We were about to be traded like lambs to a king old enough to be our father.
I stood beside my sisters, my hands trembling beneath the layers of my gown, while my fate waited at the far end of the grand hall.
We were daughters of King Maximus, dressed like jewels, arranged like offerings, displayed for a man none of us had ever met. A man who is rumored to have traded one of his sons to the devil.
I hated my father for this.
Cravenford stood sixth among the Seven Kingdoms, and my father despised that rank more than anything. Tonight, he intended to climb higher—using his daughters as stepping stones.
I owe this to the kingdom, I repeated silently as my heart pounded so hard it ached.
Still, I clung to a fragile hope that I would not be chosen.
But that hope was cruel.
If it wasn't me, it would be one of my sisters.
I wasn't heartless enough to wish that fate on them.
I sat straight, just as I'd been taught since childhood, my gaze fixed on the massive doors at the end of the hall. Everyone waited in silence for King Nazgûl of Morvathis.
My eyes drifted to my mother, searching for comfort.
She wasn't looking at me.
She never did.
She hadn't cared when everyone began calling me the strange Princess—when they talked about my white hair, so different from everyone else's. I swallowed the familiar ache and looked away.
Then the doors opened.
"The King of Morvathis," a guard announced.
I lowered my gaze at once. I didn't want to see the man who would ruin one of our lives.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Confused, I lifted my eyes.
The man who entered was not old, he wasn't the king.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, moving with a calm, unhurried grace that commanded attention. Long raven hair spilled down his back, and his presence alone seemed to bend the surrounding air. His eyes from afar looked so light I wondered what they would look like up close.
"It's Prince Narakon," the guests started murmuring.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. I didn't expect someone with this kind of worldly beauty.
The prince stopped before my father.
"Your Majesty," he said calmly. Without bowing.
A shocked murmur spread through the hall. No one dared disrespect a king—especially not my father. Not that he deserves any respect, but still.
"My father is away," the prince continued coolly. "I will choose his bride in his place."
Of course.
The king himself couldn't even be bothered to attend the ceremony for the woman whose life he was about to destroy.
My father gestured toward us with a faltering smile, as if to say choose your finest silk.
The prince's sharp gaze turned in our direction.
I dropped my eyes instantly, my heart hammering as his footsteps drew closer. From beneath my lashes, I watched him lift my sister's chins one by one, studying their faces as if searching for something only he could see.
Then cold fingers touched my face.
A chill ran down my spine.
He lifted my chin.
Our eyes met.
Up close, his gaze was even more striking. His eyes were an unusual shade of silver like smoke trapped in a glass, dangerous, and unsettling. Something unreadable flickered within them, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Without warning, he took my hands and pulled me forward.
Gasps filled the hall as he dragged me to the center of the throne room. Then he said those words that shattered my life.
"I choose her."
My world tilted.
"For my father."
The guest started murmuring. Of course, they didn't expect the prince to choose a princess with unnatural hair.
I have always dreamed of marrying someone I love, but now I am reduced to a third wife by a man old enough to be my father.
My legs nearly gave out, but the prince didn't release my hands. He led me to the throne and seated me beside my father—placing me there like a possession.
"Let's celebrate my daughter's wedding to the Kinh of Morvathis," my father declared once everyone was seated. He raised his silver wine cup, "Let the ceremony begin, and enjoy yourselves."
The people clapped while dancers and musicians walked in to entertain the guests.
People seemed to enjoy themselves. I felt nothing but horror.
My gaze stayed down because that was what I was supposed to do. I hated being a lady.
I wondered how the prince could stand in place of his father. The Oath ceremony wasn't something to joke about.
Two guards brought a horn. The music died down.
"Let the Oath ceremony begin," Father announced.
Prince Narakon rose and extended his hand. I took it, my fingers trembling against his, he guided me forward and handed me a small, ornate dagger.
I drew it across my palm and filled the ceremonial horn like a cup with my blood.
He did the same without hesitation, his blood mingling with mine.
He lifted the horn to his lips and drank.
The instant our combined blood touched his tongue, his body went rigid, his silver eyes darkened.
I gasped, taking a cautious step back. What is happening? I wondered.
He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched, fighting something I could not see. When his eyes snapped open again, the silver was gone.
Hungry pitch black ones stared back at me.
I screamed, giving him more space.
"What is happening?" Father demanded, rising from his throne.
"Look! He's a monster!" someone from the guests shouted.
The horn slipped from the prince's fingers and clattered against the marble floor.
His gaze fixed on me, "Y…you poisoned me?" he rasped. And I shook my head frantically, panic flooding my chest.
"Unbelievable! My father shouted."
"I'm certain the princess did this! Queen Liza cried, pointing a trembling finger at me.
Tears gathered my eyes.
"Yes—he was fine moments ago!" Queen Niya added shrilly.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," my mother interjected.
"Don't pretend you've forgotten the incident with Princess Freya," Queen Liza said.
More tears stung my eyes as memories of what I did to one of my sisters flooded back—memories.
"Enough!" Father commanded, silencing the hall.
His cold gaze settled on me.
"White, go to your chambers. Now."
I couldn't move. My legs felt rooted to the floor as I stared at Prince Narakon's now crumpled, unmoving form.
Had I killed him?
"White—now!" Princess Ennis said, grabbing my arm.
It snapped me out of my trance. I turned and ran—past the hateful glares, past the guests who now looked at me like I was the true monster.
Tears streaming freely, one terrified question echoing in my mind:Did I kill him?