"My Lady, it's time to get up." one of the maids called out from outside. Elena laid messily on the bed in a deep sleep. The events of the other day had tired her so much she had fallen asleep all throughout yesterday and forgotten all about her wedding.
With sleep in her eyes, she stirred awake, staring into the sunlight that brightened the room when suddenly it hit her.
Her wedding was today!
Today!
Elena immediately sprang up on the bed.
How had I forgotten?!
What the hell?!
The maids voice echoed again from the grand hallway that stretched to her room. They were there to get her dressed for the wedding. Panicking, she quickly rushed to the door and pulled it open while trying to calm her racing mind.
How had she forgotten her own wedding?!
The maids got in and immediately set to work. They spent the day washing her body, oiling her skin and getting her dressed for the wedding. Elena mindlessly allowed them to do their work on her body without protest.
What was the point anyway?.
After spending the entire morning washing and cleaning her, they finally proceeded to her dressing.
As they were getting ready to begin, the door swung open and a woman stepped in. Everyone immediately fell to their knees with their heads touching the floor. Elena whipped around to find out why the room immediately turned quiet.
It was the Queen.
"Greetings your majesty" the servants echoed as she walked in.
Queen Isolde Von Carstein walked into the dressing parlor with the grace and measures fit for royalty. Her presence was more intimidating than the King's in several ways no one could explain. As she approached Elena, she suddenly began to feel that chill.
That familiar shiver she felt when she was with the Prince. It was all too familiar for her to forget.
"Greetings, my Queen" Elena greeted in a deep curtsey. She may not have been granted proper etiquette lessons by her Lord but growing up, her father had taught her one or two things about properness in their land.
The Queen looked down at Elena with cold, dark eyes. Her gaze was so heavy that Elena felt as if a heavyweight champion had fallen on her.
What was with this family?!.
"Leave us at once." Queen Isolde answered without removing her gaze from Elena. The maids and servants immediately got up and scuttled away as if being chased by fire. Well, she was called the Fire queen for a reason. Once the parlor was cleared, the queen reached out and grabbed Elena by the arm, making her stand straight to look at her.
"So you are the one my son wishes to marry..." she drawled as she ran her fingers through her chin.
A cold shiver creeped up her skin at her touch. She couldn't even dare to look at her face.
"Yes, my Queen" Elena replied raising her head to look at the Queen. As their eyes met, she realized something; they were different colors. Not brown like the prince or king. Also, they made her feel weirdly...calm.
"I see you're getting ready for the wedding. Mind you, here at the royal family, our weddings occur at night and without family visitations." The words hit Elena like a brick.
What kind of wedding holds at night?
She wanted to ask more about it but the Queen had already turned around and was already out the door. Elena knew better than calling out the queen just to ask a question.
The maids re-entered the parlor and resumed their work on her body.
........
The palace was alive that night, not with the cheerful song of bells or the warmth of festive laughter, but with a silence so thick it could cut wood. A wedding was to be held, yet no human tradition was reflected in the atmosphere. No golden ribbons, no flowers, no parade of joy. Instead, there were crimson banners draped along the corridors, black candles burning with eerie blue flames, and torches that hissed whenever the night wind breathed through the open arches.
Elena sat motionless while two handmaidens dressed her. Their fingers were cold, deft, and sharp, fastening the crimson bodice so tightly she could hardly breathe. The gown was heavy with its skirts having a layered mixture of black lace and crimson silk flowing like a dark waterfalls. A thick choker of jet stones was locked around her throat, and her hair was coiled into braids, pinned with black pearls.
She did not feel like a bride. She felt like a sacrifice.
Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror. She knew better than to expect much but at least she didn't expect to be dressed up like a witch. Her brown wavey hair that gave her a damsel feel was now tucked mercilessly in black pearl hair pins.
She felt like someone else...or something else.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. The women did not speak to her; none of them dared meet her gaze directly. She was the bride of the Crown Prince of the Carstein line, and by this night's end, her fate would be forever sealed.
Elena wanted to ask if she might see the sky one last time before the ceremony. Instead, she sat silently while the handmaidens clasped the veil, a thin net of grey lace, over her head. It obscured her vision, turning the room into dim silhouettes.
When they finally led her out, her legs trembled, but the firm grip of the handmaiden at her side forced her forward.
...…....….
The ceremonial hall was vast with ceilings that seemed to reach the sky. Along the walls sat the court lords and ladies of the royal family, their faces pale as alabaster, their eyes red as burning coals. They were dressed in silks and velvets of shadowed colors. Some in deep blues and others in obsidian or maroon. Their gazes followed her as she walked down the aisle unblinking. Each and every face held the same dull and expressionless look. Like they were forced to be there.
It wasn't long before she began to regret her decision for the hundredth time.
At the center of the hall stood Damien.
He wore black from shoulder to boot with a cloak clasped with a silver chain across his broad chest. A thin crown of black metal rested upon his dark hair, and his face was carved into its usual cold perfection. His crimson eyes locked on Elena the moment she entered, and her breath stilled in her throat. Then, the room fell utterly silent.
Elena's steps echoed like drumbeats. She approached him slowly, her pulse fluttering against her throat, until she stood before him. Her veil was lifted by one of the attendants, and the moment her eyes met Damien's, she felt the world narrow to only him.
The head priest of the royal family, intoned words in the old tongue. She did not understand them, yet their sound chilled her bones.Then Damien extended his hand.
A silver dagger was brought forth, its edge gleaming faintly. Without hesitation, he drew the blade across his palm. Blood welled instantly, dark and rich, carrying with it the sharp, metallic tang that filled the air. After Damien drew out his blood, the priest gestured for Elena.
Her throat tightened. The handmaiden beside her pressed her forward. A thousand eyes bored into her, waiting. She could not refuse. Her trembling hand took the dagger. Elena shook so much that the dagger almost fell from her hand. She tried desperately to manage and stop herself from just dashing out the hallways.
For a long heartbeat she froze—then, with a gasp, she dragged it across her palm. Pain seared hot and sharp within her, and her blood spilled freely on the ground.
Damien immediately reached forward and seized her hand in his.
Their palms pressed together, mixing his blood with hers. The moment their skin met, Elena felt it. It was fire and ice at once, rushing through her veins like molten chains burning into her chest and carving into her very soul.
Her knees buckled. She tried to pull away, but Damien's grip was iron, pulling her wrist back to his.
The court gasped softly as the bond took root. A glow of red light encircled their joined hands, threads of blood weaving like living veins, sinking into their skin. Elena cried out, biting her lip until she tasted copper, as the mark branded itself upon her spirit. She felt him inside her mind for a split second, like a dark shadow brushing the edges of her thoughts.
After what seemed like years of agonizing pain and torture, the priest lifted his hands. "The bond is sealed. By blood and by vow, she is thine, and thou art hers. Till the end of night eternal."
The court bowed at the newly mated couple with reverence.
Damien released her hand at last and Elena immediately grabbed her wrist, squeezing it softly to ease the pain.
The blood had already ceased long ago and even healed up making her even more uneasy. This wasn't a marriage, it was a ritual. All that was left in its place was a faint, disappearing mark of the dagger cut.
Blood still dripped down their joined wrists, falling in drops onto the floor like crimson pearls.
Elena swayed, dizzy and faint from the demand of the ritual. Damien did not offer comfort, nor did his expression change. He simply turned and began leading her out, his hand closing over her cut hand once more but with less force this time.
She followed because she could not do otherwise. The bond burned within her veins and she felt like another entity had entered her body.
....…....
By the time Elena was returned to her chamber, her body felt like a hollow shell. The maids surrounded her at once, removing the heavy gown piece by piece until she stood bare in the torchlight. They murmured strange words in another tongue as they worked, rubbing perfumed oils along her arms, shoulders, and legs.
The oil was cool against her skin, making her shiver. A translucent robe of white lace was draped around her body, its thin fabric clinging to her curves, leaving little to imagination. The contrast was deliberate; crimson and black for the ceremony, white and cream for the night.
Elena's heart pounded louder with each passing moment. She knew what this night meant. The consummation. The final step that would seal her not only by blood but by flesh.
The maids adjusted her hair, their cold fingers smoothing it down. Her reflection in the tall mirror startled her. Elena had never seen herself so pale, trembling yet hauntingly beautiful and it scared her to her core. She was like lamb being dressed for sacrifice.
As they continued prepping her for the consummation night, the door creaked open.
The maids froze and immediately fell on their knees. Damien stood in the doorway, silently watching. His eyes scanned her slowly, from her bare shoulders to the hem of the lace robe and his crimson gaze darkened.
"Leave us," he said without hesitation.
The maids scattered like frightened birds, closing the door behind them.
Elena's breath hitched. She stood rooted to the floor, clutching the robe tighter around her chest as he approached. His steps were unhurried but his presence filled the room like a storm pressing in.
When he reached her, he circled her, like a predator studying its prey, and she felt his gaze sear across her skin more powerfully than his touch itself.
Finally, he stood before her. His hand lifted, brushing over her lips lightly with his fingertip. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Do you understand what just took place, my lady?," he asked in his usual steely voice.
"I—i still cannot understand it, my prince." Elena replied, staring at his brown eyes.
Damien studied her expression carefully like he was contemplating on what she could hear. "I'm sure you know that was not a marriage though" he said, squinting his eyes at her.
"What just happened was an ancient vampire ritual binding us together as mates. It has been in existence for millennials and onky takes place between a royal blood and his chosen bride...". Damien paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. For a quick second, a shadow of surprise ran across his face. Elena didn't look even a bit shocked at his explanation.
Damien's fingers trailed down from her lips to her throat, then over the edge of her robe. Slowly, he drew the fabric aside, exposing her shoulder. He bent his head, his lips brushing her skin lightly before sniffing her deeply. Her knees nearly buckled at the sensation his actions brought.
"Your fear…" he whispered, his breath hot against her ear as he drew back his head sharply, "is intoxicating." Damien's eyes instantly changes from the usual dark brown to blood red. His fangs began to grow sharply out of his mouth and his eyes remained fixed in her neck.
Elena could not look at him. Her gaze remained on the floor and her body trembled immensely. She had never been touched before by any man but now this prince had left her breathless without even spending the night with her..
His hand skimmed down her side teasingly. Every brush of his lips along her throat, every graze of his hand against her waist, left her shivering, waiting for what might come next.
At last, when her breaths were ragged and her heart pounded painfully in expectance of what was next,he stopped.
Damien pulled back, his expression unreadable, his crimson eyes gleaming with restrained hunger.
"You are mine," he said, his voice a command, a vow. "But I will not break you. Not tonight."
For the first time since she entered the palace, Elena saw his true colors. His blood red eyes glowed sharply in the dimly lit room making her gasp in fear and curiosity.
Damien released her and turned away, leaving her standing there, trembling and completely shaken.
Before she could react, the door closed behind him with a loud bang leaving only a faint line of his scent.
.....…...…....
Elena collapsed onto the bed, clutching the robe tight around her body. She didn't know whether to feel relied or dread. Either way, relief and dread battled within her fiercely. He had not touched her as she had feared, yet his refusal burned her in another way. He had left her wanting, breathless, bound by chains of fear and longing she could not untangle.
Then another thought hit her; his eyes.
She was instantly reminded of the masked stranger at the masquerade.
Could it have been him...?
She lay awake for hours, staring at the canopy above with that question burning a hole in her mind. He owned her now—not only her body, but her very soul. She finally slept off after hours of thinking, oblivious of the danger that loomed ahead...