Damien's hand was warm against her back, his fingers splayed possessively as he guided her down the long, echoing corridor. The servants they passed bowed low, not daring to make eye contact. The air shifted as they turned the corner, the scent of polished marble and lavender oil filling her nostrils. Cora's steps were slow, hesitant, but Damien didn't allow her to linger.
"You walk like you're going to your execution," he drawled, his voice thick with smug amusement. "Relax, little bird. Nobody touches what is mine."
Cora bit the inside of her cheek, ignoring the heat that rushed up her neck. She hated how he could twist her insides with a few teasing words.
They reached the end of the hall, where two ornate double doors loomed. A servant stood waiting beside them, his eyes lowered. Damien gave a curt nod, and the man cleared his throat. "The adjoining room has been prepared as you requested, Your Highness."
"Of course it has," Damien replied, his tone laced with the arrogance of someone used to the world bending to his whims. He turned to Cora, holding the door open with a flourish and an exaggerated bow. "Your palace, my lady."
Cora stepped inside, and for a moment, the breath was stolen from her lungs. The room wasn't just beautiful—it was opulent beyond reason. Velvet drapes the color of deep wine spilled down from high arched windows. The floor gleamed like glass, covered with thick, dark rugs embroidered with golden threads. The bed was a sprawling monstrosity of silk sheets and intricate woodwork, and a fire crackled in the hearth, casting amber shadows on the walls.
She turned slowly, trying to absorb the overwhelming richness of it all. "This... this is a guest room?"
Damien leaned lazily against the doorway, arms folded, his grin infuriatingly self-satisfied. "You're under my roof. Did you expect a dungeon? Well... that could be arranged, if you're into that sort of thing."
She shot him a glare, and he only chuckled, clearly delighted by her discomfort.
"If it'll make you feel better, you can lock the door," he said, stepping back. "Not that anyone would dare to enter , of course anyone but me."
Cora's eyes widened, and he winked, his voice softening just a touch. "But I don't force things. I'm a prince, not a savage."
Her fingers were already on the door. She closed it firmly and slid the bolt across, exhaling a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. The silence in the room wrapped around her, oddly comforting after the constant tension of the palace.
She made her way to the bathroom. The light flickered on automatically as she stepped in, revealing a polished marble space that gleamed like a dream. Gold accents gleamed from every corner—the faucets, the mirror frame, even the toothbrush holder.
She stood before the mirror, gripping the sink. Her masked reflection stared back at her, unmoving and enigmatic. The carved silver edges of the mask shimmered faintly under the lights, the metal cold and smooth against her skin.
Her hands trembled as she touched the edge of the mask. It didn't budge. It never did.
"I can't stay like this forever…" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I can't."
She turned the tap, letting the cold water rush over her hands. For a moment, the chill grounded her. But then she saw it—the shimmer.
Blue with gold. Iridescent. Like dragon scales kissed by moonlight.
They rippled up her hands, forming intricate patterns that danced beneath her skin. Her breath caught. She snatched her hand back and stared in horror.
"No… not again, not here at least."
The mirror fogged, and for a heartbeat, she saw something behind her—something dark and smoky, rising from the mask itself. The metal glowed faintly, as though alive.
Cora stumbled back from the sink, clutching her chest. The room swam around her, the air too thick to breathe.
Elsewhere, in a mansion adorned with gold chandeliers and the cold weight of expectation, a family sat around a lavish dining table. Crystal glasses chimed. Silver cutlery scraped over fine china.
The Mayor of Velgard dabbed the corner of his lips with a linen napkin, his expression stern beneath the flicker of candlelight. "There's a gala at the palace," he said finally. "We're going."
Across from him, Amelia clenched her fork, her shoulders tight with exhaustion. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, and her auburn hair was pulled back in a haphazard twist.
"I just got home today," she murmured. "Can't it wait?"
Her mother gave her a pointed look but didn't speak.
The Mayor raised a hand before anyone else could intervene. "Amelia, you're not a child. You're the daughter of a Mayor. You must attend these things. The princes will be there. This could be your chance."
She stared at him in disbelief. "My chance for what? To be paraded around like some prize mare?"
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the marble. "Don't make this difficult."
Her mother reached for her hand, squeezing gently. "He means well. He's just... trying to ensure your future."
Amelia looked down at her plate, her appetite gone. She had dreams—plans that didn't involve marrying royalty or attending palatial gatherings like a doll dressed for display.
Back in the palace, Cora sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands now hidden beneath the sleeves of her nightgown. The scales were gone—faded as quickly as they had appeared. But the sensation lingered.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. What was she?
There was a soft knock. Then, without waiting for permission, Damien entered.
Of course he didn't wait.
He looked far too relaxed, his shirt partially unbuttoned, hair slightly tousled. He strolled in like he owned the world—and he did, in many ways.
"I told you I'd be back," he said, closing the door behind him. "Did you miss me, little bird?"
Cora tensed. "You didn't knock."
"I did. Then I remembered—I don't need to ask permission in my own palace."
She stood abruptly, but he only smirked, his gaze sweeping over her with lazy amusement. "You always look like you're ready to run. I wonder what would happen if I start chasing you."
"I thought you were visiting your… babies?" she asked, grasping for control.
He raised a brow, pleased she remembered. "I did. They're quite charming company. Less prone to biting than you."
She looked away, but he stepped closer, his tone softening. "You're trembling."
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His touch was gentle, but the power behind it was undeniable.
" What's wrong little bird?" he whispered, voice like velvet and sin. "You think I haven't noticed the way you flinch? The way you hide your hands?"
Her breath hitched.
He brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Whatever you're hiding… it's part of you and I want you to know I like you the way you are and will always protect you"
Cora's chest ached, a war raging inside her. Part of her wanted scream. Another part wanted to leave but she Shamelessly only leaned against him .
He leaned in, lips close to her ear with his hand weaving through her hair . " Rest for a while and if you don't want to go for the gala then you don't have to"