I tried talking to Vesper, giving a valid reason as to why I cannot attend the wedding. Everyone gets to go home after, but my home isn't in Lycanthia.
Vesper assured me accomodation will be provided, nullifying my point.
Then I told him straight out that I had no interest in attending, but his response was firm and uncompromising. As a student of Lycan School, I had no choice in the matter. The rules of the Royal Family and their jurisdiction applied to me, whether I liked it or not.
The threat of suspension hangs in the air like a heavy cloud, casting a shadow over my hopes of escaping this. I feel sick to my stomach, and my breaths are harsh. Fast.
My imaginations run wild on the various possibilities of how my day might go, but none of the outcomes are good. I'll probably pass out in the hall. Or puke. Or shift.
I peer around my room, clutching my bags to my chest, heart heavy with resignation, bones heavy with fatigue. Packing seema pointless. What is there to pack? It's just a week. A very long one, and I'll probably spend it holed up in a room, writhing in agony as Rune and Ginevra consummate their union.
I do not look forward to that.
My door swings open and Darian strides in.
His bag hangs effortlessly over his shoulder, and his long hair is meticulously styled, gathered into a tight bun that accentuates the angles of his handsome face.
Clad in a black tuxedo that hugs his form, he exudes an aura of elegance and sophistication.
The contrast of the dark fabric against his fair complexion only heightens the impact of his presence. His eyes, those mesmerizing pools of golden warmth, sparkle with a mix of feelings I don't understand.
As he approaches me, a sad smile dances upon his lips, revealing a glimpse of the affection and longing he has for me.
Why not Darian? Why Rune, I ask myself.
For an instant, my thoughts stray to Rune, imagining how he would look in his own wedding attire. I quickly rein in my mind, banishing the treacherous thoughts.
"I will see you in a few. We're leaving soon," he says, crossing the room and pulling me into a tight hug, causing my bags to slip from my hold. Somehow, our lips meet and he kisses me until I can't breathe. His hands are in my hair, under my blouse, cupping my ass and his teeth nips at my jaw, my neck. We are panting when we come apart, clinging to each other tightly.
A momentary respite from the chaos brewing within me. That's what Darian is to me. All he is and can be. It doesn't matter how much I try. I do not feel drawn to him. I do not love him, though I want to. Though I need to.
Coming apart, Darian cups my cheeks delicately and his eyes glimmer with intensity. "Save me a dance, princess," he whispers.
I frown at the abnormal request, and I start to tell him that I do not have plans on dancing with someone else...or dancing at all, but there is something about the way he looks at me that makes me shut my mouth and nod. "Sure thing."
***************
I hate portals, and I am so thankful I didn't get dressed before going through the portal.
Maya and I snicker as we pass by a few girls with disheveled hair and torn dresses in the vast hallway, even if we look just as bad. My frizz is a mess and I think I might have a wedgie.
"This place is sick!" Ethan says behind us, hand circling Maya's waist. She shifts uncomfortably enough for me to notice, but I don't say a word.
She's dating Ethan now. The idiot I saved her from months ago. I'd question it but we only just repaired our relationship. I don't want her feeling uncomfortable around me.
"Wow..." Someone cooes ahead as we pass by a statue of the Moon Goddess. Ancient and ethereal, a beauty frozen in time and immortalised in marble.
Her serene eyes hold timeless wisdom, while her outstretched hand cradles a softly glowing orb, a miniature moon. A sense of reverence fills the air as her presence captivates all who pass by, a beacon of light and guidance in the darkness.
Several other statues are arranged along the vast hallway. More of the Moon Goddess and her wolf, Selene. There are also statues of Lycan Kings, domed in regal attire and the sole crown that is passed down for generations.
While I pride in my father's castle, it holds no candle to this. King Fenrir's castle is a monument. Every hall way we have walked through holds a piece of history that has been long forgotten. And it is freaking huge. We haven't even walked through half of the first wing and I have lost count of the number of turns and doors on this floor.
We are ushered into another hallway by stern looking guards and maidens wrapped in dozens of tule and billowing skirts. I have no doubt that there are baskets under those dresses.
Rooms are allocated to us, and I'm happy I have Maya's room next to mine. I consider taking a tour to find Darian's, but it'll probably take forever. I'll find him in the hall.
I am fidgeting with my hair, yanking at the strands when my door slams open with no warning. I lurch from where I sit by the edge of the bed, frowning.
A woman strides in, a retinue of maids following hurriedly behind her. My gaze, however is drawn back to her. The woman to whom the maids defer. Her emerald eyes are familiar, but I know I have not met her before.
Draped in resplendent regalia, her gown of purest white cascades with luxurious fabrics and ornate embellishments. Silver threads gleam in her hair, woven into elaborate jewelry that crowns her head. Her face is wrinkled, but it does nothing to hide the wild beauty she must have been in her prime.
Her thin lips draw into a grim line and she inclines her head toward the maids. "Strip her."
I only have a few seconds for her words to sink in before the maids attack me.
I flee to the far end of the room, holding a comb as my weapon against the women who seem keen on ripping my clothes off. The fuck is this? "You touch me and I will not think twice before I stick this up your throat."
And though, the comb has a very blunt edge, the murder in my gaze has them taking steps away from me.
The...old woman lets out an exasperated sigh and she shoves the maids aside. "I'd advice you not make this any difficult than it already is, child. We do not have all day."
My brows rise. "And who the fuck are you?"
"Your lady-in-waiting," she says, wearing a catty smile that looks great on her.
My eyes skim over her warily. "Not dressed like that, no. I'm not stupid. Who are you?!"
My voice pitches with hysteria and Sloan's at the surface, waiting to pounce on the first person who lays a hand on me.
The woman fans herself, eyes darting about the room sharply and when they land on my dress, she gasps,"My, that is absolutely stunning!"
She makes a U-turn, heading for my dress as her eyes widen with wonder. I am surprised enough to straighten and relax as she gushes on and on about how great it will look on me and compliment my skin.
Admittedly, she is dressed too fancy to be a lady in waiting, but then, this entire castle is dressed fancy. Hell, even the curtains are fancy enough to be worn as dresses.
"You think so?" I mutter nervously. "It isn't too outrageous for a wedding?"
She chuckles. "Oh dear, you must never have attended a royal wedding before."
No. I have not, obvi, I don't say.
She looks up from the dress, green eyes sparkling with mischief and delight. "I will have the designers touch this up for you. The maids are here, solely to serve you. Let them do their work on you."
I bite my lips. "Everyone else gets this same treatment?"
"Of course. Our king is that generous."
Not to me, I also don't say, but her words calm me down a bit. "What do you mean by touch it up though?"
Her smile is cunning, sly. "You'll see." She pauses and her eyes drift to my hair. "Too dry," she mutters to herself. "Get the eggs!" She suddenly screams, startling me.
A chaos ensues in my room, and I swear, I have no idea what the hell is going on.
***********
The vast hall teems with countless Lycans, voices and laughter blending in a symphony. Scents of mead and delicacies hang in the air, mingling with the clink of golden goblets. Adorned tapestries grace the walls, while chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow from above. Marble floors reflect flickering candlelight, as Lycans don lavish attire and jewels that glimmer like captured stars.
However, as I step on the threshold, clad in a midnight gown that moves like liquid ebony, accentuating my every movement, a hush falls over the crowd. Conversations stutter and fade, replaced by an electric anticipation that crackles in the air. A sea of eyes turn towards me, their gazes devouring every detail of my presence.
My manicured nails dig into my palm as my heart skips. Too many eyes on me. Way too many.
I expect the usual scorn, but I see awe and reverence as I make my entrance. Maybe...a bit of curiousity and admiration.
My back straightens and I raise my chin slightly, letting a sultry, confident smile play on my lips. Every step into the hall is an incantation, casting a spell upon those who lay eyes on me, ensnaring them in a web of desire and reverence.
I am beautiful. I am sensual. I am that dark little thing that has stripped them of all thought, and even the air they breath. It's as if time itself has stood still to acknowledge my presence.
The dark dress, an embodiment of darkness and mystery trails behind me with every step, its intricate lace shimmering like pools of night sky, and as though I have become one with the darkness, a queen ready to claim her throne.
Fiery red locks cascade down my back, intertwined with crystals and black lace, forming exquisite patterns. The crimson waves frame my face, and I know their vibrant hue matches the flame of the torches lighting up the stage where Rune and Ginevra will be joined.
I spare a glance at the reflecting surface by my left and I am captivated by the intensity of my baby blue eyes. The smoky eye makeup enhances their allure, accentuating the striking hue with shadows and highlights that draw attention to their every flicker. Tiny specks of silver adorn my eyelids, twinkling like stars in the night sky, adding a touch of magical brilliance.
I must hand it to the old woman. She's transformed me from a woman to a fucking Goddess.
As I progress through the hall, a path materializes before me, a parting of the masses as if commanded by some unseen force. Whispers of my name, my title, weave through the air, and one seems closer than the rest. A tad more familiar, causing me to turn.
My gaze meets Darian's wide ones from across the hall, on the other end of the lush, green carpet, reserved only for the royal family, and I smile.
He doesn't smile back. He is too stunned to even move.
Yeah. The Astrid Effect.
I feel my high reaching its peak when a howl pierces the air, breaking the spell I have on the crowd.
The towering doors on the reserved entrance swings open and we all glance and bow and King Fenrir enters, walking past the lot of us with an aura that is strong enough to weaken my knees.
I raise my gaze a little, and I find his eyes narrowed at me as he walks past, a deep frown etching on his usually stoic features as he takes me in. I drop my gaze abruptly and hold my breath as I feel those piercing eyes on me, observing and feeling me out.
A sigh of relief escapes me when his gaze lifts off me.
But I barely have time to bask in that relief when another howl pierces the heir, welcoming the bride and the Queen.
I don't look. I stare at my dress, and my feet, anything at all to avoid looking at Ginevra.
But when the third howl resounds in the hall, my gaze lifts from my dress and my heart stops when I see Rune.
The room seems to fade away, leaving only him in an illuminated soft glow. He is breathtaking, the most beautiful man I have seen. Wild, raw, unrivalled, that is Rune's beauty. Saying he is handsome is an injustice.
His hair is pulled back from him faces, not a single silvery strand is allowed to roam free. His features are sharp, angular, chiseled, and whatever words can be used to describe his face because when I look at Rune, words fail me.
His deep green tailored jacket molds to his form with precision, hiding everything and nothing all the same. His hands are in the pocket of his black pants, giving off the air of sophistication and nonchalance. The top buttons of his black inner shirt are undone, revealing a pale, strong column of his neck that I'd like to drag my tongue along.
His eyes drift across the room, as if in search of something, and they find me almost immediately.
They drop low, taking in every detail of what I look like, undressing and redressing me, and I think my heart's gonna explode from the tension in the air.
And then, he looks away, like I mean nothing, walking past me to the altar where Ginevra waits for him.
I start to cry.