The grand hall of the castle buzzed with anticipation. Anya stood behind the towering oak doors, their intricate carvings a testament to generations of royal craftsmanship. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat echoing the impending doom she felt. Her reflection in the polished silver of a nearby suit of armor stared back, a vision of ethereal beauty. The gown, woven from the finest silk, shimmered like liquid starlight, its delicate embroidery a symphony of silver and pearl.
She had replaced the emerald necklace, Valerian's gift that felt more like a shackle than a token of affection, with a simple string of pearls to match her gown. It felt like a small act of rebellion.
The grand doors creaked open, revealing a sea of expectant faces. As Anya stepped into the hall, a hush fell over the crowd. King Antony, his face etched with a mixture of pride and sorrow, offered her his arm.
"Ready, my dear?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Anya took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "As I'll ever be, Father."
The familiar melody of the wedding march filled the air, its lilting notes doing little to soothe her nerves. With each step, she felt the weight of countless eyes upon her, their scrutiny a tangible pressure. As she neared the altar, her gaze swept across the assembled guests, searching for... she wasn't sure what. A friendly face, perhaps, or a glimmer of hope in the sea of curious stares.
And then she saw him. Valerian, the Raven Prince, stood at the altar, a large figure of darkness amidst the opulence of the hall. He was excatly as she had dreamt. His midnight hair fell in waves around his shoulders, framing a face that was both strikingly handsome and unnervingly aloof. His silver eyes, like pools of molten metal, seemed to pierce through her facade, reading the turmoil within her soul. His tall and muscular frame was the exact opposite of the rumours she'd heard. Maybe she'd imagined it, but she could've sworn she'd seen a small upturn of the corners of his mouth.
Her hand trembled on her father's arm.
As she drew closer, she noticed a subtle shift in Valerian's expression. His gaze flicked down to her neck, lingering for a moment on the string of pearls. The ghost of a smile that played on his lips vanished; his full lips thinned into a straight line. His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something cold and dangerous flashed in his eyes. Was he scowling at her? Did he notice she had replaced his necklace?
Anya's breath hitched in her throat. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her carefully constructed composure. This marriage, this alliance, felt less like a union and more like a descent into abyss.
Anya's fear intensified as she continued her procession toward the altar. A palpable chill emanating from him that seemed to lower the temperature in the entire hall. His aloofness had transformed into something colder, harder, like a glacier carved from obsidian. His silver eyes, once captivating in their intensity, now held a distant, almost predatory gleam. He stood rigid, his expression unreadable, a statue of a man rather than a groom awaiting his bride. His silence was more unnerving than any outburst could have been. Anya couldn't help but wonder if the rumors about him being the son of a demon were true.
King Antony, oblivious to the tension crackling between his daughter and her betrothed, handed Anya over with a reassuring squeeze of her hand.
The ceremony commenced, the officiant's voice droning on about the sacred bonds of matrimony and the strength found in unity. The words felt hollow to Anya, echoing emptily in the vast hall. She barely registered the vows as she recited them, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the tapestry behind Valerian, anything to avoid his piercing stare.
When it came time to exchange rings, Valerian finally moved. His touch, as he slipped the cold band of gold onto her finger, was brief and impersonal. His gaze remained fixed on her, a mixture of emotions swirling within those silver depths – anger, disappointment, and something Anya couldn't quite decipher, something akin to possessiveness.
As soon as the officiant pronounced them man and wife, Valerian turned to face the assembled court. His voice, when he spoke, was low and resonant, carrying a hint of steel beneath its velvet smoothness.
"My thanks to all who have gathered to witness this union," he said, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, lingering for a moment on King Antony. "However, the celebrations will be brief. We depart for the Shadow Kingdom this very night."
A collective gasp rippled through the hall.