The butler led me down another endless hallway, the air growing colder with each step. The torches flickering along the walls cast long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance and twist, mocking the quiet confidence I had tried to cultivate.
At the end of the corridor loomed a massive set of double doors, their dark wood intricately carved with images of wolves, swords, and a blazing sun—symbols of power and bloodlines I could only vaguely recall from the novel.
"Wait here," the butler instructed, his voice sharp and clipped. Without waiting for my response, he knocked twice and entered, leaving me standing in the hallway alone.
For a moment, I stared at the door, the air thick with anticipation. My palms were clammy despite the cold, and my mind raced with possibilities. How would he react to me? Would he match the cold, distant figure described in the novel, or would there be hints of the man behind the curse?
I exhaled slowly, reminding myself that this wasn't about him—it was about me and the changes I planned to make.
When the door creaked open again, the butler motioned for me to enter. I stepped forward, my heart hammering in my chest.
The room beyond was vast, its high ceilings supported by thick stone columns. A roaring fireplace dominated one wall, its flames casting a warm yet foreboding glow over the space. The walls were lined with bookshelves, their contents an eclectic mix of tomes, scrolls, and artifacts. At the far end of the room, near a massive desk cluttered with papers, stood the man I'd come to meet.
The Grand Duke of the North.
He was tall—much taller than I had imagined—and broad-shouldered, his imposing frame wrapped in a dark, fur-lined cloak that only added to his air of menace.
He wore a frown, his lips pressed into a thin line that seemed to suggest he had no patience for the world or the people living in it. His hair, an inky black, fell in loose waves to his shoulders, framing a face that was both striking and intimidating.
But it was his eyes that held me captive.
They were a piercing, icy blue, almost unnatural in their intensity. They seemed to pierce straight through me, as if he could see past the surface to the secrets buried within.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His gaze swept over me, taking in my plain dress, my mud-stained shoes, and the slight tremble in my hands that I hoped he couldn't see.
I took a step.closer, and couldn't help but notice the way his eyes flickered over me—once, briefly, before returning to some point beyond me as though I held no importance.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire.
"You're late," he said finally, his voice low and emotionless.
I blinked, caught off guard. "The butler brought me as soon as he could," I replied carefully, unsure whether to defend myself or apologize.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned slightly, gesturing to the butler, who was still hovering by the door.
"Leave us."
The butler bowed and left without hesitation, closing the door with a heavy thud that echoed through the room.
Now it was just the two of us.
I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure whether to approach him or stay where I was. He seemed in no hurry to address me further, instead walking slowly toward the desk near the fireplace.
"You're the princess," he said after a long pause, as though the title itself was a question.
"Yes," I said, resisting the urge to fidget under his gaze.
He stopped in front of the desk, resting one hand lightly on its edge. "And this... is how your father sends you?"
The disdain in his tone wasn't obvious, but it was there, buried beneath the way he delivered the question.
I glanced down at my dress—plain, patched, and far from the attire of royalty. My shoes, caked with mud from the journey, completed the picture of a forgotten, unwanted daughter.
"I suppose he thought it sufficient," I said, keeping my tone even.
His frown deepened, though he said nothing. He studied me for a moment longer before turning away, his attention shifting to the maps spread across the desk.
The silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he seemed content to ignore me entirely.
"Your Grace," I said finally, breaking the silence. "Am I to assume my presence here is unwelcome?"
He glanced at me then, his expression unreadable. "Your presence here is irrelevant."
The words stung more than I cared to admit, but I refused to let it show.
"I see," I said quietly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he hadn't expected a response. He straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you?"
"Yes," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "I understand that I'm little more than a pawn in whatever game the crown is playing. But that doesn't mean I'll be treated as a mere decoration or dismissed entirely."
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"Bold words," he said, his tone flat.
"I will be the perfect wife for you, Your Grace," I stated. "So you have nothing to worry about."
He stared at me for a while, his expression unchanged. "We'll see," he finally said.
And with that, the conversation was over.
He turned back to the desk, his focus shifting to the maps and documents strewn across it. I stood there for another moment, unsure whether to stay or leave.
"Your quarters are ready," he said without looking at me. "You'll find them adequate, I'm sure."
I nodded, though he couldn't see it. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He didn't respond, and I took that as my cue to leave.
As I stepped back into the hallway, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief mixed with unease.
This... This was the beginning.