Aurelia emerged from the bathroom, a far cry from the bewildered girl who had stumbled upon the hidden room. Agnes and Betsy, with their practiced efficiency, had transformed her into a vision of elegance. The shimmering gown shimmered under the soft light, its color a perfect complement to her brown hair. Yet, despite the outward beauty, her gaze remained clouded with unease.
The earlier conversation with Betsy lingered in her mind, a nagging suspicion refusing to be silenced. Why could Betsy only remember venturing on that snowy day? Was it truly a lapse of memory, or something more sinister at play?
These questions swirled in her head as she stepped back into the chamber. Agnes and Betsy, their expressions unreadable, stood waiting.
"You look radiant, milady," Agnes said, her voice devoid of emotion. While Betsy grinned nodding.
Aurelia offered a tight smile, her lips feeling foreign on her face. The compliment felt hollow, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within her.
But before she could dwell on it any further, a knock rapped on the door. Malcolm stood on the other side, his face uncharacteristically grim.
"Milady," he announced, his voice low and formal. " Your presence is requested outside the castle."
Aurelia's heart skipped a beat. A thousand questions flooded her mind. Was this a punishment? A way for her to finally confront her about the stabbing incident?
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, forcing a semblance of composure. "Thank you," she replied, her voice surprisingly steady. "I will be there shortly."
Malcolm nodded curtly and retreated down the hallway. Aurelia turned to Agnes and Betsy, a flicker of fear in her eyes.
"What does it mean?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Neither of them offered a response. Agnes simply inclined her head in a silent gesture of encouragement, while Betsy's face remained etched with worry.
With a heavy heart, Aurelia walked out of the chamber and down the flight of stairs. The cool evening air swept around her, carrying the faint scent of approaching nightfall. As she stepped onto the terrace, a low trotting sound reached her ears, followed by the gentle whinnies of horses.
Her gaze fell upon a carriage, its sleek black body gleaming in the fading light. A coachman, dressed in royal livery, stood beside the open door, his head bowed.
"Your Majesty," he announced, his voice booming across the quiet courtyard.
Aurelia's breath hitched in her throat. Turning slowly, she saw him – the King. He stood at the top of the stairs, a dazzling smile playing on his lips.
Aurelia's mind reeled. Dead. Dead. He was supposed to be dead, she'd stabbed him. She was supposed to be waiting for her head to nr decapitated for murdering the king. Yet, here he stood, the King, a picture of health, a predatory glint in his golden eyes as he descended the stairs.
His smile, once charming, now appeared laced with a hint of cruelty. The cold steel of the dagger, the crimson stain blooming on his chest, it was all too vivid in her memory.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, sweetness," he chuckled, his voice dripping with a false sweetness.
"A ghost?" Aurelia echoed, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. Yes, she'd seen a ghost! The ghost of a king she thought she'd slain, replaced by this unsettling figure before her.
Panic clawed at her throat. This castle, with its whispers and hidden secrets, was playing a cruel trick on her. Was this some elaborate illusion, a twisted game designed to torment her?
Her gaze darted towards the carriage, a gilded cage waiting to trap her. The coachman, a silent observer, offered no answers. Aurelia's body trembled, her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.
She had to get away. Away from this castle, away from this King, away from the suffocating darkness that seemed to be closing in on her. Revenge didn't seem like a motive anymore.
But before she could even take a step back, the King stood before her, his hand outstretched, a chilling smile playing on his lips.
"Come now, sweetness," he purred, his voice a silky snare. "We wouldn't want to be late."
The weight of his gaze, the veiled threat hanging in the air, left Aurelia with a chilling certainty. This wasn't an invitation. It was a command. And in the face of the unknown, with fear gnawing at her resolve, Aurelia knew she had no choice but to comply.
With a deep breath, she forced her trembling hand into his, the cold touch sending a shiver down her spine. As he led her towards the carriage, Aurelia stole a glance back at the castle, its imposing silhouette stark against the darkening sky.
A smirk played on Samael's lips as he led Aurelia towards the carriage. The terror flickering in her eyes. It was a captivating juxtaposition – the fear, the simmering anger, the desperate attempt to maintain composure.
He'd taken his time with the dagger's removal, savoring the dramatic effect. Pain, of course, there had been. But the blood coursing through his veins, the very essence that made him the creature he was, hastened the healing process. A mere inconvenience compared to the satisfaction of seeing his would-be assassin squirm.
The heavy oak door of the carriage slammed shut with a finality that echoed in the stillness of the courtyard. Aurelia, trapped within the confines of the luxurious prison, turned towards him, her gaze narrowed to slits. It was a look that burned with suspicion, a silent accusation.
"Trying to decide," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, "if I'm a phantom or the very King you so desperately tried to dethrone?" He leaned closer, his golden eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.
Aurelia couldn't hold back any longer. The burning question that had been consuming her ever since his seemingly miraculous recovery burst out in a shaky voice. "How are you alive?"
Samael chuckled, a dark, humorless sound that sent shivers down her spine. "My, my," he drawled. "That's not exactly how to keep a conversation going, is it? Don't you want to hear about the exquisite agony, the near-death experience? Perhaps even a touch of gratitude for my miraculous recovery? Perhaps you weren't contented with murdering one of my lords. "
Aurelia glanced away, her cheeks burning with a mixture of anger and shame. "I was merely… curious, Your Majesty," she mumbled, the last part a forced courtesy.
Samael's laughter died down, replaced by a chilling smile. "Curious, you say? You didn't seem particularly curious when you plunged that dagger into my chest. Your expression then held a curious mix – confusion, yes, but also… hatred. And dare I say, a touch of disappointment?"
Aurelia's breath hitched in her throat. She couldn't reveal her identity, the reason for her act.
"I don't like you, Your Majesty," she stated.
Samael's eyes narrowed, his gaze burning into hers. Aurelia braced herself for another outburst, another cruel taunt. But instead, a slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"Dislike is an interesting choice of words, sweetness," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Where are we going?" Aurelia dared to ask again. The carriage rattled along a dusty path, the rhythmic clopping of the horses hooves the only sound breaking the tense silence.
Samael, propped against the plush seat, simply shrugged, a sly smile playing on his lips. "A soiree."
"A soiree?" Aurelia echoed, disbelief coloring her tone. The idea of a social gathering seemed ludicrous in the face of the raw emotions simmering between them.
"Indeed," he confirmed, his golden eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. "A gathering of… shall we say, interested parties. "
Aurelia's frown deepened.
"Are you planning on... punishing me?" she stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Samael's smile widened, "Punishing you, sweetness? Now, wouldn't that be a bit… predictable? No, this soiree is another boring Soiree " He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Perhaps I might understand why a sweet, innocent flower like yourself would harbor such… venomous thorns."
The carriage jolted, momentarily throwing them both off balance. As Aurelia righted herself, she met Samael's gaze. His words were laced with a veiled threat, a promise of something more sinister than mere punishment.