His Chosen Bride

"Do you ever wonder what it feels like to drown?"

Arik's voice cut through the storm's roar, low and sharp, as if the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

Fleetwood, leaning lazily against a pillar nearby, arched a brow. "You mean besides this party?" He waved a hand toward the ballroom, where nobles spun in shimmering circles and laughter rose like waves crashing against rocks.

Arik didn't smile. His emerald eyes stayed fixed on the rain streaking down the arched window. Outside, the sea thrashed, restless and wild-just like the thoughts clawing at the edges of his mind.

"You're in a mood tonight," Fleetwood said, pushing away from the pillar and stepping closer. "What's wrong? Too much wine? Or not enough?"

"Adria's watching me."

Fleetwood followed his gaze, landing on Arik's sister twirling through the crowd. Her laughter rang out, bright and sharp as glass, but her eyes flicked toward Arik for just a moment-calculating, dangerous.

"You're paranoid," Fleetwood muttered, but even he didn't sound convinced.

Arik's fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger hidden at his waist. "Maybe," he said, "but if I'm wrong, why does it feel like I'm already drowning?"

Fleetwood scoffed, but his eyes lingered on Adria a moment too long. "You really think she'd try something tonight? With this circus going on?"

Arik didn't answer. He turned back to the window, where lightning split the sky and lit up the castle's reflection in the glass. It looked like something torn out of a dream-too beautiful, too strange. Towers of coral spiraled high above the waves, their edges sharp as teeth. Seashell mosaics glittered in the storm's light, and the pearl-studded walls glowed faintly, as if the castle itself were alive.

It was alive, in a way. The sea had shaped it, carved it, and in return, the castle had trapped them all inside it.

Arik's fingers brushed the cold glass. "This place is a prison," he muttered.

Fleetwood leaned closer, his voice low. "And yet you're the prince of it. Poor, tragic Arik. So cursed, so burdened." He smirked. "And still you find time to brood dramatically by windows."

Arik threw Fleetwood a glare and he raised his hands in surrender. Cheekily backing away and getting himself lost in the crowd.

"Obviously he's going to drink a boatload." Arik muttered disapprovingly.

Although the party was just beginning, the clock was already creeping toward midnight. The people of his realm, known for their free spirits, adorned themselves in daringly tight clothing, baring skin and showcasing their boldness. Yet, for Arik, the carnival of sights and scents was overwhelming. His acute senses were bombarded by the cloying aromas of ale and spirits, the mouthwatering scents of rich foods, and the tantalizing fragrance of fine wines.

The heady mixture was intoxicating, and he could feel a pleasant buzz settling in.

Lost in the crowd was his father, still remarkably sober, who regaled the guests with tales from his youth, recounting exploits that captivated the other dignitaries.

At the far end of the room, six stepmothers held court on a raised platform, each one adorned in increasingly flamboyant attire, competing to outshine the others in a battle of pageantry.

Arik's gaze wandered across the hall, spotting five of his sisters in various states of abandon-giggling, kissing, and engaging in increasingly scandalous antics that made him wince. He quickly averted his eyes from Nahla, who was gleefully dragging away an unsuspecting male entertainer, her laughter echoing like chimes in the chaotic revelry.

The lively songs and raucous cheers masked the distant rumble of thunder, but the storm beyond the banquet walls captured Arik's attention far more than the festivities inside. Lightning flashed, illuminating his iridescent green eyes, which shimmered with both frustration and longing.

This party, which was supposed to be for him, felt like a prison; his thoughts were drowned out by memories of a particular stubborn yet sweet-tongued young woman. Today marked the anniversary of their first meeting-a day that had saved and irrevocably altered his life. Arik, usually indifferent to such milestones, found himself unable to escape the weight of nostalgia.

Then, a sharp and jarring sound sliced through the air: cutlery striking glass. It drew Arik's attention back to the party. Floating effortlessly above the ground was Fleetwood Goldstein, his half-human, half-leprechaun best friend. He'd been gone for only an hour at most but he was surely drunk.

His carefree demeanor and infectious laughter made him the life of the party, even as he hovered precariously, clearly intoxicated.

Leprechauns were notorious for their mischievous antics, and Fleetwood was no exception, his signature green attire contrasting with the elegance of the ball. His bright amber eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were narrowed into slits from laughter. As he danced above the crowd, drinks spilled from his glass, splattering onto the dresses of several irritated guests.

Angry shouts erupted from the crowd, but Fleetwood simply twisted in mid-air, his eyes landing on Arik, who was nearly obscured by shadows. He was still where he left him. With a playful roll of his eyes, Fleetwood recognized his friend-devilishly handsome yet annoyingly withdrawn, he stood apart from the sounds of celebration.

Arik epitomized the nobility that came from a lineage resembling gods in the realm of Fable. His wild, shoulder-length flame-red hair flowed like a curtain around his face, enhancing his brooding aura.

Without breaking eye contact, Fleetwood struck his fork against the wine glass with theatrical flair. "Hear ye, hear ye," he boomed, his voice ringing through the hall.

The music came to a halt, and all eyes turned toward Fleetwood, who basked in the sudden attention.

Arik's father, noticing the disturbance, looked visibly agitated and leaned close to one of his stepmothers, Kalliste, whispering something that Arik could only imagine was filled with dismay.

If Arik understood Kalliste well-and he believed he did-she was likely plotting how to add this absurd spectacle to her already burgeoning list of grievances against him, solidifying her stance against his claim as heir.

"Arik, son of Andreus the Mighty," Fleetwood's unsteady voice echoed in the great hall as silence fell, all eyes now fixed on him. Anticipation hung in the air, marked by a dramatic pause.

"Is now single!" Fleetwood declared, his finger pointing like an eager pointer to reveal Arik's concealed form.

"That absolute fool," Arik muttered under his breath, his fists clenching in frustration.

With that declaration, the hall erupted once more into a frenzy of cheers and flirtatious whistles directed at the Prince of the Sea. In the hearts of many women, hope ignited; perhaps they could yet become the next crowned princess of Fable.

"What?!" Andreus Aegaeus, Arik's father, paled visibly as the realization sank in. His features twisted into a mask of disbelief and barely contained fury, and he appeared as if he might vomit from the sheer embarrassment. He looked right about ready to blugeon his very much believed unfilial son much like Arik wanted to do to his best friend.

Fleetwood, sensing the tension, flashed a sheepish grin in Arik's direction before vanishing in a cloud of shimmering gold dust.

Andreus's thunderous outcry echoed through the hall, jolting the guests from their stupor and commanding silence with a degree of authority that left some cowering in their seats.

In a dimly lit corner, Adria, the eldest of Arik's stepsisters, concealed a dark glint in her eyes, rising to her full height. With purposeful steps, she moved toward her father whose face looked as red as his beard hair.

To the right she saw her mother and the other five queens making way to their husband. Her sisters made a sprint for their respective mothers sides, forgetting the faces they were snogging only five minutes ago.

People made way as Andreus left the once boisterous circle of his former cavalry before retirement and marched towards Arik, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket with surprising strength. Arik's father was a short and stout man, but he had the strength of ten men in his bulky arms. "What happened between you and the witch's daughter?" Andreus asked in a harsh whisper, his eyes cold. Arik's smile infuriated Andreus even more.

"We ended things. We weren't what either of us were looking for." Arik sneered and released himself from his father's hold.

The witch's daughter Andreus referred to was Esmerelda Morgan, adopted daughter of one of the Fallen and Arik's childhood friend.They were used for an alliance between the people of Fable and Morgan the Twisted in a sign of good faith.

"Now you will go to Esmerelda's family, a smile on your face, with fucking flowers, and grovel to be taken back." Andreus' brown eyes flashed, and his nose flared as he stared Arik down. "Am I understood, boy!" He screamed and sent his spittle flying around.

"No." Arik looked at his father's spittle-filled beard in disgust. "I'm sure grandfather didn't have a say in your marriages, so let me have my peace." Their eyes glowed as they both bared their fangs at the same time.

"Father." Adria came in between the two men, ready to tear into each other. "This is neither the time nor place." She said pointedly.

Andreus shook his head and came to his senses. He looked around him at the crowd of guests with their criticising gazes. Anybody who was anybody was right here in this hall, and he was making a fool of himself, fighting with his dullard of a son. Andreus gritted his teeth and shot Arik a menacing look.

Adria signalled for the guards stationed around the hall. "Escort all the guests out with a peace basket." She commanded.

Before anyone could say or do anything, strange black-violet smoke poured in from nowhere. There was a sudden gust of wind, and all the flames went out. A crack of thunder and an evil cackle later.

Shrieks and hollers ensued as people ran away in fear. About fifty guards encircled the royal family. Andreus drew his sword from the scabbard, anticipating the Sea Witch.

Arik felt a sting around his biceps and turned around to see Nixie, his youngest sister, holding onto it with a death grip, her claws out and all. He looked at his family, their terrified faces, and felt it better to run to see another day.Lightning struck within the palace, and fire caught one of the curtains. From the smoke and fire, a dark shadow slowly emerged. A tall, voluptuous woman, draped in a dark cloak, head held high with a sceptre in hand, strutted out with a vicious laugh. Nixie gripped Arik's arm even tighter, if possible, and let out a shriek that almost deafened him.

Morgan, the sea witch, had a face that didn't match her body. For one, she had an eye missing and creepy-looking dark purple smoke crawling out from the empty eye socket. Her lips were a bloody shade of red, and her teeth, as she cackled, looked abnormally sharp.At the sight of her, the guards had their spears pointing in her direction.

"Is this the reception befitting of your in-law, Andreus?" Morgan asked with a malicious glint in her one eye.

Andreus looked at the witch with a forced, apprehensive smile. "Forgive me, my liege. They just get so excited when they hear of your coming." Arik looked at the trembling hand of his father holding a sword and sighed inwardly.

Morgan tilted her head back for a short laugh. "Ah, a funny king you are." With a strike of her sceptre on the ground, the guards did the most absurd thing. They dropped their weapons and, as if hypnotised, marched out of the room in sync.The queens started crying, and Adria looked at the backs of the departing guards and cursed under her breath.

"Now no need to offer me a seat." Morgan looked at the tear-streaked faces and stopped her eye on Arik. "I'm here to see to it that the wedding date is set officially. My daughter in name has been engaged for far too long, and I'd like to see little merbabies swimming around in my underwater castle soon."Arik looked her straight in the eye and didn't so much as blink.

Andreus coughed out an awkward laugh, "Of course, of course. I was just thinking the same thing-"

"Esme and I are no longer party to your schemes, witch." Arik cut off his father's lie. "I'll surely be getting married someday, and it's not to your daughter."

Adria looked at Arik and thought her brother to be a fool, brave but a bloody fool. If the witch decided to kill him here and now, it'd work in her favour, so she hid a ridiculing smile.

"Never mind him. He's gotten one slap too many from me; that's why he talks like he's asleep." Andreus dropped to his knees and bowed his head to Morgan. The queens and princesses followed suit and huddled behind the king.

Nixie finally let go of Arik, thinking that he had a death wish. Arik didn't kneel with his family. He kept his back straight and faced the Sea Witch head-on.

"Your daughter will never be happy with me. I can never love her." Arik didn't know if the witch even cared for the happiness of Esmerelda, but he cared for his and Gabriella's. "I love another."

Andreus stood with unearthly speed and landed a slap across Arik's face."You vile spawn!"The sea witch looked on with amusement and cackled.

"You can't even control your son and expect to still be able to keep your crown."With a sweep of her hand, Morgan threw Andreus across the room using her magic. Andreus hit a column, and a coppery sweetness filled his mouth. He coughed up blood. More cries and shrieks filled the room.

"You will get married to Esmerelda Morgan tomorrow at dawn or die."

"If there isn't a third option, I'd rather die." Arik said aloud, but he thought, 'I'd rather not.'

"So be it then," crooned the sea witch. At the very thought of it, an enchanted bow and arrow appeared in Arik's hands, and he shot the arrow at the witch without even looking. He ran for the window as fast as the wind, hearing the pained and startled cry of the Sea Witch.

The Sea Witch was caught unprepared for the arrow shot straight through her shoulder. The witch didn't bleed. She quickly pulled the arrow out and looked up to see the distant back of the prince.He was running away!

"This is the end for you!" Crowed the sea witch with malice on her wicked face.

Arik jumped out through the window, shattering the glass. He did a somersault in the air and dropped down into the sea. There was a bright light, and at once Arik felt dizzy and a slight pain, for where his two human legs had once been was now a shimmering green-blue tail, like a fish.

Morgan jumped through the window equally as fast. She fell into the water, and without a word, the sea witch had turned into a huge sea monster. Tentacles thrust out from all over her body like an octopus.Arik hadn't gotten far when a tentacle grabbed onto his tail.

He tried to wriggle free, but it only grew tighter.

Behind a rock at shore, Esmerelda was hidden. She had come immediately she heard her mother was coming to set the wedding date.

She saw her mother dive in after Arik and knew he was finished. She gave it no second thought as she jumped into the water and changed into a mermaid.

Esmerelda saw her mother's monstrous tentacles strangling Arik, and her heart constricted as there was no more struggle left in Arik. She raced towards them as it resonated within her that she must protect the prince, her best friend.

The last thing Arik saw before he blacked out was the distressed face of a certain blonde.

Once, in a time long forgotten and in a kingdom nestled beyond the veil of distant mountains, there reigned a headstrong King.

His heart was heavy with pride, yet a shadow loomed over him, for he was cursed to wither and fade with each passing day-paying the price for his reckless destruction of an ancient altar dedicated to one of the Fallen.

The Fallen were a formidable pantheon, a dozen ethereal beings conceived by the benevolence of the Mother Goddess. They existed in a realm of light and love until their hearts were corrupted by suffocating pride and bitter envy.

When they turned against the Goddess who nurtured them with whispered prayers and tender guidance, they were cast down to dwell among the mortals they had scorned. What truly perplexed humanity was that their considerable powers remained untouched, elevating fear and resentment.

The foolhardy King, newly enthroned and naively brimming with ambition, set his sights on the banishment of the Fallen, convinced that their very presence was a blight upon his royal dominion, an evil allowed to fester far too long.

The seeds of his downfall were sown during the tumultuous third year of his reign when fate led him to a gifted seer. This enigmatic figure revealed a bleak prophecy: both the King and his only son, the crown prince, faced a dark demise that threatened the very legacy of their noble bloodline. Anxious and desperate, especially as he and his wife remained unable to bear another child, the King felt a gnawing dread take root in his heart.

Unable to quell his unease with the seer's vague foresight, the King embarked on a ceaseless quest across his kingdom, searching for a deeper understanding of his fate. His desperation turned into widespread rumor, the promise of a substantial reward sparking a frenzy among fortune-seekers and mystics alike.

Months slipped by, the seasons changing, until finally, a dubious shaman emerged from the shadows, appearing unannounced at the opulent Palace gates. The shaman dazzled the court with mind-bending illusions that left both the King and his entourage in awe, quickly earning their trust as a master conduit of sorcery.

Clever and cunning, the shaman never claimed to divine destinies but lingered within the Palace, biding his time.

At last, summoned by the King, the shaman feigned sincerity as he responded to the monarch's inquiry about his prophetic abilities. The King, buoyed by hope, danced with delight, only to be struck with dread when the shaman delivered the disheartening news: the Mother Creator was enraged, her fury poised to erupt like a volcano belching molten fire.

Fear gripped the King's heart, leading to restless nights filled with tormenting thoughts. Why had the Goddess turned her gaze from him? Days turned into weeks, and the mundane rhythms of royal life continued until a bone-chilling report reached the King's ears.

From Halomere, the sacred city, came word that one of the Fallen had unleashed chaos, slaughtering nearly twenty innocents at the hallowed entrance of the Mother Goddess's temple. The brazen act didn't end there-the Fallen had set fire to one of the temple's priestesses, a harrowing symbol of blasphemy.

The report struck the King like a lifeline amidst treacherous waters; in his mind, it was the guiding map he'd been searching for.

Furious and fueled by a need for vengeance, he decreed the annihilation of all temples honoring the Fallen across his kingdom, ignoring the gasps of horror and protests from his council, who were acutely aware of the witches' fearsome reputation.

As the infernal destruction unfolded, the leader of the Fallen, a dark and powerful figure known as Malevolent, seethed with rage. In retaliation, she raised her skeletal army, unleashing them upon the Kingdom of Faraway.

What came next was one of the darkest times in Faraway's history. A war raged between the valiant Knights of the realm and the army of the undead, their struggles painted with countless shades of sorrow as the dead turned immediately to the other side, fighting against their living comrades. The valiant Knights found themselves swiftly losing ground, an impending doom shadowing every conflict.

Reports of the battlefield reached the King daily, yet he remained bedridden, consumed by the weight of the dire situation.

The constant reminders of defeat gnawed at his soul until he remembered the shaman-the one who had brought forth the warning. However, upon summoning the shaman, the King was met only with silence; the shaman had vanished as though he were nothing but a phantom.

In despair, the King wrestled that night with the specter of death, fear gripping his heart with icy fingers.

Meanwhile, the Queen, crushed by the sight of her husband, whose health seemed to ebb away with each hour, was left to think of a way out on her own.

The Queen stood by the window of the grand palace, her gaze fixed on the flickering torchlight that danced across the stone walls. The atmosphere was charged with concern as she reflected on the bleak state of affairs. Her heart ached at the sight of her husband, the King, who had succumbed to a ghostly pallor, seemingly lost to the world. With every passing day, she worried even more for their six-year-old son, the Crown Prince, and the uncertain fate that loomed over the Kingdom of Faraway.

In her determination to safeguard her son's future and preserve the Kingdom's legacy, she took decisive action. Summoning every nobleman and minister who wielded influence and respect, she held a clandestine court, filled with hushed whispers and earnest deliberations. The air was thick with tension as they collectively recognized that the King, though well-meaning, was enshrouded in a fog that prevented him from grasping the looming dangers that threatened their realm.

With a steely resolve, the Queen, alongside the astute aristocrats, forged a powerful alliance with the enigmatic Malevolent. The whispers of this dark force brought both trepidation and intrigue. In the shadows, a pact was made-one that would alter the course of their nation. Driven by a fierce love for her son, the Queen agreed to shift the people's allegiance away from the Mother Goddess, a sacrificial move to forge a different destiny for Faraway.

This transformation bore the weight of solemnity as the Queen initiated the dismantling of ancient temples, defacing majestic statues, and repurposing schools that upheld the beliefs of the Goddess. With each confrontation, the air crackled with the remnants of a fading past. Yet, to the common folk, the departure of the old ways brought a breath of fresh air. The cease of Malevolent and her formidable army of the undead was met with unexpected relief, as fear gave way to a newfound sense of security for those who had long been vulnerable.

As the Kingdom gradually settled into an uneasy peace, the Queen's firm hand steered the palace and its affairs. Although the King remained in a dazed state, oblivious to the sweeping changes around him, the air was alive with the fervor of new possibilities. Those within the court rallied around the Queen, recognizing her as the guiding force leading their nation through tumultuous waters.

But amidst this newfound harmony, the echoed whispers of the past lingered. Shadows of scorn and laughter occasionally brushed against the King's ears, though not brash enough to reach him directly. It was a fragile peace, indeed. Regardless, the palace thrummed with the resolve to move forward, establishing a vibrant future for the Kingdom of Faraway, one that intertwined hope with the remnants of their history.

●●●●●●●●●●

"There is to be a ball tomorrow evening," Gabriella announced, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the dimly lit study. Gideon, perched in a worn armchair by the fire, gazed into the flickering flames, his expression distant, as if lost in a world far away.

"Tis the fifth time this month," he replied, a hint of frustration lacing his tone. "We can scarcely afford a new dress every other day, and I happen to have four sisters." He sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the mounting anxiety.

Gabriella began to pace across the fraying rug, her footsteps leaving invisible trails on the worn fabric. "I do not know what has gotten into their heads, those royals," she lamented, her voice rising with indignation.

The weight of their family's financial burdens pressed heavily on them; they were drowning in a sea of debt while desperately trying to maintain the façade of nobility as the late Count's offspring. Their father had made enemies, and many were eagerly waiting to see the siblings topple from their precarious perch.

With a determined stride, Gideon left the warmth of the fire and approached the rows of leather-bound books lining the study's shelves.

"Genevieve and Gloria will have to miss it this time," he declared, flipping through the pages of a book with an absent mind. "They should come down with the flu or something. That would allow us to purchase new dresses for you and Gracelyn."

"Gloria missed the last ball, remember?" Gabriella interjected, her brows knitting together.

"It's not like she enjoys such frivolities," he retorted. "She would much rather be hidden away in her room, with her nose buried in some dusty tome, mumbling about who knows what." Gideon closed the book with a soft thud, his patience waning.

"I can hardly wait for the day I marry you girls off," he muttered with a shake of his head as he reached for the door.

"I'm not ready for marriage yet, and Gracelyn is already infatuated with the second prince," Gabriella replied, her voice tinged with defiance as she glared at her brother's back.

Gideon turned, his features marred by the familiar self-deprecating expression that highlighted the similarities they shared. "It's my fault Gracelyn can't let go of the prince. I'm simply too incompetent. We are of a different status now, and the royal family has deemed our darling sister unsuitable to ever become a queen."

A flash of anger surged through Gabriella at her brother's self-blame. It wasn't his fault that their father lacked restraint. It wasn't his fault their mother had fled to Merryloh with her scandalous lover, absconding with their wealth. It certainly wasn't Gideon's fault their parents had become the laughingstock of the aristocracy in Faraway, nor was it his fault that Prince Henry the Ninth was as fickle as the unpredictable weather.

"David, the infamous milliner's son, even had the audacity to ask for your hand," Gideon continued, turning towards her with a raucous laugh that echoed through the room. Gabriella felt heat rush to her cheeks, her head bowed in humiliation, her eyes fixed on the scuffed floorboards.

Gideon attempted to lighten the mood, but Gabriella's disappointment deepened. "He's unlike his father, a rather handsome young fellow, and known to be a dealer in opium poppies if you know who to ask. I was surprised he was coherent enough to attend the last ball and make such a declaration of love."

"Also, Camentine," Gideon remarked, scratchingonly at the fresh stubble that adorned his jawline, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. "The Earl, not the minister. He's as shameless as ever. Old enough to be your grandfather and still chasing after your hand. Can you believe he even expressed an interest in Gloria?" He shook his head in disgust, eyes narrowing as he recalled the man's audacity.

The Earl, Camentine Schnootz, was a man of excess-already burdened with three wives, nine boisterous children, and two grandchildren, one of whom had the astonishing fortune of being just a year older than Genevieve, their youngest sister.

"You've made your point," Gabriella snapped, her voice cutting sharply through the heavy atmosphere.

Gideon shrugged dismissively, making a swift exit from the study, his final words echoing with bitter resignation, "Each man is worse than the last," he muttered under his breath.

Gabriella lingered for a moment, staring at the closed study door as if it held the answers to her unspoken worries. Time seemed to stretch on for hours as she trudged over to the seat beside the hearth, sinking into the chair and fixating on the glowing embers that crackled softly, just like her brother had done moments before.

'They were a joke,' Gabriella thought, a wave of melancholy washing over her.

Once, long ago, their lives had brimmed with happiness and laughter. Gideon would gallop across rolling fields, racing against the sons of other noble families, parading his skill with a sword, a joy that now felt like a distant memory. The days of camaraderie were replaced by a stifling isolation, and when he did encounter old friends, the warmth had vanished; they cast him glances laden with disdain and silent judgment.

Gloria, with her insatiable hunger for knowledge, had once roamed the grand aisles of the Faraway Imperial Library, the finest sanctuary of books and wisdom. She would lose herself in volumes, the outside world fadin away as the hours slipped by unnoticed until Gabriella had to rescue her from the pages, calling her for dinner. But that golden refuge had since closed its doors to Gloria, following a fierce exchange with the Minister for Archival Knowledge and Heritage's arrogant son, leaving her spirit dampened.

Meanwhile, Gracelyn was swept away in the whirlwind of her once upcoming engagement to the prince, spending every lovesick moment dressing in finery, dazzling at extravagant banquets, and mingling with the glittering elite of the kingdom. Though it felt like true love, all the glitz and glamour seemed to mask the fragility of their connection. Now she was deemed as unworthy

Genevieve, ever the free-spirited whirlwind, buzzed about seeking the latest gossip and juicy scandals, a habit she showed no signs of outgrowing. Her curiosity remained unquenchable, always drawing her into the lives of others.

Gabriella, meanwhile, immersed herself in her art. The lingering scent of paint clung to her hair, and the telltale smudge of color often marked the skin behind her ears. While her painting had once radiated light and joy, now it reflected a deeper emotional complexity-masterpieces shaded by longing and heartbreak.

She wasn't alone in her struggles; Gracelyn wasn't the only one ensnared by the tangled emotions of love.

Suddenly, her thoughts were jarred by Gideon's yelling from the corridor.

"Later? Why haven't you eaten yet?" he scolded Gracelyn, his brow furrowed in concern as he paced back and forth. "You're still young, and you're not eating enough. Why is that? Are you trying to lose weight?!"

Without waiting for Gracelyn's response, he continued his tirade, a mix of affection and frustration lacing his tone. "With your thin figure, you can't hope to attract a suitor if you lose any more weight. You should eat more to keep your body healthy. What nonsense is this dieting? I'll make sure to take care of you!"

"Follow me," he commanded, grabbing Gracelyn's arm with gentle urgency as he led her past the study and down the winding staircase toward the kitchen.

From behind the study door, Gabriella let out a hoarse, mirthless laugh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room.

'I should try to create and sell some portraits in the next municipality,' Gabriella contemplated, a spark of determination igniting within her. 'If only to lighten Gideon's burdens a little.'

Three and a half years ago, on a radiant and crisp October night, the quaint kingdom was enveloped in a hushed enchantment.

The full moon hung high in the deep indigo sky, its luminous beams casting a gentle glow that caressed every stone and blade of grass in the courtyard below. The air was cool and invigorating, filling the senses with the crispness that accompanied the changing season, while a soft breeze whispered through the trees, adding to the night's allure.

In the shadows of the quiet village, those with dark intentions lurked, their hearts racing with excitement as they plotted under the cloak of darkness, energized by the stillness around them.

Gabriella, however, was not among the sleeping souls. Dressed in a delicate silk robe as white as the moonlight itself, she stood at her window, the fabric shimmering softly against her skin.

Her eyes, bright with anticipation, scanned the courtyard bathed in the silvery light, taking in the intricate patterns created by the shadows dancing beneath the moon.

The sound of the grandfather clock echoed through the stillness of the night, each tick a reminder of how time slipped away.

With a focused intensity, Gabriella fixed her gaze on a distant point on the horizon, holding her breath as she mentally counted to four hundred, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Suddenly, three swift flashes of light pierced through the darkness, fleeting yet unmistakable, like fiery whispers meant only for her eyes to behold.

"Took you long enough," she muttered under her breath, a spark of thrill igniting within her.

Without hesitation, she swung open the window, the cool night air rushing in to envelop her. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, ensuring her door remained locked against unwanted intrusions, then deftly lowered the rope she had painstakingly secured to her bedpost.

With her heart racing like a wild stallion, Gabriella climbed down, every movement filled with purpose, eager to seize the adventure that awaited her just beyond the night's veil.

As soon as Gabriella's cloth-covered feet touched the ground, she felt a chill run up her spine. She hugged herself tightly, goosebumps rising along her exposed arms.

Running toward the woods, she could see the little puffs of her breath forming white clouds in the cold air.

"Oh, why didn't I think it was a good idea to grab a jacket?" Gabriella muttered, feeling quite vexed with herself.

She slowed down as she reached the dense cluster of trees, which were darker than the rest of the estate because they blocked out the moonlight. Entering the gloomy woods at this hour without any light always made her feel apprehensive, but she didn't turn back. Someone was waiting for her in there.

Gabriella glanced back at the magnificent Gael Manor, which was shrouded in the shadows of the night, and her heart began to settle.

Suddenly, her moment of calm was shattered. Out of nowhere, she felt a firm grip seize her shoulder. Panic surged through her as she was pinned against a massive tree, the rough bark pressing against her back. She could hardly catch her breath,

"Bloody hell!" Gabriella hissed, though her voice barely carried above a whisper. Her wrists were pinned behind her, her body pressed against the rough bark of a tree.

Arik leaned in, his breath a ghost against her ear, low and teasing. "If I earned a gold coin every time you said that, love, I wouldn't need to inherit my family's fortune."

The sound of his voice coiled through her, leaving heat in its wake.

Gabriella's heart pounded, loud enough that she feared he could hear it. A blush crept up her neck at the thought.

"When I'm free, you'd best watch yourself." Her voice was sharp, but the slight tremble betrayed her nerves. "You won't have your family jewels when I'm through with you."

Arik's cock twitched traitorously at her threat, as though it liked the idea of her fingers near his most vulnerable parts-even if they held a blade.

"Then I suppose," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to her neck, "I'll have to keep this-" he pressed closer, his hips brushing against her backside "-intimate hold of you for as long as I can."

The shift in his body stole her breath. Gabriella gasped, her chest rising sharply, brushing against his arm. "Ari! Are you actually trying to take advantage of me?"

"When you put it like that, it makes me sound positively wicked." His voice dipped lower, rougher. "Unprincipled and dangerous."

Her stomach clenched at the words, the rawness of them.

Arik released her wrists, but before she could move, he spun her around. Gabriella's breath hitched. His brilliant green eyes-so vivid even in the dim light-pinned her in place.

"I was only keeping you warm." His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. The touch lingered.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Then she remembered herself, gritting her teeth as her silver dagger flashed between them, pointed directly at his belt.

Arik raised his hands, laughter rumbling low in his throat. "So you remembered to bring the dagger but not a coat?"

His eyes softened as he looked at her. He hadn't seen her in a week, but it felt like years. Being apart from her was unbearable.

Gabriella, for her part, couldn't stop drinking him in. He was too handsome for his own good-especially in all that blinding white, and that mask that only hinted at the sharpness of his jaw and the sinful curve of his lips.

"Your cloak," she demanded, extending her hand.

Arik smirked. "Ungrateful little creature," he muttered as he unfastened it and draped it over her shoulders.

The moment the fabric settled around her, enveloping her in his scent, her irritation softened. She drew closer, fingers trailing over his neck as she burrowed into his warmth.

"Why won't you show me your full face?" Her voice turned soft, almost a purr.

Arik stiffened-barely-but Gabriella noticed. "You'll see it soon enough," he said, his voice thick with meaning. "You'll see all of me."

Her cheeks flamed, but she refused to look away. "You're more of a scoundrel every day."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. "Girls always claim looks don't matter," he teased, fingers weaving through her dark hair. "Do you really mean it?"

Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "Why? Are you actually ugly under there?"

Arik's fingers suddenly found her ribs, tickling until she gasped and laughed breathlessly.

"I don't care if you are," she said softly, once she'd caught her breath. And she meant it. She'd already fallen too hard for him to be swayed by something as shallow as appearances.

Her lips brushed his cheek in a fleeting kiss, and Arik's control slipped just a little.

"You should know I mostly love you for your eyes." Her tone was playful, but her words carried weight.

"Then I'm a lucky man," he murmured, his voice thick. His fingers grazed her jaw, tipping her chin up as he leaned closer. "If I'd known I'd love you this much, I'd have been a hell of a lot more charming the first time we met."

Gabriella smiled. "You're making up for it now with all the flowers and pastries."

Arik's eyes glinted. "Flowers are nothing. Wait until you see the gold I'll use for our wedding."

Gabriella tilted her head. "Assuming I agree to this very lackluster proposal-"

"Lackluster?" He pulled her closer, his warmth enveloping her entirely. Her laughter sent sparks through him.

"Ari?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how important you are to me?"

Her words punched through his defenses, and he responded in kind, his voice low and steady. "I know. But you should always trust that I'll love you always."

He held her tighter, as if he'd never let go. But deep down, Arik knew tonight might be the last time he'd see her for a while-and that thought burned.

"I have to leave."

Gabriella tensed but nodded. "I know."

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "You're beautiful."

"You didn't say that earlier," she teased, though her voice was unsteady.

"You're honestly beautiful," he repeated. And then, because he couldn't stop himself, he kissed her-lightly at first, but when she melted against him, the kiss deepened.

When he finally pulled away, her lips were flushed and swollen, her eyes dark with longing.

"I'll find you next month." His words carried a promise. "And we'll be married by the next quarter."

Gabriella didn't doubt him. She believed it with every fiber of her being.

As she walked backward, her bouquet of dreamonias glowing softly, she called out, "The next time you see me, I might have shorter hair!"

"You'd still be beautiful," Arik whispered into the night, though she was too far to hear.

And as he mounted his snow-white pegasus and rode toward the portal, he realized he'd left his cloak behind-along with his heart.