Marriage
747 Words
Amara pov
The moment we leave the ballroom, my breath finally comes back. His hand is still around mine, steady, as if what he did in the courtyard doesn’t haunt him the way it haunts me.
We walk down another endless hallway, the walls lined with portraits of past rulers—stern-faced kings and queens in golden frames. But only one family shares those silver eyes.
His family.
The last remaining Lycans.
Prince Kael doesn’t slow. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t care that I’m stumbling to keep up.
He only stops when we reach a pair of large wooden doors. He swings them open and pulls me inside.
A dressing chamber. My stomach tightens.
He releases my hand, but only to step in front of me towering calmly.
“You’ll stay here while the maids prepare the fitting,” he says.
“I don’t want”
“You’re not choosing,” he cuts in, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “You are marrying me. You will look the part.”
My chest rises and falls too fast. “Why are you doing this? Why me?”
He takes one step closer which makes my back hits the mirror behind me.
His hand comes up, bracing the glass beside my head. His body cages mine without touching, but I feel the heat of him everywhere.
“You witnessed something that would get you killed by anyone else,” he says softly. “Anyone.”
He leans in, breath brushing my cheek.
“But I didn’t kill you. I took you.”
“That’s not better,” I whisper.
“It is,” he murmurs, “because it means I chose you. And I do not choose lightly.”
His fingers trail down my jaw, slow and , as if testing how much I’ll let him touch me.
“You’re trembling,” he observes, voice darkly amused.
“I’m terrified.”
“Of me?” His thumb brushes my lips.
“Yes.”
A small, dangerous smile curves at the corner of his mouth.
“Good. Fear keeps you alive.”
He’s too close. Too overwhelming. Too everything.
I try to shift away, but his other hand catches my waist, holding me still.
“You will stand beside me before the council,” he says, as if we’re discussing a morning chore. “If they question your place, I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it how?”
“However I please.”
My pulse stutters.
Then he turns slightly and lifts a gown from one of the mannequins.
A red dress.
“This,” he says, “tells the entire kingdom you are mine.”
I swallow hard. “What if I refuse?”
His gaze lifts to mine, and for a moment I see something behind the coldness. Something ancient.
“You won’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He steps forward until his forehead nearly touches mine, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
“If you refuse…”
His hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers curling in a possessive grip.
“…I’ll still put this dress on you.”
My breath catches.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.
“Understand something, Amara.”
He lifts my chin gently but firmly.
“You are not a prisoner.”
A beat.
“You’re a possession.”
Then he turns toward the door as if he didn't just shatter my entire world.
“I’ll return soon,” he says. “Do not leave this room.”
He pauses with his hand on the door, glancing back at me.
“And Amara?”
I freeze.
“If anyone enters before I return…”
His eyes darken, glowing faintly in the dim light.
“…scream. I’ll hear you.”
The door closes behind him.
My legs finally give out, and I sink onto the nearest chair, staring at the red dress draped across my lap
the dress that marks me as his
by the monster who decided my fate
with a single, ruthless choice.
I have to escape.
- Writer
