"You're looking beautiful, Your Majesty,"
Hadassah said softly, tying the final ribbon into the intricate braid that crowned Princess Davinia's head. Her maid's hands trembled only slightly, but her voice carried the kind of warmth that tried to fill the cold void growing steadily in Davinia's chest.
Davinia didn't reply. She sat motionless on the edge of the velvet-lined stool, staring into the gold-rimmed mirror. The girl reflected back at her didn't look like someone ready for a celebration. She looked like a lamb dressed in silk, walking toward a blade.
Today was her long awaited wedding day.
She was to marry Prince Kaelum of Avalorm, the fifth prince. A man she'd met only once, three years ago at her sixteenth birthday ball. Their engagement had been announced that very night. Their parents had shaken hands, signed treaties, smiled for portraits, and poured wine into goblets while she stood silently in the center of it all, watching her fate be decided before her very eyes.
Davinia remembered that night well. Not because of the music or the chandeliers dripping crystals. Not because of the gown that cost more than the royal stables. But because she had bumped into him. Quite literally. She had been rushing through the ballroom, trying to escape the suffocating heat, and had collided with a wall of hard muscle and the faint scent of leather and steel.
She had looked up. He hadn't.
Prince Kaelum had glanced down at her with eyes so pale they looked nearly silver. His jaw had clenched, and without a single word, he had moved past her. Cold. Distant and dismissive. As if she were little more than a ripple in his stride.
She hadn't seen him again since then. Not even during the formal signing of their betrothal. Not during royal banquets or kingdom visits. He had vanished like a shadow slipping behind stone.
And now she would marry him.
"I don't want to do this," Davinia whispered, barely audible over the rustle of her silk train. Her voice cracked. "Hadassah, what if he never loves me? What if he never even tries?"
Hadassah paused. Her fingers lingered at the edge of Davinia's veil. "Love is not always given freely in royalty, my lady," she said, gently. "But you have a kind heart. Perhaps that is what he needs."
Davinia nodded, but her heart twisted. She didn't want to be someone's lesson in warmth. She wanted to be seen. Chosen. Wanted.
The palace bells tolled in the distance, deep, solemn notes that echoed through the high mountain air. Avalorm was a kingdom carved into the cliffs, its people proud and its royalty prouder. She'd only arrived two days ago, and already she missed home. Her gardens. Her chamber. The feeling of sunlight without stone walls in the way.
"Come," Hadassah said, lifting the edge of her train as the doors opened. "They're waiting."
Davinia rose slowly, every step toward the grand cathedral a step deeper into her new life. The halls were lined with guards in silver armor, their expressions unreadable. No one smiled. Not even her father, who stood waiting at the end of the corridor to escort her. He only offered a stiff nod.
And when the doors of the cathedral creaked open, thick with incense and silent judgment. Davinia saw him at the altar.
Prince Kaelum.
The man was devilishly attractive.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in black and silver, his crown sharp and unforgiving. He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He only stared as she approached, and for one moment, she saw it again, that same cold stare that had pierced her three years ago. Like a storm.
She wondered if he even wanted this. If there was a woman he had loved before. If he saw her as a pawn in someone else's game.
As she reached him, he bowed slightly, not a sign of affection, but duty. The priest began to speak, but Davinia didn't hear the words. She was too focused on the man she was about to vow herself to.
Prince Kaelum did not look at her until it was time for the vows.
The priest raised his hands as the hall fell into reverent silence, his voice calm but clear enough to reach every corner of the towering cathedral.
"We're gathered here to join Prince Kaelum of Avalorm and Princess Davinia of Nyvarra in holy matrimony," he began. "Marriage is a promise, a bond between two souls. Repeat after me."
Davinia's heart thundered against her ribs. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something enormous, like she might fall into a chasm with no end.
"Kaelum," the priest continued, turning slightly to him, "do you take Davinia to be your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for as long as you both shall live?"
There was the briefest pause. Then, steady and expressionless, Prince Kaelum replied, "I do."
"And now, repeat after me," the priest said. "I, Kaelum, take you, Davinia, to be my wife."
"I, Kaelum, take you, Davinia, to be my wife," he echoed.
"To love, honor, and protect—"
"To love, honor, and protect—"
"For as long as I live."
"For as long as I live."
Davinia swallowed. Her throat was dry. The priest turned to her now, his kind eyes meeting hers as though he could sense the storm building in her chest.
"Davinia," he said gently, "do you take Kaelum to be your husband?"
Her lips parted, but her voice caught.
"I do," she managed, though it barely left her throat.
"Repeat after me," he said. "I, Davinia, take you, Kaelum, to be my husband."
"I, Davinia, take you, Kaelum, to be my husband."
"To love, honor, and protect—"
"To love, honor, and protect—" she repeated, barely above a whisper.
"For as long as I live."
"For as long as I live."
The priest smiled, folding his hands. "By the power granted to me by the crowns of Avalorm and Nyvarra… I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Davinia exhaled a shaky breath, until he added the final words.
"You may now kiss the bride."
She choked.
So loud that it echoed through the halls.
The entire cathedral rang with the sudden, wet, startled sound of her gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth too late.
A few people coughed. Others started murmuring behind. The echo of whispers spread through the pews like wildfire.
Davinia's wide eyes darted to her mother, who was seated among the royal family. Queen Daryana gave her a sharp look and a small, discreet shake of her head. A silent plea: compose yourself.
She turned back to face Prince Kaelum He stood tall, unmoved by her reaction. His expression didn't waver.
"You may now kiss the bride," the priest said again.
Davinia blinked. Kiss. Kiss him. Oh God.
She had completely forgotten.
Her first kiss, her first kiss, was here, in front of hundreds of strangers, in a stone hall that smelled of incense and pressure. With a man she barely knew. A man who had never smiled at her. Never touched her hand. Never once made her feel like anything more than an obligation.
And now she had to kiss him?
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs.
Kaelum stepped slightly closer. His hands did not reach for her. He waited, unmoving, as if it didn't matter to him whether this happened or not, but the formality required it. The world required it.
Davinia stood frozen, her stomach twisting into tight, hot knots. This wasn't how she imagined her first kiss. Not under stained glass windows and judging eyes. Not with cold lips and colder intentions.
But what choice did she have?
She drew in a breath, tilted her chin, and leaned in.
Their lips met.
It was brief. Barely more than a brush. No warmth. No softness. Like kissing the edge of winter. And when she pulled back, her eyes met his, gray, unreadable, distant as ever.
The crowd clapped. Slowly. Awkwardly. And just like that, she was no longer Princess Davinia of Nyvarra.
She was the Princess of Avalorm.
A bride.
A wife.
And perhaps a prisoner.
.
.
.
The grand dining hall of Avalorm glittered like a jewel box spilled open. Golden chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings like frozen fire, their crystals catching the candlelight and scattering it over every glass, every plate, every shimmering gown.
Laughter rang out like soft bells. Servants glided between long tables, silver platters balanced effortlessly on their arms. Roasted meats gleamed with honey glaze, thick velvet sauces spilled over porcelain, and towers of sugared fruit shimmered beneath gold-dusted tarts. Wine flowed like water, poured into goblets that caught the light like rubies in glass. The nobles feasted as though the kingdom hadn't a care in the world. And yet, Davinia couldn't taste a single thing.
She stood near the edge of the marble steps, her posture painfully perfect, her hands folded delicately in front of her gown. Her mother stood beside her, statuesque and radiant in sapphire silk, the queen of Nyvarra down to her last breath. Davinia envied her ability to look so calm. So poised.
Unlike Davinia, whose smile felt more like a mask slipping off her face every time she blinked too long.
"Stand tall," her mother murmured, low enough only for her ears. "Chin up."
Davinia obeyed.
"Here they come."
Walking toward them was Lady Corelia, Kaelum's mother, the Queen Mother of Avalorm. A tall, graceful woman with bone-straight silver hair braided over one shoulder and dark eyes that didn't blink nearly enough. Beside her were several of Kaelum's relatives: his father's brothers and their wives, dressed in Avalorm's royal shades of charcoal and crimson.
Davinia's heart stuttered.
These were not warm people. They were polished and polished and polished, until nothing could slip past them. Not a word, not a smile, not even a glance.
Queen Daryana stepped forward first, curtsying with regal grace. "Queen Corelia," she greeted with a tone smooth as satin. "You honor us."
Queen Corelia returned the gesture, shallow, polite. "Queen Daryana. And this," she said, her dark eyes turning to Davinia, "must be the Princess."
Davinia felt every eye land on her like a weight. Her mother's hand gently brushed her elbow, a silent push. Now.
Davinia stepped forward and offered a respectful, low curtsy. "Queen Corelia," she said, her voice soft but steady. "It is a great pleasure to meet you. I've heard many speak of your grace."
Compliment first, her mother had warned. But not too much. They smell desperation.
Queen Corelia gave a small nod, her face unreadable. "You're more beautiful than your portrait. Kaelum is fortunate."
The words were kind, but the tone made Davinia wonder if that was more warning than praise. A man to Corelia's left chuckled, an older gentleman with graying hair and a finely trimmed beard. "A rare thing to see a Nyvarra princess in Avalorm. Let alone a wife."
Another relative added, "You'll find we do things a little differently here, dear."
Davinia smiled gently, like her mother had taught her, lips only, eyes lowered just enough. "I look forward to learning," she said, her voice smooth. "Avalorm holds many traditions that are admired in our court."
Her mother gave her the faintest nod. Good.
Another woman, one of Kaelum's aunts perhaps, stepped forward, examining Davinia as if she were a statue to be appraised. "And what do you think of your husband so far?"
The words hit like a blade.
Davinia's breath caught, just slightly, but her mother's fingernail brushed against her back, Stay calm.
She smiled again, perfectly measured. "He is... everything I expected him to be," she answered politely.
That earned a few raised brows and one muffled laugh from someone in the back. Lady Corelia's lips twitched upward, not in humor, but approval.
"A diplomatic answer," she said. "You'll need that here."
Davinia inclined her head. "I understand."
Behind the nobles, music swelled, the strings of a quartet drifting like perfume through the air. More guests danced now, their laughter rising with the wine.
But Davinia remained rooted, perfectly still, like a rose in a garden made of steel. Her mother leaned toward her slightly.
"Good," she whispered. "You're doing well."
Davinia kept her smile in place. But her chest ached so bad. And her new husband, Prince Kaelum, hadn't looked her way once.