"What's your name?" His smooth, deep voice cut through the silence, catching her off guard. 

Salviana blinked in disbelief. "You married me!" she countered, her voice incredulous. 

The prince's eyes remained fixed on her, molten and unyielding. "Yes. And yet I don't know it." 

His words were delivered with a calm ease, but something darker flickered behind his gaze, a weight she couldn't place. "I won't tell you," she snapped, her heart hammering in her chest. "If you don't already know it." 

A flicker of amusement sparked in his eyes. 'She's fire,' he mused, though his expression remained as impassive as stone. "Fine by me, Wife." 

"Don't call me that!" Her voice cracked with frustration, fists clenched by her sides. The sting of this forced union gnawed at her, the indignity of being bound to a stranger—one who didn't even care to know her name.

"You are my wife," he replied, as if the words carried no more significance than stating the time and stating the obvious. He had the right to call her wife because she was his wife now. 

Her defiance faltered, giving way to dejection. "I know, sadly. But you've no right to call someone you don't know your wife." she insisted.

He scoffed lightly, his brows arching slightly as he asked with narrowed eyes. "Do you know my real name?" 

The question made her blink. Of course, she knew his real name, didn't everybody? She thought she believed his name was known in the kingdom, though it was always whispered in fear—the dark prince, the demon prince. Little did she know, that not many knew his real name. Her lips curled.

"Don't flatter yourself." She retorted, defiance edging her, she wouldn't say his name if he didn't know hers.

For a moment, she thought she saw something behind his eyes—a flicker of surprise, or was it annoyance? But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his indifferent façade.

He gave a slow nod, "You'll make a great queen," he said flatly, watching her reaction closely.

She blinked in confusion, her frustration boiling over. "But—"

"If I were a king," he cut in smoothly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Salviana's blood boiled. "You're not even in line for the throne!" she spat, her voice trembling with anger and helplessness.

His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with something that unnerved her. "Not yet."

She recoiled, her mind racing. What did that mean? His casual words were laced with menace, but she couldn't fathom the full weight of his ambition. Was he truly that dangerous? Would he fight for the throne? Would he kill?

The thought of being queen terrified her, and the idea of this man having such a future only made it worse.

Her legs itch to turn around and ignore him, but the fear of what he might do in retaliation held her back.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice softer now, the defiance giving way to the real question that had gnawed at her from the moment they'd been bound together. "Of all people, why me?"

The prince regarded her with a calculating gaze, silent for a moment longer than she was comfortable with. "Why not you?"

Her breath caught in her throat. His calm, detached response was almost worse than cruelty. There was no malice in his tone, just indifference—like she was a pawn on his chessboard, nothing more but she wished to know of the game as a player and not a pawn.

She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. This was her life now, bound to a man who didn't even care enough to know her name and didn't have a good reason for marrying her.

She had been excited to attend her first playhouse performance, only for him to ruin it by marrying her.

She sighed out loud further drawing his already given attention.

A small smirk twisted his lips as he met her gaze. She swore she saw fangs, his canines longer than before. What is this man?

Was he really a demon as the whispers carry?

He cut her thoughts short with a dismissive command. "Find a place to sit, Wife. We'll be called for a meeting soon, and you'll need all of your energy to stand them."

Her anger flared at his tone. "You're the only royal I'll dislike, that I can assure you," she declared.

He let out a soft scoff. "I wouldn't be surprised." His eyes, heavy-lidded and unreadable, blinked slowly, completely unaffected by her words or so he appeared.

Salviana stood still, her pulse thundering in her ears. How could this have happened so suddenly? One day, she was a free woman, and the next, she was married to a man she had only known through rumours and whispered warnings.

She took a deep breath as he pinned her with his gaze dark and inscrutable. His black eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The stories had painted him as cruel, cold—some even called him a demon and she was starting to believe them.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

She would rather stand and glare at him instead of sitting as he suggested.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her stubbornness, followed by a guard's voice. "Your Graces, you have been summoned for a meeting in the grand hall."

"Of course," the dark prince murmured, rising smoothly from his seat. "Come, Wife. It's time for a formal introduction."

Salviana watched as he stood to his full height, every inch of him exuding a regal, effortless confidence. His midnight-black hair, tied into a sleek bun, shimmered faintly in the dim light. His eyes—dark and bottomless—glinted like the coldest part of a cave at night, suffocating and devoid of warmth. She felt as though she were drowning in them, unable to break free from their pull.

His broad, powerful shoulders carried the weight of his indifference as if he were an ancient cliff standing against relentless crashing waves. The royal attire he wore—rich, regal fabrics hugging his form—made him look like the embodiment of darkness. Yet there was something undeniably dangerous about him—a silent warning that filled the air, like the hiss of a serpent waiting to strike.

His face, sharp and chiselled, betrayed nothing. His lips, thin and devoid of emotion, gave away no hint of what he was truly thinking or what hid behind them. And though his appearance was regal, he carried an aura of menace that made the room feel colder with every step he took.

Too late, she realized she was staring, utterly captivated by the contradiction of his perfect poise and the ominous aura that surrounded him. How could he be so perfectly composed, yet carry such palpable danger?

Feeling her gaze, he turned his dark eyes toward her. Her breath caught in her throat as his cold stare locked onto hers. His unreadable expression made her stomach twist.

"I—" she began, her voice trembling.

"Hush! Just come along and be yourself," he commanded softly, though his tone held a dangerous edge.

The more he spoke, the more her nerves frayed. This man—this creature—was nothing like she had imagined, and yet she couldn't look away.

Be herself? She wasn't sure she knew how to be herself right now. She was anxious, tired, and unable to compose her facial reactions, she couldn't be herself.

Her heart raced, her anger swirling with an unfamiliar fear. She had to be strong, she realized—strong enough to face this man and the new life that had been forced upon her. Salviana took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she followed her husband's confident, almost casual stride.

As they made their way toward the grand hall, the dark prince's gaze remained fixed ahead, though a presence only he could sense lingered nearby. A deep voice, smooth as velvet yet dripping with dark amusement, echoed in his mind.

"I told you, she's fire. You'll love her," the presence teased.

Love. The word grated against him, foreign and unwanted. His eyes slid toward her, his lips curving into a faint frown. "Something feels off about her," he thought, they were communicating telepathically.

The presence scoffed. "There's nothing off. It's her divine aura—you know she must possess it."

He nodded slightly, though his unease remained. There was something about her he couldn't grasp. His thoughts darkened as he shifted his focus. "Watch Genevieve. She seemed unusually pleased with herself earlier."

"Of course, Your Grace," the presence replied before vanishing, leaving him to his thoughts.

Salviana, unaware of the silent exchange, sighed softly as they walked. Her mind reeled at the whirlwind of events. 

Did he even know what I looked like before today? Has he ever seen her? Did he like her? she wondered bitterly.

She risked a glance at him, her composure faltering under the weight of his presence. His cold, enigmatic aura pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. How was she supposed to live with him, to serve as his wife, when his very existence felt like a looming storm?

The dark prince's gaze flickered toward her, assessing her every movement. She was beautiful—radiant even.

But beauty wasn't why he had chosen her.

There was something more, something about her soul that drew him in, something he needed but could not fully comprehend. And yet, as much as he sensed her divinity, darkness tainted their bond before it could even begin. Secrets lingered between them, and neither of them could ignore them for long.

For now, he kept those thoughts buried deep within, his expression unreadable as they approached the grand hall, their fates entwined in a dance of shadow and divinity.

He would soon see how well his new bride handled the scrutiny of the royals.