.
"I… I did not wish to… trouble them, my prince." she replied with a low curtsey.
Damien pushed off from the doorway and began to cross the room, each step slow and deliberate. Elena felt her legs root to the ground, her heart racing so fast she feared it would leap from her chest.
He stood before her, and reached out to her face. His hand landed on her mouth before his fingers brushed her lips softly. The touch was feather-light, yet it froze her completely.
"You still tremble when I touch you, my lady. I believe I have the right to as we are now man and wife." he murmured. His crimson eyes flicked down, lingering her slender arms crossed over her chest, then back up to her lips.
She dared not meet his gaze when the Prince was talking to her unless he tells her to. She felt as though she might dissolve beneath the weight of his heavy, dark presence.
His hand lingered at her mouth, his fingers tracing the curve of her lower lip, before finally settling on it.
"The wedding will take place in two days," Damien said at last after staring at her mouth for the past minute.
Elena's head snapped up, shock flashing across her face.
"Two… days?" she stammered, her voice trembling and her eyes still fixed on the floor. "But… why so soon?"
"Why not? You are my wife and I wish to get married to you soon." His eyes held hers for one burning moment after saying that before he turned and strode to the door.
Elena's pulse thundered in her ears. They weren't even married yet and he still calls her 'my wife'. But that was the least of her problems. Dread sunk into her stomach like lead because in that moment, one realization struck her with cruel clarity:
Two days until she would be bound, body and soul, to this mysterious Prince. Two days until the consummation rites occured.
The door closed with a soft thud, leaving her trembling in the silence. Her linen shift clung to her skin and her heart hammered like a trapped bird's wings as she sank to the floor.
For the first time since stepping foot in the palace, Elena allowed herself to weep.
'This was all because I attended that stupid ball' she lamented to herself, gripping herself even tighter as if it would erase the memory of what is to come...