The first light of dawn seeped faintly through the embroidered curtains of the Veylar palace chamber where Elena lay nestled in the warm sheets. The night before had left her shaken and her mind mentally exhausted. The sense of Damien's presence lingered on her skin—his closeness, his breath had stirred up something strange within her.
She had not expected to share such intimacy, not so soon, and though the night ended with both of them lying in silence rather than tangled in passion, the weight of his nearness clung to her like a shadow she could not shake.
Damien was already awake by the time she was still sleeping. For a long while, he lay on his side, staring right at her face. His slit eyes, usually so cold, studied her face with a mixture of quiet calculation and something far darker. She stirred faintly, her lashes fluttering on the soft pillow as though caught in a dream. He watched the way her lips parted as she exhaled and the gentle curve of her cheek against the pillow.
As he started at her, a thought crossed his mind.
'What really was happening to her?.' Ever since their marriage ritual, he had been studying her constant fainting and weakness. Even after she had pushed him against the wall that evening, he still couldn't figure out what was happening to her.
As he thought deeper, Elena suddenly shifted and the softened gaze that graced his features melted away immediately like ice under the sun. The warmness of the bed cooled instantly at his absence, and Elena stirred again, half-conscious with her hand grazing the sheets where his body had been as though she were seeking for his warmth.
Damien crossed into the adjoining chamber immediately he got up. The steam rose almost instantly as he twisted the golden lever of the marble bath. The sound of running water filled the silence, and his ever restless mind shifted to the day ahead. The King of Veylar was no ordinary monarch and he knew it quite well. This was a man that killed his own family just to get the throne. Although he didn't know the full story, he decided to play it safe.
His coronation marked a shift in balance, a ripple of power that had drawn rival kingdoms, allies, and enemies alike into his orbit. No one wanted to anger the man who captured other kingdoms and states with the cruelest of wars.
Damien's purpose here was more than diplomacy—it was survival, a means of forming alliance or perhaps even domination.
The shower was still running when Elena awoke fully. She blinked repeatedly as the the morning haze shone brightly on her face. Her gaze drifted to the curtained windows, then to the tall, carved door behind which she could hear Damien's movements. She sat up, hugging the sheets close to her chest as her thoughts tangled.
What would today bring? Why had the King allowed her presence alongside Damien's? And—most pressing of all—why did she suddenly feel a strange connection with him?. Last night had been a wild for her and the memory alone had her contemplating seriously.
'Was it the mark that made him act that way? Or blood thirst?'. As much as she thought about it, nothing made sense enough to justify his actions that night.
The bathroom door finally swung open with steam flowing seamlessly out of it. Damien suddenly emerged from the bathroom. A single towel hung low on his hips and his hair dripped wet as the water clung to his skin. Elena stiffened up on the bed, every thought evaporating in the shock of seeing him so exposed.
He did not acknowledge her staring gaze instead, he disappeared into the impossibly large closet, his broad back rippling with muscle as he sorted through the garments that had been carefully prepared the night before. Before she knew it, the door closed up and he was out of sight.
By the time he emerged again, he was fully dressed. Since the coronation was to happen the next day, he dressed simply.
He was clad in a royal attire that clung tightly to his frame. It consisted of a striking blue coat, intricately embroidered with golden threads, paired with a matching waistcoat and breeches. A ruffled white shirt completed the outfit seamlessly giving him an air of regal elegance fit for a prince.
As her eyes followed him, he suddenly turned and addresses her.
"Up," he commanded, fastening the last of his cufflinks. "We can't have the King waiting because of our tardiness."
Elena flinched at the casual cruelty of his tone, but she swung her legs over the side of the bed nonetheless.
"Well, if you could give me a minute, I could—"
Before she could protest, Damien was already striding toward the door without even looking at her. He paused only once when his hand gripped the handle.
"Do not keep me waiting," he said lowly, then slipped out without another glance.
Elena stared at the now opened door in awe.
Wasn't he the same person who had utterly seduced her speechless? What was this hot-cold behavior?!
A few minutes later, the palace maids rushed into the room to help her get ready. Elena swallowed her unease, allowing them to wash and oil her skin. After the bath, they laced her with a majestic gown that flowed with deep blue velvet fabric cascading beneath her waistline. The dress featured a square neckline framed with intricate white embroidery, complimented by delicate gemstones that sparkled faintly in the light. Long, voluminous sleeves flared at the wrists, adorned with elaborate floral patterns stitched in silver thread, while the bodice tightened at her waist with ornate gems beautifying it. The full skirt flared at the waist and was embellished with scattered star-like motifs and swirling vine designs making her look every bit of a princess.
By the time Elena descended the spiraling staircase that swept into the royal dining hall, Damien was already there. He sat at the long silver table like an elegant figure carved from ice. Servants clad in purple and grey lined the hall in silence with their heads bowed, while the chandeliers gleamed above the ceilings, casting a warm shadow of light across the dining area.
Elena's steps faltered as she entered, but she forced her chin high, putting to good use the endless lessons she had endured on courtesy. She approached the table and gave a small curtsy before lowering herself into the seat beside Damien.
Silence pressed heavily around them. Damien remained seated with his two hands resting on his knees as though he were in a hurry. His long fingers tapped occasionally against the goblet before him before stilling again.
At exactly eight a.m., the toll of a distant trumpet broke the quiet. The sound echoed down the hall more like a warning than to announce an arrival. Elena tensed and her breath came out in shallow, quiet pants as the towering doors flew open.
The King of Veylar entered.
He was taller than she had imagined. Much, more taller.
His broad shoulders were hidden beneath a mantle of black fur that only made them look bigger. His long, luscious silver hair, flowed past his shoulders in a gleaming sheet. His eyes, a piercing shade of both deep red and obsidian black, swept across the room with a weight that pressed down on all who met them. His presence was suffocating, like the heavy air before a storm breaks.
Elena's body went rigid. Every story she had heard about this man paled in comparison to the reality of his aura. He did not need to speak to command obedience—his very existence demanded it.
Damien rose smoothly, bowing slightly in respect to him. Elena, fumbling, followed his example, lowering her head though her hands trembled greatly against the fabric of her gown.
The King's gaze lingered on her longer than she wished flashing a faint curve of his lips that unsettled her deeply. Turning back to Damien, he gestured for them to sit and they obeyed.
The King engaged Damien almost immediately as the servants began to serve the food.
"So, the King of your lands sends his son in his stead." His voice was low and smooth, yet it carried had a chilling edge to it. "One would almost think he fears showing his face here."
Damien's expression did not waver. He leaned back slightly, still maintaining the perfect picture of composure. "The King had some matters to attend which held him back. Please be understanding."
"More important than the coronation of an inviting prince? That sounds much of an insult to me." he replied, staring right at him. Elena could feel the tension rising dangerously in the room and at that moment, she wished he had just left her with the 'den of lions.'
"That cannot be the case only if you see it like that, your majesty." he returned, emphasizing on 'your majesty.' A quiet chuckle escaped from the King's lips at his comeback.
The King's l eyes gleamed and he arched a brow. "You're quite good with words young sir. No wonder he chose you."
Elena's pulse spiked. She glanced between them, feeling the tension coil tighter with each exchange. The King's words dripped with provocation, but Damien replied as if he had practiced exactly what to say.
The King then shifted his attention to Elena who was quietly sucking on the bed in her mouth. All the saliva had completely dried from her tongue making even the bread feel dry.
"And what about you princess?," he mused as his gaze shifted to her entirely. "Do you think it was wrong for the King to handle such matter with levity?"
Elena's throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
Before she could respond, Damien's voice cut through, firm and cold. "She was made to come with me and so knows nothing about the matter."
The King chuckled, leaning back in his chair, twirling the glass in his hand. "Possessive yet dangerous. Very much the quality for any great man."
"Let's eat shall we?." the King said smiling and silence fell once again.
The king finally rose from the table after finishing his meal. As they turned to leave, she felt Damien's hand brush briefly against her arm, steadying her when she stumbled. But when she looked at him, his eyes were fixed forward, cold as ever.
The King, having seem her little misstep, voiced out soft but sharp enough to slice the silence.
"Careful, Prince Damien. Weapons, after all, can cut their masters too."
Elena shivered. What did that mean this time?.
And Damien—though his face betrayed nothing—tightened his hand around her arm ever so slightly, as though to anchor her...and himself.
With a large smile on his face, the king walked out of the hall with the two guards opening the door as he approached.
"What an interesting couple..." he drawled as he descended the stairs.