ANNARIEVETTA

A knock on the door pulled her out of a deep slumber. She rose from the bed immediately—there was no doubt in her mind that it was one of the maids assigned to her for her wedding day. She was Yati Veta, the only daughter of King and Queen Yati of the Astria Kingdom. Veta had four older brothers. The eldest, Prince Roshan, heir to the throne, lived in one of the kingdom’s capital towns. Prince Zamiel, the second son, owned the largest traditional fashion house in Astria. Prince Jeziel led a renowned chain of educational institutes, ranging from standard schools to elite academies. The youngest of her brothers, Gibadesh, still resided in the palace and served as the head of Astria’s war crew. He was a bold and brilliant warrior, admired for his strength and intellect. Veta was deeply adored by her family. From childhood, she had been taught the core etiquettes of royalty—essential customs in Astrian culture. She let out a lazy yawn, the weight of the day pressing on her chest. Today was her wedding day. Any other girl would awaken to such a day with excitement and joy. But not Veta. Instead, she sat sulking at the edge of her bed, her heart heavy. The door opened quietly, and in came Yvonne and Yexi—her assigned maids for the day. “Your Highness,” Yvonne curtsied low, her voice gentle but firm. Yexi followed suit, bowing slightly as she set down a tray of breakfast—steamed fruits, buttered bread, and a floral tea blend meant to calm nerves. Veta blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. She didn't respond immediately. Her gaze wandered to the sunlight trickling through the ornate window drapes, golden light mocking the grayness she felt inside. Yvonne exchanged a quick glance with Yexi before speaking again, more softly this time. “We’ve drawn your bath, Your Highness. It’s time to begin your preparations.” Still silent, Veta finally stood. Her silk night robe flowed around her like water, but the heaviness in her steps betrayed her calm exterior. She wasn't afraid of marriage—no, that wasn’t it. She was afraid of him. The prince she was to wed was cloaked in rumors—whispers of darkness, of a man feared across kingdoms not for cruelty, but for the power he held. He was a mystery, wrapped in strength, with a gaze people said could silence a room. And today, he would become her husband. Yexi held up a sheer ivory dress, its delicate embroidery catching the early sunlight like spun glass. “You still haven’t said a word, Vee,” she teased, using the childhood nickname only she and Yvonne were allowed to call her. “It’s her wedding day, not a coronation,” Yvonne added with a grin, brushing out Veta’s thick curls. “You’d think she was being marched off to war.” Veta managed a faint smile. “Maybe war is kinder. At least in war, you know your enemy.” The girls chuckled, though there was an ache to it. They had grown up together in the palace halls, daughters of loyal stewards long gone. Their bond was more than duty—it was stitched into memory, into shared secrets and sleepless nights. Yvonne laid the dress across the bed. It shimmered with layers of translucent fabric and soft gold threading—more artwork than garment. “He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.” Veta sighed. “I just hope I’ll be able to look him in the eyes.” Moments later, dressed and reluctantly regal, Veta stepped into the corridor. Her feet, though steady in public, faltered as soon as she was alone. Her gown pooled around her like mist, making it hard to move quickly. She’d always hated the palace’s high steps—especially these ones, polished smooth by centuries of royal feet. And of course, today of all days, her slipper caught the hem of her gown. She stumbled forward, arms flailing—until strong arms caught her mid-fall. For a moment, time collapsed. She found herself held, gently but firmly, against a broad chest clad in dark navy and silver. A masculine scent of pine, leather, and something untamed filled her senses. Her eyes slowly trailed up—past a clean-shaven jaw, sculpted like myth, to eyes the color of storm-washed steel. His face was unreadable, jawline sharp, expression composed, like someone used to being obeyed, not questioned. His eyes were pale gray—icy, not unkind, but distant. “You should watch your step,” he said. His voice was deep, calm, and without warmth. Veta stared at him, startled. “I—thank you.” He offered a small nod. Nothing more. No question. No flicker of recognition or curiosity. Then he released her and walked away. “Who was that?” Veta asked aloud, shaken. Neither Yvonne nor Yexi had seen him. And Veta, unaware, had just fallen—literally and figuratively—for the man she was about to marry. The priest stepped up to the altar—an ancient structure built in honor of Jizel, the god of Astria. The sacred rites began, his chants echoing through the grand hall. Then he called for the bridegroom. Veta's breath caught as the man from earlier stepped forward, dressed in garments that matched hers in detail and grandeur. It dawned on her in that moment—the stranger who had caught her from falling, the one with unreadable eyes and a distant voice, was her husband. “The groom may now kiss the princess,” the priest declared, his voice solemn. Veta, still stunned, stood perfectly still. She didn’t expect affection, but a formal kiss to seal the union seemed inevitable. Instead, the man gave a quiet scoff. “Who kisses strangers in Zerubabel?” he said, his voice cutting through the silence. Laughter erupted in the hall, bouncing off the high marble walls and echoing on the network streams that broadcast the event across the realm. Veta felt her cheeks burn. Her heart twisted—not from embarrassment, but rejection. The ceremony ended shortly after. She and the groom walked side by side out of the palace, their steps aligned but distant, like strangers walking the same path for different reasons. Her parents followed behind them, cloaked in quiet sorrow. The Queen, barely holding back tears, reached for her daughter’s hand one last time. She knew this was goodbye. Zerubabel was a faraway kingdom—cold, distant, foreign. And the man Veta had just married was no ordinary ruler. He was known across nations by many names. But in hushed tones, among commoners and royals alike, one word followed him: Possessed. Feared across continents, obeyed without question. Wherever his shadow reached, silence followed. And now, he belonged to her. After hours of riding in the royal chariot of Zerubabel, surrounded by nearly a hundred others in the convoy, Veta and her husband sat in near silence. The wind brushed past them, tugging at her veil, but she didn’t let go. She had clung to him tightly—tight enough to betray her fear, tight enough for him to notice. She hadn't said much, but in their brief moments together, he’d begun to read her. She was gentle, sometimes. She could live in silence. She had fears—ones she tried to hide beneath grace and silk. But he had felt it. The way she held onto him like the wind might carry her off if she dared to let go. Then, quietly, he broke the silence. “Could I know you?” he asked. His voice was low and smooth—like distant thunder, steady and oddly soothing. Veta turned her head slightly, straining her ears. She wasn’t sure she heard him right. But when she met his eyes, her breath caught. She blushed, suddenly aware that this voice—this deep, calm voice—was one she would be hearing for the rest of her life. “I should know you first,” she replied, attempting to channel the stubborn spirit she was known for. She raised her chin just slightly, the way she always had when she challenged her brothers. “Seriously?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. She nodded. “Kamel Karan,” he said at last, “Ninth Prince of Zerubabel.” Veta froze. The name hit her like ice water. Rumors had always whispered that she was to marry the Ninth Prince of Zerubabel—the Possessed One, they called him. It had even crossed her mind earlier today. But now that the truth stood before her, now that it had a face and a voice, it was harder to take in. “I... I am Anarie Veta Yati,” she managed, her voice dry, barely above a whisper. And in that stillness, two strangers—bound by kingdoms, names, and fate—began the first slow steps toward knowing each other.