The carriage rocked gently as it made its way through the darkened roads, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against stone filling the silence between them. Elyra sat stiffly, hands clenched in her lap, her pulse rising beneath her skin. She could still hear her father's voice, low and heavy with unspoken regret.
"I tried to delay this, Elyra," he had said, avoiding her gaze. "But a refusal would mean war. This is the only way to keep our house standing."
She had wanted to beg him to demand why he had chosen her, why she had to be the price of his peace but she had known it was hopeless to ask. Her fate had been sealed the moment the king's envoys arrived with their decree.
Her stepmother had been less sentimental.
As Elyra stood in the grand entryway of her family's estate, the weight of her fate pressing down on her, she felt a presence beside her. The faint scent of rosewater and something sharper bitter like regret, but not quite filled her senses.
Her stepmother.
Lady Evelyne Dorne was a vision of cold perfection, her beauty preserved in a way that felt unnatural, like a doll sculpted too finely to be real. Her sharp blue eyes roamed over Elyra's form with calculating precision.
"You look presentable enough," Evelyne murmured, reaching out to smooth a non-existent wrinkle in Elyra's gown.
Elyra stood firm, barely suppressing the urge to recoil. It was the first time her stepmother had touched her in years.
"You were meant for great things, Elyra," Evelyne continued, her voice even, detached. "And you will do what is necessary for this family."
Elyra clenched her fists. "And if I fail?"
Evelyne's lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. "Then you will no longer be of use."
A chill ran down Elyra's spine. The words were not a warning, nor a threat. Just a fact.
Before she could respond, a servant approached, announcing that the carriage was ready. Evelyne stepped back, inclining her head slightly. "Make yourself indispensable to him, Elyra. That is the only way you will survive."
And with that, she turned away, leaving Elyra standing alone in the cold morning light.
She had not wept. She had not begged. There had been no use in fighting a fate already decided for her. And so she had stepped into the carriage, letting it carry her toward the unknown, toward the man who would now own her future.
As the carriage neared the kingdom's towering gates, the air grew colder. The torches lining the castle walls flickered eerily, casting elongated shadows that danced against the stone. Elyra swallowed hard as the carriage came to a stop, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The door creaked open, revealing the servant who had accompanied her from her father's house Lena, a woman who had served their family for years. Her lined face was carefully neutral, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of sympathy.
"You must be careful here, my lady," she murmured, low enough that only Elyra could hear. "The Valerians are not like us. Speak only when spoken to. Show no weakness."
Elyra hesitated, gripping the folds of her dress. "And… am I to speak first, or...?"
Before Lena could answer, another servant, dressed in the Valerian household's dark attire, stepped forward. His gaze flickered between them before landing on Elyra. "You may step out now."
Lena inclined her head slightly but said no more. There was nothing left to say.
Her stomach twisted as she stepped onto the cobblestone path, her fingers trembling at her sides. The grand hall of the Valerian palace was deathly silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of Elyra's heels against the polished marble floor. Moonlight filtered through the towering stained-glass windows, casting fractured patterns of silver and crimson across the room. The air was thick, laced with burning incense and something far more sinister power, danger, inevitability.
She had been summoned. And she had no choice but to obey.
A hundred gazes bored into her, their silent judgments filling the air like an unspoken chorus of disdain and curiosity. Whispers slithered through the crowd, their hushed voices speculating, dissecting, waiting for the inevitable.
But she focused on only one person.
Draven Valerian.
The king sat upon his throne, posture deceptively relaxed, but his presence was anything but. His golden eyes, luminous and sharp, studied her like a creature assessing whether to toy with its prey or consume it whole. Shadows curled around him, the flickering candlelight making the polished obsidian of his throne gleam like a thing alive.
She had heard the stories. The rumors. The whispers of the man who had built his kingdom on the bones of his enemies. And now, she was to be his queen.
"So," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk yet laced with steel. "This is the girl they have chosen for me."
It was not a question. It was a statement, one weighed with unspoken meaning. She forced herself to stand tall, to meet his gaze without faltering. She would not cower. Not here. Not before him.
"Yes, Your Majesty," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I am Elyra Dorne."
His lips twitched, though whether in amusement or something darker, she could not tell. Silence remained between them, thick and suffocating, the weight of unseen forces pressing against her skin. And then, he moved.
Draven rose from his throne with the languid grace of a predator, his black cloak billowing behind him as he descended the steps. Each footstep echoed, deliberate, inescapable. The crowd parted without being told, the mere shift of his presence commanding obedience. When he stopped just before her, the air between them seemed to still.
With a single gloved finger, he tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze fully. His touch was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the power coiled beneath it. He studied her, golden eyes unblinking, and for a brief moments, she swore she saw something flicker behind them something dark, something knowing.
"You are brave," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or foolish."
Elyra swallowed but held her ground. "Perhaps both."
His slow, dangerous smile sent a shiver down her spine.
"Then this," he murmured, "should be interesting."
Behind her, the great doors groaned shut with a finality that sent a chill through her bones.
The cage had closed. And her fate had been sealed.