Chapter 4
1723 Words
Three days later.
Cain stood before the throne, watching the woman sent to him walk through the grand doors.
The throne hall was unusually quiet.
Every noble had arrived. They stood along both sides, dressed in their most elaborate attire, adorned with jewels that caught the dim violet light. They looked like an audience waiting for a performance to begin.
Some were curious. Some were disdainful. Some were already placing bets on how long this human woman would survive in the palace.
The current odds were one month.
Cain did not look at them.
His gaze remained fixed on the entrance. On the figure stepping forward, one measured step at a time.
She was smaller than he expected.
Not in height. She reached his chin, slender but upright, her spine straight like a drawn bowstring.
It was something else.
A kind of smallness that made her seem out of place. Like a child wrapped in clothing meant for someone older. She wore an extravagant wedding gown. White satin. Gold embroidery. The train stretched behind her for several feet.
Yet the dress did not belong to her.
Her face was pale.
Not the pale of vampires. Not the cold, translucent white like porcelain under moonlight.
Her pallor lacked warmth. Like paper scrubbed too many times, the ink faded but never truly gone.
Her hair was dark brown, pinned into an elegant updo that revealed her slender neck.
No necklace. No jewels.
Only a thin leather cord.
At the end of it hung a small copper pendant, etched with a symbol too distant to make out.
She did not lift her head.
From the moment she entered, her gaze remained lowered.
Not out of obedience.
Those who showed respect bowed lightly, eyes cast down but bodies open.
She was different.
Her chin was tucked too tightly. Her shoulders slightly drawn inward. Her entire presence seemed to shrink itself.
Like someone trying to disappear.
Cain watched her.
Felt nothing.
He had seen countless people.
Those who flattered him. Those who feared him. Those who wanted to kill him. Those who wanted to use him. Those who wanted to climb into his bed and bear his child.
Twelve hundred years.
There was nothing new in the way she stood before him.
No.
There was something different.
They came willingly.
She did not.
He could tell.
Not from her face. She had none to read.
From her body.
From the slight tension in her shoulders. From the way her fingers curled faintly at her sides. From each careful step, as if she were walking across a blade.
She was afraid.
But she refused to show it.
“Lift your head.”
His voice echoed through the hall, heavy with authority.
Her lashes trembled.
A small movement. Almost imperceptible.
But he saw it.
They fluttered once. Twice.
Then slowly, she looked up.
He saw her eyes.
Amber.
Under candlelight, they gleamed gold-brown. Like a wild animal's gaze. Not ferocious. But alert.
Like a deer cornered.
Ready to flee. Or ready to gore the hunter's heart.
She did not look at him like a bride.
Not like a servant.
Not even like someone facing a stronger being.
She looked at him as if she were waiting.
Waiting for an answer.
One she already knew.
But needed to hear.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Elaine.”
Her voice was soft, but steady.
No tremor. No fear. No attempt to please.
Like a winter stream. Cold, clear, transparent to the bottom.
Cain narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Do you know why you are here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I am your fated mate.”
She spoke as if reciting a story that did not belong to her.
No emotion. No fluctuation.
Like an actress reading lines while her soul stood outside the stage.
“Because my blood can make you addicted. Because I am a gift from the human king.”
She paused.
Just for a moment.
Barely noticeable.
But he saw the slight tightening of her lips.
“...a gift.”
Cain watched her.
Waiting.
For a c***k. For hesitation. For fear. For calculation.
Anything.
He found nothing.
She stood there, calm, her amber eyes steady.
Like someone sealed behind glass.
Visible. Understandable. Untouchable.
Where were her hands. Where was her heart. Where was her true intent?
All hidden.
“You are wrong.”
Cain stepped down from the throne.
His pace was slow.
Each step pressed into the silence.
His black robe dragged softly behind him, whispering across the floor.
The nobles watched.
Like spectators watching a hunter approach prey.
He stopped before her.
He was taller by a head.
From this distance, he could see the curve of her lashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyes.
She did not step back.
Did not move.
She stood rooted.
Only her eyes lifted.
Meeting his.
Not prey.
An opponent.
“You are not a gift.”
His voice dropped.
Low enough that only she could hear.
Each word sharp, precise.
“You are a tool.”
He slowed deliberately.
Letting each word sink in.
“Do not expect me to touch you. Do not expect me to love you. You are here because the human king needs you here. Because my people need a queen. Nothing more.”
He waited.
All women reacted.
They cried. Trembled. Begged. Raged.
But she did nothing.
Her lashes trembled.
That was all.
Then she lowered her gaze.
Her lips moved.
Not a smile. Not sorrow. Not anger.
Something unreadable.
Like someone standing at the edge of a cliff.
Simply looking down.
“I understand,” she said.
Then she turned.
Effortless.
Natural.
As if she had lived in this palace for a century.
No hesitation.
No glance back.
She nodded slightly to the maid beside her and walked toward the side hall.
Her figure disappeared.
The hem of her gown dragged across the stone, soft as a sigh.
Cain stood still.
Watching the space where she vanished.
His fingers trembled.
Not anger.
Not fear.
His blood.
The moment she entered the hall, even fifty steps away, it began.
Boiling.
Like a pot over fire. Calm on the surface. Turbulent beneath.
When she lifted her head.
When those amber eyes met his.
His heart skipped.
Once.
Not twice.
Once.
Like a long-silent clock suddenly struck.
When she stood before him, looking up, something inside him clawed against the walls he had built for twelve hundred years.
Her scent.
He could not name it.
Not perfume. Not flowers.
Something uniquely hers.
Cold. Clean.
Like moonlight on frost.
It made him want to get closer.
Twelve hundred years.
He had crushed rebellions. Destroyed enemies. Executed traitors.
He thought himself unshakable.
But her blood.
He had not even tasted it.
Only stood near her.
Only breathed her in.
And his body betrayed him.
Not his heart.
That remained locked.
But his blood.
His instincts.
Like beasts starved for centuries, slamming against iron bars.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
No one heard.
The hall was empty now.
Only him.
Standing in the shadows beyond the reach of moonlight.
His fingers still trembling.
He closed his eyes.
Fire. His mother’s gaze. His father's blood. His brother's warmth.
Twelve hundred years of solitude.
He opened them.
Nothing.
Only silence.
Only the faint trace of her scent lingering in the air.
He turned.
Walked toward his studies.
Each step echoed through the corridor.
Like a prisoner returning to his cell.
Wedding night.
Side palace.
Elaine sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the unopened door.
She had not changed out of her gown.
The maids had left.
Before leaving, they gave her a look.
Pity.
She knew that look well.
Ten years in the palace had taught her.
It meant abandonment.
She did not care.
She was relieved.
She did not know him. Did not want to. Did not need his love.
She was not here to be his queen.
Not to please him. Not to break his curse. Not to become part of his destiny.
She was here for one thing.
The sword.
The Blade of Sovereignty.
The weapon said to kill anyone.
Hidden somewhere in the palace.
Only the king could wield it.
She needed it.
To kill the man sitting on the human throne.
If Cain ignored her, even better.
If he never touched her, perfect.
She needed only a title.
Queen.
A shield.
A place no one would question.
Time.
A month.
Maybe two.
Enough to find the blade.
Learn the palace.
Leave.
Return.
And drive it into that man's heart.
She touched the copper pendant at her neck.
It was warm.
Not from her skin.
From within.
Awakening.
The woman on the stake was smiling.
Gentle. Sad.
“You will fall in love with him,” the voice said.
Elaine closed her eyes.
“I won't.”
“You will,” the voice whispered. “Because he is the same as you.”
Trapped. Broken. Lost in darkness.
“I don't need love.”
“You don't. But you will have it.”
Elaine clenched the pendant.
Pain bit into her palm.
She needed it.
To stay clear.
To remember.
She was Elaine.
A witch’s descendant. A daughter. A weapon.
Not a queen.
Not a mate.
Not a tool.
Just herself.
A person who lived for one purpose.
She released the pendant.
Let it fall against her chest.
Then lay down.
Closed her eyes.
And waited.
There was no dawn here.
Only waiting.
She had patience.
Ten years had proven that.
Another month meant nothing.
The door never opened.
But at the end of the corridor, in the shadow untouched by moonlight, someone stood for a long time.
He looked at her room.
Watched the light go out.
He did not enter.
He turned away.
Walked back.
Slowly.
No hesitation.
Thinking.
A memory surfaced.
“If you love, your entire clan dies.”
His father's blood.
His mother's burning eyes.
His brother's warmth.
And today.
Her eyes.
Amber.
His heart had moved.
Once.
That was enough.
“I will not love you,” he thought.
No one heard.
Only the moon.
Only the eternal night.
Only twelve hundred years of silence.
He entered his study.
Closed the door.
The sound echoed.
Like a coffin sealing shut.
- Writer
