CHAPTER 10 - Before the Door Opens
The mirror does not blink.
It does not comfort.
It does not lie.
I stand at the center of my chamber while candlelight flickers against tall stone walls.
The room smells faintly of rose oil and warmed silk.
Outside the narrow windows, twilight deepens into indigo.
The palace has gone quieter in that strange way it does before something important before ceremony, before blood, before history shifts its weight.
The gown feels heavier now than it did during the fitting.
It is ivory not innocent white, not soft bridal lace, but something deliberate.
Something regal. The bodice is structured, embroidered with silver thread that climbs in patterns reminiscent of frost on winter glass.
Tiny pearls are sewn along the neckline, catching every flicker of light.
The sleeves are long, sheer at the wrists, fitted along the forearms in a way that makes my movements feel precise rather than gentle.
The skirt falls in layered panels, structured yet fluid. When I breathe, it shifts softly around my ankles. When I turn slightly, it whispers against the stone floor.
My hair has been braided and pinned into something intricate and royal. Not romantic curls. Not soft tendrils. Clean lines. Controlled elegance. The kind of style meant for portraits and coins.My lips are painted a muted rose. My cheeks dusted lightly to mask the sleepless nights of the past week.
From a distance, I look calm.
Up close, my fingers tremble.
The seamstresses retreat quietly, offering careful bows before slipping out of the chamber. The door closes behind them with a soft click.
Now it is just me.
And Elias.
He stands near the hearth, tall and solid in his dark uniform, arms folded behind his back. His silver-threaded hair catches the firelight faintly. His expression is composed, but I know him well enough now to see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
"You look like you belong here," he says quietly.
"I feel like I'm wearing someone else's life," I reply.
He steps closer, boots muted by the rug. In the mirror, his reflection appears behind mine a steady shadow anchoring a trembling flame.
"You are not about to be executed," he says.
"That remains debatable."
"You are getting married."
"To a man who has buried eight women," I say softly. I smooth my hands down the front of my gown again, tracing the embroidery with absent fingers. The silk is cool and smooth beneath my palms.
"I thought," I begin, watching myself instead of him, "that when I arrived here, I would spend these weeks getting to know him."
He does not interrupt.
"I thought there would be dinners. Conversations. Something." My throat tightens. "I thought I would at least understand the man I'm binding my life to."
"You've seen him," Elias says.
"Twice," I echo.
The first time in the corridor boots darkened, presence suffocating. The second across the courtyard horse restless beneath him, soldiers parting like tides. Both times, brief. Both times, overwhelming.
"And you barely spoke," I remember that second meeting too clearly. The way he paused, just slightly, when he noticed me watching. The way his gaze locked onto mine not warm, not welcoming, but assessing.
Calculating.
He did not bow.
He did not smile.
He did not speak.
He simply looked at me as though determining whether I was worth keeping.
Or breaking.
"I don't know him," I whisper.
"You will," Elias replies.
"When?" I ask.
"After tonight."
The words land heavier than the crown waiting in the next room.
He continues carefully.
"Once the wedding is over, you will not be confined to these corridors and my company."
I turn my head slightly. "That is supposed to reassure me?"
"You will have access to the entire palace," he says. "The nobles will approach you. The women of court will seek invitations. Tea gatherings. Strategy sessions. Political alliances."
"Tea," I repeat faintly.
"Yes."
"You think tea will distract me from the possibility of being murdered in my sleep?"
His mouth twitches faintly.
"I think focusing only on the worst possibility will paralyze you."
I turn fully now, facing him.
"And what can I control?" I ask quietly.
"Your posture," he says. "Your words. Your composure."
"That is all?"
"That is more than most."
I swallow.
"I liked it when it was just us," I admit softly.
He studies me.
"That is because it felt safe."
"Yes."
"It will not remain that way."
"I assumed."
The chamber feels smaller suddenly.
"I thought he would try to know me," I say. "At least enough to decide whether he despises me."
"He does not despise you," Elias replies.
"How can you be certain?"
"Because if he did, you would not be standing here." That thought does not comfort me.He steps closer.
"There will be time for conversation," he says. "After tonight, you will be moving into his chambers."
The air leaves my lungs.
"That," I say faintly, "is not reassuring."
"It is expected."
"It just means he'll be able to kill me easier," I say bluntly. "He won't even have to cross the palace."
Elias' jaw tightens.
"He has had opportunities already."
"That does not mean he won't decide tonight is convenient."
"He does not kill impulsively."
"You say that like it's a kindness."
He holds my gaze steadily.
"You are not temporary," he says. "You are not a placeholder bride."
"I am the last one until the next," I reply.
"You volunteered."
"I know."
The weight of that choice presses into my chest.
"If he wants to kill me," I say slowly, "being in his chambers just means he'll find a reason faster." Elias adjusts the cuff of his glove with precise, deliberate calm.
"It does not make sense," he says evenly, "for a husband and wife not to share a bed. Let alone a room."
The word bed echoes too loudly in my mind.
I swallow hard.
The gown suddenly feels tighter around my ribs.
"He does not strike me as a man who values softness," I murmur.
"He values structure," Elias replies. "He values appearances."
"And what will it look like if I tremble every time he enters?" I ask.
"It will look human."
"What if I say something wrong?"
"You will."
"That is not helpful."
"You will," he repeats calmly. "And you will recover. And you will continue."
"What if he does not allow recovery?"
"He will."
"You sound certain."
"I am."
"And if you're wrong?"
His voice lowers.
"Then I will deal with it."
"You cannot be in his chambers."
"No."
"Then how will you protect me?"
His eyes soften slightly.
I turn back toward the mirror one final time.
The woman staring back looks composed. Regal. Almost serene.
She does not look like someone who thinks tonight might be her last night breathing.
"Do I look afraid?" I ask quietly.
"No."
"I am."
"I know."
We walk toward the door together.
Each step echoes too loudly in the quiet chamber.
The hallway beyond is already lined with candlelight. The faint murmur of distant voices drifts toward us. Somewhere beyond these walls, nobles gather. Music waits. The altar stands prepared.
This is the last moment that belongs only to me.
I stop just before the door.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
If I step through, there is no return to this life as it is now. No more mornings arguing over posture. No more collapsing into grass. No more pretending I have time to hesitate.
Elias stands beside me.
He looks at me one last time not as a guard. Not as a captain.
As something steadier.
"Are you ready?" he asks.
No.
But I nod anyway.
The doors open.
And whatever waits beyond them belongs to me now.