Torin, the king, sat upon his imposing throne, a frown etched deep upon his brow. The golden light from the setting sun streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the intricate carvings of the throne room, but it did little to lift the weight in his chest.
A guard approached, bowing deeply, a scroll clutched in his hands. "My Lord, a message from the northern clan," he announced, his voice steady, though the tremor of unease lingered in the air.
Torin groaned softly, the word 'northern' sparking a flicker of irritation. He rose from his throne, a towering figure with a mane of dark hair streaked with gray. The guard lifted the scroll high, and Torin accepted it, his fingers brushing against the parchment. As he read, silence enveloped the room, thickening like fog.
Duke, Torin's son, entered the chamber, his youthful face marked with curiosity. "What is it, Father?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Torin, still fixated on the scroll, simply replied, "It's nothing." But the tension in his voice belied his words.
Duke narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "The look on your face says otherwise."
Torin grunted, dismissing his son's concerns, but the unease was palpable. "Present Elara before me," he commanded, a sudden sharpness in his tone.
Moments later, Elara entered, her presence like a breath of fresh air amidst the storm. She approached the throne, her expressive eyes locked onto Torin's.
Duke, overwhelmed with protective instincts, began to apologize for the tension in the room. "Father"
"Stop," Torin interrupted, raising a hand to silence him. "Seven days from now, you will marry my son, Duke," he declared, his gaze piercing into Elara's.
Elara's reaction was swift and fierce. With a swift motion, she spat heavily into Torin's eye.
Torin, taken aback, wiped the saliva from his face, fury igniting within him. In a moment of fury, he struck her across the cheek, causing her to stumble back, eyes blazing with hatred.
Duke gasped, shock washing over him. "Father, you slapped the woman I want to marry!"
"Leave my sight," Torin commanded, his voice cold and unwavering.
Duke, torn between loyalty to his father and love for Elara, helped her rise from the ground. He guided her away from the throne room, his protective instincts flaring.
As they reached his chamber, Elara managed to catch her breath, her eyes still filled with defiance. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice laced with both curiosity and suspicion.
Duke turned to her, feeling the weight of his lineage. "I am Duke, the crowned prince of Vanilor," he replied, his heart racing.
Elara's eyes narrowed. "I ask again, who are you?"
With a gentle resolve, Duke knelt before her, "I am the man who loves you." He reached for her hands, holding them tightly. "I promise to love and cherish you."
Elara searched his eyes, feeling the sincerity radiate from him.
"The moment you walked through the palace gates, I knew," he continued, breathless. "I'll leave you to rest." He stood, but Elara's hand grasped his, pulling him back.
"What I met first wasn't Duke, but his heart," she whispered, stepping closer, their breaths mingling in the charged air.
Duke wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body against his. "You are different from the rest," he said softly, his eyes searching hers.
"No," Elara replied, tears shimmering in her eyes. "There are good people too, but your father... he beheaded my father." The words trembled on her lips, and she fought to hold back the flood of grief.
Duke pulled her into a tight embrace, understanding the depth of her pain. "I know," he murmured, loosening his grip to gaze into her eyes. Slowly, he leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a passionate kiss.
Elara responded, her hands tangling in his hair as they lost themselves in each other, their hearts racing.
As Duke lifted her effortlessly, Elara wrapped her legs around his waist. He laid her gently on the bed, their eyes locked in a moment of pure connection.
"You seek revenge on my family," Duke whispered, moving closer. "Even if I am on that list, I will gladly die in your arms, as my wife, Elara. Duke loves you."
The weight of her mother's words echoed painfully in Elara's mind, but she found solace in Duke's embrace.
"It's okay," he soothed, raising her head to rest against his chest.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow through the chamber, Elara made a decision. She would not remain a prisoner, neither in body nor spirit. Driven by the memories of her father and the pain of her past, she began to walk down the corridor. Whispers echoed in the hallways, secrets shared among the servants who resented Duke's family.
During one of these clandestine meetings, she uncovered a plot against Duke, orchestrated by a familiar face within the palace. Her heart raced with the possibilities. Could she turn the tide of this war?
With newfound determination, she approached Duke one night, her heart pounding with urgency. "We need to talk," she insisted, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
Taken aback, Duke nodded, leading her to a secluded garden bathed in moonlight. "What is it, Elara?"
"A clandestine meeting was held without your knowledge or consent," she declared, her courage shining through the fear. "I believe it's essential you're aware of the situation."
Duke's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and admiration lighting his eyes. "And who are those?" he asked calmly.
"Few men in the palace," she replied, her voice unwavering.
Duke looked deeply into her eyes, searching for the truth. "Why do you care?"
"Because you are the only one I have," Elara replied, her heart laid bare before him.
"Elara," Duke's voice was low and soothing, a
balm to her frayed nerves.
"I watched those whom I love destroyed. Not this time," she interrupted, her voice fierce with conviction.
"Then we fight together," he said, his voice resolute. His gaze held hers, brimming with determination. "I love you," he whispered, pulling her closer and kissing her passionately beneath the moonlit sky.