The flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows across the stone walls, twisting and contorting like the whispers that followed Valerian's name. Anya sat before her vanity, her reflection a pale ghost with tear-streaked cheeks. Her fingers, trembling, traced the intricate design of the emerald necklace, a gift from her betrothed, the enigmatic Raven Prince. The cold heavy metal felt like an anchor tied around her neck to prevent her from entertaining possible escape.
Her future husband was a man shrouded in mystery, a creature of shadow and moonlight. Rumors swirled around him like a tempest, tales of ancient pacts and forbidden magic. His kingdom, a realm steeped in darkness, was guarded by creatures born of nightmares.
Anya's reflection stared back, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and reluctance. This marriage, a political pawn in a game of power, felt like a sacrifice to appease a ravenous god. She was a mere offering, her future bartered for fleeting stability.
She imagined the life she'd wanted for herself. She used to daydream what it would be like to get married; she'd imagined meeting a man and the two falling madly in love with one another before eventually settling down and choosing to have children. She would've kept them as far away from the throne as possible considering how worn down and exhausted her father had been wearing that crown. She used to think she was the luckiest person in the world to be born into the royal family, but now the responsibilities of her family lay on her shoulders crushing her under all of the thrones expectations.
A sudden gust of wind extinguished the candles, plunging the room into an inky blackness. Anya gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. A chill crept down her spine as an unseen presence filled the air.
"Don't be afraid," a voice whispered, smooth as velvet yet laced with an undercurrent of power.
Anya whirled around, her eyes straining to pierce the darkness as her heart pounded erratically in her chest. A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his features slowly coming into focus.
It was Valerian. He wasnt supposed to be here yet.
His hair was the color of midnight, his eyes like pools of molten silver. His face, though handsome, bore the mark of a life lived in shadow. He stopped a few paces away, his gaze piercing her soul.
"I apologize for the dramatic entrance," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I prefer not to always adhere to conventional methods."
Anya could only stare, her mind reeling. His unexpected visit, his sudden appearance in her room, it was all so unsettling, yet strangely thrilling.
He inclined his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You are not what I expected," he said, his gaze sweeping over her.
"And you are...?" Anya found her voice, a tremor of defiance creeping into it. "Everything the rumors claim?"
Valerian's smile widened, revealing a flash of white teeth. "Perhaps I am," he said, stepping closer. "Perhaps I am far worse."
"Why proceed with this marriage? I am not what you desire... I've heard tales of the woman you truly love. I am sorry for your loss, but I doubt I could compare to her, your highness."
His eyes darkened, and despite the warning bells ringing in her mind, she continued. "I am merely a pawn for my father. I am of no use to you, please don't do this." A single tear escaped her eye, betraying her vulnerability.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. Anya flinched, but he didn't withdraw his touch. Instead, his silver eyes held hers, searching for something, understanding, perhaps even acceptance.
"You are wrong," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You are not a pawn, Anya. You are very powerful, even if you don't realize it yet."
He withdrew his hand, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin. Then, with a final enigmatic smile, he vanished back into the night, as quickly and mysteriously as he had arrived.
Anya stood there, the silence deafening in his absence. The candle on her vanity flickered back to life, casting a warm glow over the room. She looked at her reflection once more, her fear tempered by a spark of curiosity, a flicker of something that felt dangerously close to hope.