The Alliance

Chapter 28: The wedding night

The grand hall hums with lingering laughter and music as the wedding banquet slowly winds down. Prince Phillip, standing tall and regal, keeps a firm yet gentle hold on Jasmine’s hand, guiding her toward the arched exit. The torches lining the stone corridors cast flickering shadows as they walk in silence, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath them.

Jasmine keeps her gaze down, her stomach twisted in nervous knots. She should feel relief—she had survived the wedding, the feast, the dances—but now, she faces something far more daunting: being alone with the man who calls himself her husband.

Phillip, ever observant, notices the stiffness in her movements, the tremble in her fingers. He pauses in the dimly lit corridor, turning to face her fully. Without hesitation, he lifts his hand and cups her cheek, his thumb grazing away the faint dampness from her earlier tears.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Bianca,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “You are my wife now, and I will do everything in my power to make you comfortable. I only wish for you to trust me, to know that I care for you.”

Jasmine swallows hard. His kindness makes it worse.

The heavy oak doors to their chamber are pulled open by attending guards, revealing a lavishly decorated room. Flickering candles cast golden hues over the luxurious silken sheets, rose petals scattered across them like drops of blood on fresh snow. Incense burns softly from the corner, filling the air with the scent of lavender and sandalwood.

Before she can react, Phillip bends down and lifts her effortlessly into his arms. She gasps, clutching onto his shoulders as he carries her inside.

“Phillip, please—” she whispers, but he merely kneels before her on the bed, looking up at her with the warmest gaze she has ever seen.

“Bianca, I can see how frightened you are.” His fingers graze her knuckles, tracing them gently. “You don’t have to be. I will not force you into anything. We are bound by duty, yes, but I will not claim you until you come to me willingly.”

Tears pool in her eyes. The weight of her secret presses down on her like a vice. She hates that he thinks she is another woman, she doesn’t want to be called Bianca anymore. She wants to tell him the truth.She has to.

“Phillip, I—”

A lump forms in her throat. The words won’t come.

Phillip watches her carefully, waiting for her to continue, but when she shakes her head and looks away, he exhales deeply.

“You should change into something comfortable,” he says gently, standing to his feet. He walks to the door and summons two handmaidens waiting just outside. “Help the princess bathe and change into her nightgown.”

The handmaidens bow and scurry inside, their eyes filled with curiosity as they take Jasmine’s hand and lead her toward the adjoining bath chamber.

The moment Jasmine steps behind the partition, she lets out a shaky breath. As warm water fills the marble tub, the handmaidens whisper among themselves, giggling and exchanging knowing glances.

“She is still untouched,” one murmurs, her voice barely above a breath.

“The prince did not claim her,” another adds. “If she does not bleed, their marriage remains unsealed.”

Jasmine clenches her fists, willing herself not to react.

After being bathed and clothed in a sheer nightgown of ivory silk, she is led back to the chamber. Phillip, standing by the hearth, glances at her with the same unreadable expression. His eyes sweep over her, but there is no hunger there—only patience.

“Rest, Bianca,” he says finally, stepping toward the door. “You should sleep.”

She looks at him in confusion. “Where are you going?”

“I need to clear my head,” he answers simply. “I’ll be in my study for a while.”

Jasmine nods stiffly, watching as he strides toward the door. The moment he steps out, she exhales, collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion.

But Phillip doesn’t get far.

As he moves through the dim corridors, his sharp ears catch the hushed murmurs of the Eldermere elders speaking in the shadows. Their voices are low, urgent.

“King Maïses will not spare us for this mistake,” one says gravely. “We must be prepared. If Vnyra does not surrender her, there will be war. The king will burn them to the ground to get her back.”

Phillip stills. His heart pounds.

Which princess? What mistake?

He steps forward, his presence commanding, causing the men to stiffen and turn toward him.

“What princess has been taken by Vnyra?” he demands, his voice sharp.

The elders exchange nervous glances. One quickly clears his throat. “Your Highness, we were merely speculating… There have been whispers, but nothing confirmed.”

Phillip narrows his eyes. He doesn’t believe them. But for now, he lets it go.

Without another word, he strides away, his mind racing.

Something isn’t right. And he intends to find out what.