Behind the Veil
The grand hall slowly emptied as the day's tests concluded, leaving only murmurs and whispers trailing in the corridors like faint echoes. Princesses, draped in silks and jewels, mingled under the high arches while their maids fluttered around them like shadows. Some exchanged quiet congratulations, others hid their disappointment behind forced smiles. Yet, despite the colors and clamor, one singular event remained on every pair of watchful eyes: Elowen had been summoned by the Crown Prince himself.
And she… was still standing there.
Elowen's throat was dry, her hands clammy, pressed together tightly against her chest as Mawi's voice echoed again in her mind.
"Maiden Elowen, you are to wait behind. The Crown Prince requests your presence."
The words rang like a bell tolling her fate.
The princesses, their jeweled faces no longer veiled in indifference, stared with barely concealed disbelief—many with suspicion, some with thinly veiled hatred. Selene's gaze was a dagger sharpened in venom. Elowen felt it, piercing deep, but she kept her eyes respectfully lowered, her heart pounding against her ribs. Why? Why had Derek called for her?
She stood quietly, forcing her breathing to steady. But her pulse quickened when two guards, clad in the black and gold of the royal crest, stepped forward.
"Come," one said, not unkindly. "The Crown Prince waits."
The halls they led her through were eerily silent. The golden torches flickered low on the walls, casting long, shadowy arms that reached for her as she walked. Finally, they reached a set of towering obsidian doors carved with ancient runes. A guard pushed them open, and Elowen stepped inside.
The chamber was vast, yet cold. Unlike the grand hall, it bore no ornamentation for pleasure. This room was meant to strip someone bare, to see what lay beneath.
And there, seated on an elevated dais, was Prince Derek.
He sat in shadow at first, but as she stepped closer, the light found him—and gods, it found something sculpted from perfection. Sharp cheekbones, a strong, commanding jaw, and eyes like forged steel, cold and discerning. His dark hair was tied back in a warrior's knot, and his broad shoulders were encased in ceremonial black trimmed in crimson. A king-in-the-making.
He said nothing for a moment. He only watched her.
Elowen curtsied deeply, her knees trembling slightly. "Your Highness," she greeted softly, keeping her gaze fixed on the polished obsidian floor.
"Raise your head," Derek commanded, his voice low but precise.
She obeyed.
He studied her as one would study a rare creature—something both fascinating and dangerous. His silver-gray eyes flickered down her face, pausing on the faint glow of the four dots on her neck—marks that hadn't faded, despite her efforts to conceal them.
"You did not participate in today's test," Derek finally said. His tone was neutral, but there was something sharp beneath it, something hungry.
"I am not a princess, my lord," Elowen answered, surprised by how steady she sounded. "I have no place among them."
"And yet you sat there, unnoticed by anyone… except me."
Elowen said nothing.
Derek rose from his seat with an elegant, predatory grace. He approached, each step measured, until he stood before her, tall and unyielding. He studied her face again, as if he could read her thoughts. "You are not from here," he said quietly.
She frowned. "I… I have lived within these walls since I was a child."
"But you are not of these walls." His hand lifted suddenly, fingers brushing the strands of her long hair, as if to test its softness, to confirm it was real. "You hide well, little one. But something in you calls to things better left undisturbed."
Her heart raced. She stepped back, but he caught her wrist swiftly—his touch firm but not painful. He held her there, thumb brushing the pulse point of her wrist.
"Tell me," Derek murmured. "Why did you come to the hall today? Who sent you?"
"I came to assist one of the princesses," she lied, her gaze faltering. "I only followed orders."
He tilted his head. "Which princess?"
"Elira," she said quickly. "From the western isles."
A lie. And he knew it.
"Do not lie to me, Elowen," he said, his voice like silk sheathing steel. "I will find the truth eventually. It would please me more if you gave it freely."
Her lips trembled, but she stayed silent.
He released her wrist slowly, his hand lingering before falling away. "You may go," he said at last, though his eyes told her this was not over.
She curtsied again, shakier this time, and turned to leave.
"Elowen."
She stopped.
Derek's voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. "The next time I summon you… do not make me wait."
The halls outside felt colder, and as Elowen walked toward the servant quarters, the weight of Derek's gaze followed her like an unseen hand on her back. She reached her small chamber, closed the door, and pressed her palm against her wildly beating heart.
"What does he want from me?" she whispered.
"You should be asking what I want from you."
The voice was like smoke, curling around her ear, dark and dangerous.
Elowen gasped and spun around. Morris stood in the shadows by the window, his arms crossed, his gaze burning golden even in the dim light. His tall figure was relaxed, but his eyes told another story.
"You…!" she hissed, backing away. "You can't keep doing this!"
"I can. And I will." His voice was low and dangerous, but there was a glimmer of something else beneath it. His gaze dropped to the pulse at her throat, then to the four marks. "You summoned me once… remember?"
"I didn't mean to!" she snapped, cheeks burning.
He smirked. "But you did." His steps were silent as he closed the distance between them in three strides. His hand came up to brush her hair from her neck, his fingers grazing the marks that bound them. "And now… he's seen you."
Elowen shivered. "You mean the prince?"
Morris's jaw clenched. "He looks at you like you're a puzzle he's already solved. But you're not his to solve."
"You're wrong," she whispered. "I'm not anyone's."
"You're mine," Morris growled. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his blazing gaze. "This mark binds you to me, whether you accept it or not."
Elowen's breath caught. His thumb brushed against her lower lip in a gesture that sent shivers spiraling through her.
"Stay away from him," Morris said, his voice rough. "He'll take and take until there's nothing left. And I won't let that happen."
"I have no choice!" she snapped. "You think I want to be caught between a devil and a prince?"
"You're already caught," he murmured. "And there's no escape."
His face was so close now she could feel the heat radiating from him. His hand dropped from her face to her waist, his fingers splaying against her side possessively. Her heart hammered.
"Why do you care?" she whispered. "What am I to you?"
His golden eyes flickered darker. "Everything."
Before she could answer—before she could even breathe—Morris vanished, leaving only his warmth and his scent behind.
Elowen stood frozen, one hand against her chest as if to hold herself together. The night was still, but inside her, everything was falling apart.
And somewhere, deep in the palace… Derek watched the mist swirl around his palm and murmured her name.