The dining room was already prepared, flowers lined across the long polished table, each petal arranged with the kind of care only fear of a powerful guest could bring. Candles burned softly, their flames steady, refusing to flicker. The chairs were spaced perfectly, not one out of place, the room holding its breath for the arrival of Marcus.
He was not coming alone, his uncle—a known soldier, a man carved by war—would be at his side. Marcus had lost his parents in the great battle, and this visit meant everything to Aurelia's father, every heartbeat in the house moving toward this single moment.
This is the beginning of a new life, Aurelia said to herself.
I've heard countless stories of Marcus rejecting girls, even those with high status, and I have to do everything in my power to make him fall.
As she peeped through the window, a carriage slowed to a halt at the gate. The crest glimmered, the horses stilled, and the door opened.
It was Marcus.
And then the door clicked, and a woman with blonde hair and a curvy figure stepped inside — Fira's mother.
"Aurelia, he is here," she announced.
Immediately, Aurelia stepped into the dining room, letting a single glance steal his attention.
She made a small, deliberate bow, and it was enough to fluster him, enough to make him unable to believe that a beauty like hers could exist.
Marcus's gaze lingered longer than politeness allowed, and a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "So… you're the one everyone says can make grown men lose their wits," he said, low and teasing, though the presence of his uncle standing behind him made the words careful, measured.
Aurelia's lips curved into a deliberate smirk, slow, subtle, almost casual, and she could see it in his eyes — a flicker of surprise, a spike of desire, a man trying desperately to hold himself in check, aware of the witness behind him.
"I suppose," she murmured, letting her violet eyes meet his without hesitation, "you'll have to find out for yourself."
His uncle's brow rose, scanning the room, noting the way Marcus shifted slightly, as though caught off guard, yet polite, composed, but Aurelia knew — the tension in the air, the heat she had sparked, was undeniable.
Marcus saw her eyes and fell deep into them, almost forgetting to breathe.
Aurelia felt a quiet spark of satisfaction — she hadn't even done half of what she planned, and already he looked undone, his composure slipping, his pulse betraying him.
She hadn't moved closer, hadn't spoken again, yet he stood there nearly overwhelmed,
and she allowed herself a small, knowing smirk.
He was hers to control — and she hadn't even begun.
Marcus opened his mouth, trying to speak, trying to sound like the disciplined soldier everyone praised him to be.
"Y-your… your Majesty—"
He froze.
Aurelia was clearly not royalty.
His uncle turned sharply toward him, eyebrows raised in confusion.
Marcus swallowed hard, face burning.
"I mean—Aurelia. Lady Aurelia. My… apologies, I don't know why I said that."
Aurelia's smirk deepened, subtle but sharp, the kind that made his spine stiffen and his thoughts scatter again.
He had trained for war, fought creatures in the shadows, survived horrors men whispered about…
Aurelia's smirk lingered, sharp and deliberate, and she turned her gaze toward Marcus's uncle.
"May I… steal him for a moment?" she asked, voice soft, playful, but with an edge that left no room for refusal, "I would like to show him something… extraordinary."
The uncle blinked, uncertain, caught off guard by her audacity, then nodded, his pride intact but curiosity restrained.
Aurelia glanced at Marcus, violet eyes catching the last rays of the sun falling through the windows. "Come," she whispered, and without waiting for him to protest, she led him toward the garden.
The doors opened, and the evening air brushed against them, warm and fragrant. The sun was dipping low, casting molten gold across the manicured paths and flowerbeds. Every petal, every leaf, seemed to glow in the fading light, as though the garden itself were conspiring with her plan.
She let her hand brush lightly against his arm — just enough — and looked up at him, letting the silence speak the words she didn't need to say. Marcus, trained in war and restraint, felt it anyway, the pull, the impossibility of looking away.
Aurelia smiled inwardly. She hadn't even begun.
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Dawn...
Aurelia's hand barely brushed his arm when Marcus turned to her, his violet eyes locking with hers, sharp, unflinching, and for a moment the world seemed to shrink to only the two of them.
"I don't want to waste time," he said abruptly, voice low, urgent, and somehow commanding even in this golden light, "our marriage… it is set for the day after tomorrow, isn't it? Then we should not delay. Will you… marry me?"
Aurelia's lips curved into a small, deliberate smirk, her plan already unfolding perfectly. She had anticipated hesitation, doubt, every kind of polite refusal — and yet here he was, giving her exactly what she wanted, without a second thought.
She let the moon light catch her violet eyes, letting him see both triumph and amusement. "I suppose," she said softly, "you've already made your choice… now let us see if you can keep it."
Marcus's jaw tightened, his gaze never leaving hers, the pull between them taut, undeniable, electric, and Aurelia knew — the game had begun, and she held every piece.
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Later...
Aurelia remained in astonishment; the events of this day had unfolded with such swiftness that even now they press upon her mind, yet she would suffer no detail to escape the witness of her diary.
( Today unfolded not as I had foreseen.
Marcus, lauded by many as a man of unmatched merit, revealed himself less wondrous than the tales proclaimed. And yet, if he were indeed so mighty, how came it that he yielded to me with such swiftness? The speed of his surrender exceeds all expectation.
His story weaves itself through the very fabric of my life. I lost my mother and Gaius, and was left in the care of a father who would sooner drown himself in wine than rise and fight for his people.
For now, I possessed not the fortitude to inquire of Marcus concerning the dark creatures that dwell beyond our sight.
And after all , this day seemed to bear fruit; Marcus proves himself kind, measured, and... present.
Thus begins my preparation for war. My strength, my skill with the bow, shall be joined in purpose.
Perhaps the heavens, though distant and silent, yet watch, and weigh the deeds of those who dare to grasp at power.
I will make sure those creatures pay dearly for their wicked deeds.)
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To be continued...