A Throne of Fangs

8 - My Betrothed

Once I reached the steps to the stage, my betraying eyes found his. They were wide over his parted lips. I got the sense that he was someone who was rarely surprised, and I reveled in it.

I dragged my attention back to my big reveal, picking up my skirts and putting on a demure yet warm look. My eyes latched onto the Prince’s. His were a dark golden gray, a color I had never seen, and I fought to keep my breath steady. Golden dark blonde waves hung over his forehead under a bright golden crown.

He was undeniably beautiful.

His eyes never strayed from me, and it helped move me forward. I felt excited but more at ease. He was just as eager as I was to be forced into this, so we had something in common, at least, however horrible it might be. I held on to the hope, clung desperately to it, that we could create a decent life together. Even if it was a friendship built on being thrust into a situation only we shared.

"The future princess," someone announced.

I reigned in my thoughts enough to stop in front of the king and queen, curtsying deeply. “Your Majesties,” I greeted them before I made my way toward him. Drawn forward by his handsome golden features. I wished he would give me any indication of what he was feeling, but I had on a mask, too.

“Your Highness,” I curtsied to the man who would be my husband by this time tomorrow.

While my back was turned to the crowd, I looked up at him and offered him a small smile. He regarded me with a cool, assessing stare, and I remembered he was still on display, facing the audience.

His eyes roamed over my face, and he nodded once to himself as if he had an inside joke, but he did not utter a word. The crowd held a collective breath. Was I supposed to introduce myself? That hardly seemed proper.

I tried again, giving him a real smile, a warm smile, one I hoped would put him at ease in the future. His face flickered, and I felt relief that he was finally going to give me something, make him seem human. But, instead of a smile, he looked down at me in a way that only royals could.

It was a look borne of pompous self-importance, nurtured by adoring courtiers and solidified by knowing they could do no wrong. It made me feel less and small as if he were looking at a prized horse or a nice new pair of boots instead of his future wife.

The last small flicker of hope I clung to that this place might be survivable spluttered out.

He seemed to decide that I was good enough and made a motion for me to stand. Did he think me so beneath him I was unworthy of a singly uttered syllable?

I felt a hundred eyes on my back as I rose before cheers chased away the silence. The applause made me feel good, but that was drowned almost instantly as I remembered they weren't cheering for anything I wanted to be acknowledged for. This applause wasn’t for my achievements; it was for something as fickle as an arbitrary union.

I pushed all the swirling thoughts that bombarded me during the last minute. I released all thoughts, good or bad, so they wouldn’t rise and linger on my face, as my mother used to say. I arranged my face into a bright smile. We were on display, a show to them all of their future princess.

He extended a poised hand still without saying a word. I placed my hand in his and let him guide me to stand next to him. As soon as I was in place, he dropped my hand. I was confused but not unglad by his response.

I could feel that stranger's eyes on me, but I knew that to be impossible. Where I was sensing him was in the middle of the crowd, far closer to the stage, and not anywhere near where I had left him. But I looked anyway, just to show myself how silly I was being, even if I didn’t want to face the realization this place had already made me lose my grip on reality in only a single day.

But my eyes met his starless ones.

I almost stumbled back.

The Prince gripped my bare shoulder. “Still,” The Prince spoke his first word to me.

A command.

His hand did not leave my shoulder, and he was holding me tightly as if I would run if he didn’t hold me here, and gods did I want to. I didn’t feel any affection from his gesture, and the feelings I expected to arise from him touching my bare skin never came.

I think someone might have said something, but it sounded far away. Louder cheers erupted from the crowd, and I took that as my cue. I lifted my head and stood tall, my formal introduction, for me to see them and, more importantly, for them to see me.

The sound was almost deafening as I finally looked out and faced the audience—my future subjects.

Some of their faces held awe. Many had contempt that teetered on the verge of disdain. There were some outright scowls from females who didn't know I would trade places with them right this moment if I could. A few studied me, eyeing me, sizing me up as a potential ally or threat. There were barely a few warm glances, even though everyone clapped and cheered loudly.

Only the dark stranger with the cool, rippling aura was looking at me in a way that didn’t make me feel like I was still a person.

I forced myself to look away from him and felt all autonomy slip from me.

I was a pawn in a game I didn’t know the rules to, and I was, sure, a perceived pawn in games I didn’t even know existed.

"The official ceremony will be tomorrow," the king announced. “To unite Prince Christian and our future Princess, Anaya.”

More cheers erupted, but the golden prince stood motionless next to me. Cold as steel.