Chapter1
1086 Words
Chapter 1
Andrea:
The dress they gave me wasn't white.
It was silver, shimmering, sterile, and cold. Like the future they were dragging me into.
I sat in the back of the carriage, watching the forest blur past the window. I did not understand why they chose to drag me with a carriage when they could have just used the car, which would have been less subtle, but then again, they wanted this for show, didn't they? Every bump in the road jostled the knot in my stomach, but I refused to show it. Not to the guards stationed across from me. Not to the servant who kept glancing at me like I might snap and tear the whole wagon apart. Because at this point, I believed that I might do so.
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
I wouldn’t cry for a mate who’d chosen my sister.
I would not allow anyone to see me being weak, not after I was played for a fool, not after my whole world came crashing down on me over something that I did not even do.
"You're awfully quiet, my Lady," the servant said softly, her voice hesitant. “Is there anything that is bothering you? Do you want us to stop the carriage for a moment? Do you want to take a breath?”
"I'm not your lady," I replied, keeping my gaze fixed on the road. "I'm just the replacement. You didn't treat me the way that you are. I know for a fact that you would rather be anywhere else but beside me.”
The words tasted bitter. Like betrayal, like ashes, like everything I had buried over the past week clawing its way back to the surface. I looked out the window as I did my best to try and stop my tears from falling. I would not allow them to fall. I would not allow my makeup to be smudged or smeared. I would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.
Elena had always been the favorite.
She had been everyone's favorite since we were children. No matter how hard I tried, I could never amount to her. I could never even sit in the same room without being overshadowed by her.
She was prettier. Softer. Smarter, they said. She was more ladylike, unlike me.
The perfect daughter to marry a prince, even a broken one.
Until she refused.
Until she got what she wanted, my mate, and tossed the rest at my feet like scraps.
I, Daniel Ashford, reject you Andrea Sullivan as my mate and Luna…
His words felt like they were daggers being stabbed in my chest. They felt like I was just thrown aside as if I was nothing. In my mind, I was. He had thrown me aside as if I was nothing.
"Do it for the family," my stepmother had said. "You owe us that much, Andrea. We have given you so much. We at least deserve this from you, this little favor from you.”
I owed them nothing.
But I agreed. Because deep down, even after being rejected, even after watching my fated mate choose my sister with a smug smile and not a flicker of remorse… I still cared. About the staff. About the house that sheltered me when my parents died. About the pieces of a life that had never quite fit. I still cared because I believed that maybe I would find a place where I could belong. And yet here I was, being dragged to marry a broken Prince, one who was rumored to be the worst fate for a woman.
The palace gates rose into view, tall and jagged like the teeth of a beast. The air around them shimmered with magic, the kind that tasted metallic on your tongue. My wolf stirred inside me, restless. Uneasy.
We didn't belong here.
This was not a place for me to be in.
Too late.
The carriage rolled to a stop. The door opened.
A royal guard in dark armor offered his hand. I ignored it and stepped down on my own.
I was not going to accept an offer like this from them. I was not the Princess like figure that they wanted. Then again I was not even the person that they wanted and was a mere substitute.
A hush fell over the courtyard.
Dozens of faces stared. Curious. Pitying. Disgusted.
"That's her?" someone whispered. “Seriously, they couldn't find anyone that was better?”
"The substitute?"
"The one the prince already rejected?"
The words should’ve broken me. A week ago, they would’ve. A week ago I would have looked down at my feet and I might have even tried to run away.
Now? They only hardened the steel already forming in my spine.
Let them look. Let them talk. Let them think I was just a placeholder in a dress that didn't belong to me.
Because I would not be weak. And I would not allow them to see me as one.
I would not be disposable.
And I sure as hell would not be forgotten.
At the top of the palace steps, he stood.
Prince Stefan Blackwood.
Cruel. Crippled. Cursed.
Or so the stories said.
He looked perfectly whole to me, tall, lean, shrouded in black like a shadow come to life. A silver crest glinted at his chest, and his cold gray eyes locked on mine like he was already bored.
He didn't bow. He didn't move. He didn’t speak. I did not need him to.
I climbed the stairs with my head high and my teeth clenched behind a tight smile.
He leaned in, lips barely moving as he said, "Don’t get comfortable, bride. You won’t be staying long. I would assume that you didn't bring too many things, which would make it harder for you to pack them when you're leaving.”
I smiled wider, close enough to smell the clean spice of his scent. "Good. I never liked being caged anyway. You needn't worry, I believe that your mates would be more than willing to help me pack. That is, of course, if I intend to do so. I can just leave without the them to simply get new ones.”
The prince blinked once. Slowly.
Then he turned and walked inside without another word.
And I followed him, my silver gown trailing behind like smoke on the edge of a fire, one I had no intention of letting burn out.
- Writer
