The Dark Prince’s Chosen Bride

A Bittersweet Betrothal

The Dark Prince bowed deeply, elegantly, to his hosts. The King stood to shake his hand, and beside the Prince he seemed smaller, shrunken in the shadow of the Dark Realm royal.

King Rennier chuckled nervously, flexing his hands, before he finally spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, it is my great pleasure to present to you our venerated guest, Prince Faren of the Dark Realm.”

The crowd erupted into tense, tight applause. Everyone seemed to be discreetly trying to crane their necks or stand on tip-toes to get a better view of the mysterious man who would walk away with one of their daughters. After a moment, the applause died down, and the Prince himself spoke.

“My sincere gratitude to your Majesties, and the entire human realm, for hosting me,” his rich, smoky voice echoed in the hall. It reminded Emilia of the massive drums mummers used to draw crowds to their performance. “I am eager to meet each of these fine noblewomen.”

“Let us proceed, then,” the King said, and gestured to the stairs.

Faren stepped onto the dais and approached the first woman in line, a svelte blonde who tossed her hair and thrust out her chest like a proud hen. He asked her some basic questions, her age, name, and hobbies, before moving on to the next woman and repeating the process.

Some women were shy, some seductive. They all only had a few moments with the Prince to make an impression.

Emilia watched as he made his way down the line. Her stomach clenched at the thought of again being caught in the gaze of those golden eyes. Any calm she had moments ago had vanished. Her hand, still clasping Christine’s, became suddenly clammy.

When Christine was next, her body shook violently Emilia was sure that her teeth would begin to chatter. Soon the Prince was before her.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“ I…” Christine stuttered. She couldn’t get the words out. Her eyes were filling with burning tears. She tried to choke out the answer again. “I…”

“Her name is Christine,” Emilia said.

On instinct, Emilia pulled her friend behind her, shielding Christine from the gaze of this strange man who was surely more predator than person.“Your Highness, excuse my friend’s nerves. She’s overwrought from the excitement of today.”

Emilia felt laid bare by his curiously indulgent eyes, yet she willed herself to stare at him. Fierce and sharp, daring him to press her anxious friend any further. Behind them, she could feel the pressure of dozens of eyes waiting for his reaction.

“Understandable. And then… who are you?” His voice was even, as if he hadn’t just been challenged by some short, plump woman in half-a-dress.

“Emilia of Lan,” she answered, and then remembered her manners and dropped into a shallow curtsy.

“Emilia of Lan.Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell, sir. I’m the eldest child of a Duke. Our land is agrarian, producing mainly wheat and rye. I was educated by a series of tutors and governesses, but I have no strong talents to speak of .”

“If you are so talentless, how do you spend your time?”

“Reading, and writing when I feel inspired.”

“ I see… Thank you, Emilia.”

Wordlessly, the Dark Prince stepped away. Onto the next bride, and the next, and the next. Finally stepping off the dais and taking the throne beside the King. The two men bowed their heads together, conferring in whispers. Then, the King smiled and jumped to his feet.

“It seems a decision has been made! Prince Faren of the Dark Realm has chosen for his bride… Emilia of Lan!”

Emilia’s limbs had turned to lead, her bones like stone beneath her skin and her muscles carved from marble. Chosen. Chosen. Chosen.

How? This can’t be real.

Yet, somehow she had allowed herself to be led off the stage and into an antechamber. She sunk into one of the chairs, and just sat numbly in silence. Moments later, her parents were ushered in.

“They only gave us half an hour!” the Duchess wailed.

“Mama,” EmilIa said softly, “It will be alright. I will be alright.”

She knew the words sounded hollow, but what else could she say?

“Emilia, I don’t know what you should expect when you cross the border,” the Duke said. Heartbreak was written on his face, but he managed to keep his composure. “But, the King told me that they have assurances that you will be safe and cared for. I don’t… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to protect you from this, or even prepare you for what’s ahead. I’m so sorry, my darling.” It was then his face finally crumpled.

“I’ve been with you since the moment you first drew breath, and now I only have a few minutes to say farewell.”

Emilia didn’t need her father to say anything. She didn’t need empty reassurances or heartbroken apologies. The hand of fate had moved her here and there was nothing they could do to change it now.

So, she simply pulled her parents close to her and stayed wrapped in their arms. She memorized her mother’s freckles, the strands of gray in her father’s hair, the way they both smelled of fresh air and tilled earth.

She knew someday, when the days grew lonesome and her heart longed for the sunny, golden fields of Lan, that she would cling to the small details of her parents. Her memories were her only touchstone of home.

Thirty minutes passed. Then, a knock at the door. Footmen entered, bearing Emilia’s trunk and a black velvet cloak spangled with opals. One final gift from the King. A dark mantle for a dark bride.

They pulled her from her mother’s arms and fastened the cloak around her.

“Whatever happens to you there, remember you are my daughter!” her mother shouted as Emilia was escorted swiftly out of the door. Emilia barely had time to shout over her shoulder: “Look in my bedside drawer! Know that I love you!”

She was taken through the castle, down quiet corridors towards a small, wooden door that led to a lush, green courtyard.

The sky was brilliant and cloudless. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t high. It wasn’t even noon yet, and her life had been changed forever.

At the edge of the courtyard, a shining black carriage, trimmed in gold, was parked. A massive stag, black as the night and crowned in glorious onyx antlers, was hitched to the front. It had no coachman, only gleaming gold reins binding the beast.

The Dark Prince stood beside the carriage, leaning against the door so casually one could believe he was merely waiting for a friend outside of a tavern, not his stranger-bride outside of a castle.

“Hello, again. Let’s go home, Emilia.”