Chapter Two: A Kingdom of Shadows
The grand dining hall was unusually quiet. The only sounds were the faint clink of silverware against plates and the occasional rustle of Elara's gown as she shifted in her seat. The table was filled with an extravagant spread of delicacies, but she found little comfort in the abundance.
Across the table, Draven sat with an unreadable expression, his crimson eyes fixed on his untouched plate. The emptiness of the room pried at her nerves. No laughter, no chatter—only the oppressive silence of a kingdom where even joy seemed restrained.
Her fork hovered over her plate as she stole a glance at him. He hadn't spoken much since the ceremony, and his quiet demeanor unsettled her. The absence of his family added to the oddness of the evening.
"Does your family always keep to themselves?" she asked, her voice hesitant, breaking the stillness.
Draven looked up, his gaze calm but distant. "They have their own domains within the kingdom. We rarely gather as one."
Elara frowned, the answer only deepening her unease. "Even for something as significant as a wedding?"
A faint shadow passed over his face. "Especially for a wedding like ours," he said softly, his tone carrying a weight she couldn't quite place.
The silence returned, heavier this time. Elara pushed her food around her plate, her appetite lost to a swirl of thoughts. Despite his composed exterior, Draven's words hinted at something unspoken—a fracture within his family that she hadn't yet glimpsed.
But her thoughts kept circling back to a more immediate concern. The wedding night.
She had no idea what to expect. In her world, wedding nights were whispered about with anticipation and curiosity. But this was different. Draven wasn't a man she knew or trusted. He was a vampire, and though his features were striking, his kind had always been a source of fear in her kingdom.
Would he expect her to share his bed tonight?
The thought sent a chill through her. She hadn't even come to terms with being his wife, let alone the idea of intimacy. Yet, propriety demanded she follow the customs of marriage, no matter how foreign or terrifying.
Draven's voice broke her thoughts. "You're uneasy," he said, his tone low but not unkind.
Elara stiffened, her cheeks warming. "I'm not used to… this." She gestured vaguely at the dimly lit hall, the oppressive atmosphere, and everything it represented.
He studied her for a moment before setting down his silverware. "You're not obligated to pretend you're comfortable here," he said. "This kingdom takes time to understand, and I imagine it feels like a prison to you right now."
Elara blinked, startled by his words. "It's… different," she admitted cautiously.
He rose from his seat then, his movements fluid and deliberate, and walked toward her. Elara tensed as he stopped beside her chair, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.
"You don't have to fear tonight," he said softly, his crimson eyes locking with hers. "You'll rest in your chambers, undisturbed. There are no expectations of you, Elara."
The relief was immediate, though it didn't completely erase her anxiety. She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit, but his expression was calm, almost reassuring.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draven inclined his head slightly. "I'll have an attendant guide you. If you need anything, summon me."
She hesitated, reluctant to leave. Despite her distance, she found herself wanting to understand him, to ask the questions that swirled in her mind. But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, she rose from her chair, her movements stiff with uncertainty. As the attendant appeared to escort her, she cast a final glance at Draven. He stood in the quiet hall, his figure regal yet lonely, a prince surrounded by shadows.
***
Elara's heart was pounding as Draven closed the door behind him. She clutched her gown tightly, unsure of what to expect. They were married, after all. Sharing a room—perhaps even a bed—wasn't unexpected. But everything about this night felt foreign and unsettling.
Draven walked toward the other side of the room, unhurried and silent. His movements were graceful, deliberate, as though he was giving her time to adjust to his presence. He stopped at a small table and poured himself a glass of water, his back to her.
"You're still standing there," he said, his voice low but without judgment. "You should get comfortable. It's been a long day."
Elara blinked, realizing she was still frozen in place, her gown clutched to her chest. "I… wasn't sure if—"
"If I'd expect more from you tonight?" Draven finished for her, turning to face her. His crimson eyes softened slightly, and he shook his head. "I gave you my word, Elara. Rest. That's all I want for you tonight."
She hesitated, her grip on the gown loosening slightly. His calm tone eased her nerves, but only just. "We're… sharing this room?"
"We are," he said simply. He gestured toward the large bed dominating the space. "We're married now. It's expected. But I won't force you into anything you're not ready for."
Elara swallowed hard and nodded. She turned her back to him, her fingers fumbling with the laces of her gown. As the fabric slipped from her shoulders, she felt his gaze on her, though he said nothing. Quickly, she reached for her thinner chemise and pulled it on, her cheeks burning.
When she turned back, she found Draven sitting at the edge of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing pale skin and faint scars along his collarbone. He seemed entirely at ease, as though sharing a room with a nervous human bride was the most natural thing in the world.
"I should warn you," he said suddenly, his tone conversational, "the nights in this castle are warm. If you wear too much to bed, you might wake up uncomfortable."
Elara froze, her hands instinctively clutching the hem of her chemise. "Uncomfortable?"
Draven's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "The fire and the heat of the stone walls. It can get overwhelming. But do as you like."
He rose then, shedding his shirt completely. Elara's eyes widened before she quickly looked away, her face flushing as she took off the chemise. She climbed into the bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible.
Draven blew out the candles, leaving only the soft glow of the fire to illuminate the room. The bed dipped slightly as he settled in beside her, but he didn't move closer.
"Good night, Elara," he said softly, his voice low and steady.
Elara turned onto her side, her back to him. "Good night," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
The room fell silent, save for the crackle of the fire. As Elara lay there, her nerves slowly began to ease. Despite the oddity of the situation, Draven had kept his word.
Still, as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, she couldn't help but wonder: What secrets did her new husband hide behind his calm demeanor? And how long would this tentative peace between them last?