《Elaine's Gamble》 A House I Do Not Feel At Home To be the youngest, the least accomplished, in a house of successful people is damning. People often revel at my last name, Carter, but to me, that is the very thing that has always made me feel small. It has its perks¨Cthe shoes, the jewels, and the dresses of the latest fashion that it comes with. All of that, because of the empire, built from the ground up, by Silena Carter. My mother. From a young age, I noticed that people treated me differently. My classmates¡¯ mothers would scold them whenever they tried to tease me, yanking them away when I felt annoyed, treating me as if I was special. I loved them as I would my own blood and I¡¯d like to think they felt the same way, but everything would change the moment my mother walked into the room. While the mothers offered each other friendly grins, their smiles towards Mother barely reached ears. Just a polite shadow of a welcoming gesture. I guess it didn¡¯t really bother me, that time. I paid no attention to whether people around me liked my mother or not. I liked being left to my own devices, relishing the peace and quiet, but it made me think. About my family. About my role in it. At age 21, I¡¯m still not so sure. I debuted in society four years ago, a spectacular outdoor ball at The Paseo¡¯s willow orchard with lavender-colored crystals hanging from their branches. It feels like yesterday, yet so far away. My education ended quite recently, so I had to move back to the estate, bidding my life in the capital away. In short, I am bored. I pause my reading, setting the novel on my lap. I¡¯m in the drawing room, and across from me is my older sister, Celestia. She is a spitting image of Mother¡ªemerald eyes, a pointy nose, and bright blonde hair cascading in natural waves instead of her usual tight updo. I run a hand through my own flatter, shorter hair, which ends at my chest and is a shade duller than Celestia¡¯s. I try not to compare us often, but old habits die hard. I glanced over my shoulder, needing a distraction. Light piano music plays from the stereo, drowning out the clink and clank of ceramics at the banquet hall. Helpers scurry across the room, with soup bowls and golden spoons in hand. Supper is about to be served, but I¡¯m certain something will be happening tonight. They only use the embroidered napkins and the gold cutlery during anniversaries, holidays, but there isn¡¯t any today. Mother must be making some kind of announcement. Celestia, already finished drafting her business plan, or whatever document she was fiddling with two hours ago, has shifted her attention to a rose-colored parchment. The envelope is stamped with a jade seal, meaning it¡¯s from House Sinclair. What¡¯s written inside has her giddy with excitement. I suppose it must be from Orion Sinclair, her long-time suitor, who also happened to be the heir to Sideral¡¯s most popular garment brand. No big feat, when Celestia herself is the marketing head of Sideral¡¯s largest corporation. The kitchen staff calls for us. ¡°Dinner is ready, my ladies. Lady Silena requires your immediate attendance.¡± Celestia and I exchange looks, and I shrug. She sets the letter down and we make our way to the dining hall. When we arrive, our brothers are already there, Deneb seated at Mother¡¯s left side and Seren at her right. It was too silent for my comfort, the stereo¡¯s music only a faint whisper from the drawing room. I take the seat beside Seren and Celestia beside Deneb. I could hear my chair drag across the marbled floor as I sat. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Mother takes her knife and cuts a piece of bread, formally starting dinner. We follow suit. ¡°Deneb, I take it you are almost finished with the accounts from last week?¡± Even at home, she¡¯s in her business attire. Her nails shone in contrast to her utensils, adorned with silver rhinestones and cut to a point. Her tone was as sharp. She shows no emotion as she speaks, making this question almost feel like an interrogation. Deneb, who was by then used to this, nods. ¡°I¡¯ve taken the report to your study.¡± ¡°And you, Seren? How are the workers behaving at The Elysium?¡± ¡°Production is steady, Mother. Our employees are working efficiently.¡± Seren says, before chewing on a piece of steak. ¡°Celestia.¡± Mother starts. ¡°I have just finished the proposal. I¡¯ll send them over as soon as¡ª" ¡°You are to be engaged.¡± The clang of a dropped spoon echoes through the room, sharp and jarring. Celestia¡¯s fork. Everyone freezes. Seren stops chewing, his fork suspended mid-air, eyes wide. My heart races. Celestia, normally so composed, blinks rapidly. ¡°You mean, to Orion?¡± ¡°House Sinclair might be rising on the market, but D¡¯Or is no match for The Elysium.¡± She says, matter-of-factly. ¡°I have chosen a commendable candidate. You will be meeting him tomorrow at dusk.¡± Celestia¡¯s face, pale and strained, flickers with a myriad of emotions: disbelief, anger, a trace of fear. ¡°But Mother, Orion has been courting me for two years. I cannot just simply¡ª¡± ¡°You can and you will reject him. You will simply state that he is no longer able to continue his courtship.¡± ¡°Mother¡ª¡± ¡°I will hear none of it.¡± Mother snaps, her gaze finally lifting from her plate to pin Celestia in place. ¡°I have promised them a daughter and you shall be wed. It will be good for The Elysium. And the House.¡± ¡°I¡­ I understand.¡± I was biting my lip. Celestia falls silent, but a single tear betrays her, sliding down her cheek before she can wipe it away. She understands all too well: it''s always The Elysium before the House. Business comes first. Not me. ¡°Does it have to be Celestia?¡± All eyes turn to me. Mother''s eyebrow arches, a dangerous curiosity flickering in her eyes. I look away. ¡°I-I mean, you said a daughter, so I just wanted to clarify if it has to be Celestia specifically or¡­ any of your daughters?¡± ¡°What are you trying to say, Elaine?¡± I release a shaky breath, steeling myself as I do so. ¡°I am of legal age. I¡­ I can marry.¡± Mother''s laughter erupts, cold and mocking, echoing off the walls. For a moment, it¡¯s all we hear. ¡°My, my. What a surprise,¡± she says, her nonchalance thinly veiling her amusement. She returns to her meal, dismissing me with a wave. ¡°You want to trade places with your sister? Be our guest.¡± Celestia whispers. ¡°Elaine¡­¡± ¡°I can handle it. You must trust me.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure whether I was saying that to Celestia or myself. The adrenaline has worn off and I feel my hands trembling under the table. I turn to my mother. ¡°May I at least ask which House?¡± The corner of her mouth lifts. ¡°House Kingsley.¡± A Shadow at the Galerie ¡°Elaine.¡± I keep walking, the voice behind me barely registering. ¡°Elaine, stop.¡± Celestia grabs my wrist, forcing me to turn. Now that we¡¯re out of the dining hall, she made no effort concealing the tears, rivulets flowing freely across her flushed cheeks. My gaze softens as I realize that, despite her brilliance, my sister is just human. Her eyes, however, remain as fiery as ever. ¡°Why would you do that?¡± ¡°What was I supposed to do then? Let you marry someone you don¡¯t love?¡± It was awkward, this sudden display of emotion between us. Still, I take both of her hands. ¡°Any sister would do the same. Just as you¡¯re doing now.¡± Celestia pulls away from my touch, her hands bunching the fabric of her red skirt into fists at her sides. ¡°It¡¯s my responsibility. It is improper, for my younger sister to wed before me¡ª¡± ¡°Then marry Orion before me, if you must.¡± I shake my head and turn my back to her before she can argue again. My mind is made up; I''ve already signed the letter Mother sent to the capital. I glance over my shoulder at my sister one last time. ¡°You must understand, I... I don¡¯t have what you and Orion share. What you have is rare.¡± I resume walking, and when Celestia doesn¡¯t follow, I stop for a brief moment. ¡°I may be doing this for you, but that is not all. The Elysium needs you. You are needed here.¡± The moment I reach my room, Verona, my helper, hurries over to assist me out of my attire. Normally, I would let her, but tonight I held out my hand. She nods, understanding without question, and leads me to my vanity. She reaches for a hairpin and twists my hair into a low bun. ¡°What do you know about House Kingsley?¡± I ask, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She puts a pin between her teeth, her hands busy at the back of my head. ¡°Shall I prepare a report about your betrothed?¡± I gave her a look. ¡°Just tell me what you know.¡± ¡°Kingsley,¡± she murmurs, searching her memory. ¡°They own the largest, most prestigious art gallery and auction house in Sideral: Galerie du Temps, in St. Fortuna. The main family consists of five. Edward, the old Kingsley, resides at his only son''s estate. He has three grandsons: Albert, Alistair, and Aleksei.¡± ¡°Alistair.¡± I repeat, recalling the name Mother mentioned at the banquet. ¡°Alistair Kingsley.¡± ¡°Ah, the middle child. Lucky for you, he is not so ancient. I believe he¡¯s around 23 or 24 years old.¡± She finishes my hair. Verona is my favorite helper. She arrived at our estate when I was eleven, and I''ve grown deeply fond of her. I decided to teach her how to read after catching her peeking at the gazette, and my efforts bore fruit. Verona is intelligent; she can archive a million pieces of information in her mind. Information that often proves useful. ¡°If my knowledge is correct, he arrived at the Galerie this morning.¡± I glance at the clock. 20:00. I have time. ¡°How far is St. Fortuna?¡± ¡°I can take you there in eleven minutes by horseback.¡± I let my gaze linger into space, debating against what I¡¯m about to do. I let myself win anyway. I turn to Verona. ¡°Fetch me my hood.¡± The trail to the art house is paved, a smooth road offering no hindrance. When we arrive, I notice a dozen roads all converge at Galerie du Temps, a wise scheme considering the building itself is a sight to behold. Glass walls reveal glimpses of the opulent interior, sending a clear, if arrogant, message: the treasures within sight, but will never be unattainable for most. For why ever will a structure containing the world¡¯s most expensive treasures be housed within something as fragile as glass? Men simply knew better than to rob the Kingsleys. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Stay here.¡± I instruct Verona. I tighten the ribbon of hood and step into the sea of elites. I¡¯ve never been to Galerie du Temps before. Only the elite of society are permitted to enter, and even fewer to bid. It seems that I needed no verification before entering. One good look at the crest on my cloak and the guards step aside. I remove it once inside to steer clear of unwanted attention. The Galerie¡¯s interior is even more magnificent than I imagined. Every corner in sight is adorned with Luis Serrano¡¯s and Averie Santal¡¯s latest collection of oil paintings, all warmly lit with a spotlight overhead, not one out of place. I¡¯ve heard about their story before, the nuptials of two artists. It was quite a scandal, but a love match nonetheless¨C Luis meeting Averie at an opera and it was love at first sight. They were caught intertwined in the smoking room, and the next day, it made headlines all over the newspaper. However, a small, unassuming section catches my eye. A solitary white wall displays three small canvases: a daisy field, a pond of lilies, and a wisteria tree draped in purple blooms. The strokes are less refined than Serrano¡¯s or Santal¡¯s, but the picture as a whole served a charm of its own. I checked below the title plaques and found no mention of the artist¡¯s name. ¡°With all of the Galerie¡¯s grandeur, I thought this little section would go about unnoticed.¡± A gentleman appears beside me, a glass of champagne in both hands. I beam at his taste¨C it could only be The Elysium¡¯s finest ros¨¦, judging from the specks of gold sparkling off the hue of pink wine. He offers me one and I accept. ¡°Perhaps it is precisely because of that,¡± I say, taking a sip. Crisp, floral¨C with the subtle note of cherries and hibiscus. It was indeed ours. ¡°That made this section stand out. Will these be up for bidding?¡± He laughs and the murmurs in the room paused as he does. It was as if the whole room was observing this man. He quiets and I take a closer look at him. The first thing I notice are his eyelashes, a dark shade of brown that matches the color as his locks. His hair grew slightly improperly long, ending just above his ears. People would often tell me I¡¯m tall. Last month, on a good day, I reached Seren¡¯s height of 173 centimeters. Tonight, I¡¯m wearing heels, yet I still had to tip my chin up to meet the gentleman¡¯s eyes. Caramel. He has brown eyes the color of sweet, melted caramel, and they were staring right back at me. I quickly shifted my cloak over my face, but it was too late. The look he gave me had no hints of sweetness, at all. ¡°I sincerely doubt you had traveled all the way from the comfort of your House,¡± he says, taking a sip of wine, ¡°to bid on an anonymous artist¡¯s work, Lady Carter.¡± I inwardly curse. I had no plans of letting my identity be discovered tonight. My cloak serves me no use anymore, so I let it fall over my shoulders. I turn, and this time, he takes a long, good sweep at my face. I tip my head. ¡°Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Alistair Kingsley.¡± He leans in, lips hovering over my right ear scandalously close. ¡°May I ask what you''re really here for?¡± His eyes drift to a stray lock of hair beside my face. He lifts his hand to fix it, but I catch his wrist before he can even touch me. I meet the intensity of his gaze and I return the gesture. ¡°I¡¯m simply curious about my husband-to-be. Made sure he isn¡¯t an old crone.¡± ¡°You must be Celestia, then.¡± He laughs. ¡°I was told she would be a little more timid.¡± ¡°You are mistaken. Twice, actually,¡± I reply, dropping his wrist. ¡°I am not Celestia¨CI am Elaine. And believe me, my older sister is far more daring than I am.¡± ¡°Ah, Elaine, the youngest and most beautiful of the Carters. Her face, so striking, it¡¯s as if the gods had sculpted her features.¡± He recites, as if he¡¯s the articles about me. He shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t be possible. I need someone with knowledge about business¨C¡± ¡°And who told you that I do not possess that?¡± I cut him off. ¡°To be fair, my Lord, you are not exactly in a position to bargain, especially not when you are only second¨C oh, excuse me, third in command.¡± When he doesn¡¯t say anything, I take it as a sign to continue. ¡°Elaine Carter. Remember that name and dig whatever dirt you find around me¨C I assure you, you won¡¯t find any. But do know this: we will soon be wed. A union between the heirs of The Elysium and Galerie du Temps. Declining me would be equivalent to an insult towards House Carter, which I trust you are aware will not be in your favor.¡± We were drawing the attention of other patrons. I had to stop. I take a step back, only to be met by the sound of his laughs. ¡°Then, I guess we¡¯ll make quite a peculiar pair.¡± He fails to hide his amusement. He bows. ¡°I do hope you found what you needed.¡± I hold his gaze, determined not to let him rattle me. ¡°I believe I have.¡± He turns his back to me, briefly glancing at me over his shoulders. ¡°I will see you tomorrow, Lady Elaine Carter.¡± Portrait of a Union Verona and I went home shortly after the encounter with Alistair Kingsley. Not without a souvenir, of course. I bought the paintings and got them for a price inappreciably much less than their worth. The next day, Verona shows up with three muslin-wrapped canvases in my room. ¡°Don¡¯t bother uncovering them,¡± I instructed her. ¡°I¡¯ll be bringing those to St. Fortuna anyway.¡± I sit in front of the vanity once again, my reflection stares back at me, with Verona and three other helpers curling hair with hot metal sticks. My lavender dress fits too tight at the waist and dips too low at the chest, making it hard to mask my anxious breathing. The bodice, intricately embroidered with delicate pearls and shimmering amethyst crystals that seems to glitter in the sunlight. The fabric clings to my shoulders before cascading to a billowy skirt that reminds me of a cloud, ethereal and almost intangible. Yet they feel foreign, a costume for a role I¡¯ve never imagined playing. I catch my breath as Verona adjusts the final details, her hands steady and knowing. The dress, though breathtakingly beautiful, feels like a cage of silk and jewels. The mirror reflects not just my image, but that this moment¡ªno matter how surreal¡ª is very much happening. A knock at my door. ¡°Lady Silena and the others call for you at the tea room.¡± I was told that I¡¯d meet my betrothed at dusk, but Mother had the most ridiculous idea¡ª a prenuptial photoshoot. It is a new custom for a marrying couple to be photographed together, usually about a month or two before the wedding, but I guess we¡¯d have to make do with 12 hours before the ceremony. Mother chose an excellent setting. The tea room, contrary to its name, is a wide pavilion just outside the house, offering a full view of the cherry blossom orchard. Verona held a parasol above my head as we made our way to the said location, the soft rustle of my dress mingling with the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. I could see Alistair standing alone, save for my mother and my three other siblings in front of him. ¡°Lord Kingsley, I present my daughter,¡± Mother starts. ¡°Elaine Carter.¡± Alistair turns to face me, his caramel eyes locking onto mine. I returned his gaze with an intense look, refusing to let any hint of uncertainty show. He dons a black suit and tie, the sharp lines and dark fabric contrasting starkly with the pastel surroundings. He looked every bit the part of the suitor, his posture confident and composed. I force every fiber of my being to dip myself into a bow. "Miss Carter," he greets me formally, his voice steady and polite. As if he had not just insulted me last night. ¡°Miss Carter.¡± He greets me, voice steady and polite. As if he had not just insulted me last night. "Mr. Kingsley," I reply, matching his tone. ¡°I do hope the tea room is up to your liking.¡± ¡°Splendidly so. It has quite the view.¡± But his gaze never turned to the sakuras nor the fountain or the ornamented garden¡ª his eyes remained on my face. I hear Seren mutter, ¡°Is it just me or is the tension in here¡ª¡° Deneb quickly elbows him. ¡°Well,¡± Mother says, clapping her hands together loudly, snapping me back to the moment, ¡°why don¡¯t the two of you take a walk, get familiar, while we finish setting up here?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a¡­ wonderful idea.¡± Bad idea. The thought of being in the same space as Alistair made me want to revisit the content of my breakfast, but I¡¯d take that any time over the suffocating atmosphere in this room. I glance at Verona, who nods. Before she can open the parasol, Alistair steps forward and places his hand on the handle. ¡°Please, let me.¡± Verona raises an eyebrow at me. Do we like him? I tip my head slightly, permitting. Stand down. Without a word, she hands the parasol to Alistair and steps back, maintaining a few feet of distance to my left as we begin to walk down the pavilion. The heavy silence stretched between us a good three minutes until he decided to break it. ¡°Are we to pretend that this is our first meeting?¡± Alistair''s voice cuts through the quiet, his tone slightly mocking. I glance sideways at him, my expression guarded. ¡°Well, Mother wouldn¡¯t exactly be delighted to know that you weren¡¯t the best host last night, would she now? So, I expect not a word. Everything must go perfect today.¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°It would help if you endure whatever unpleasant feeling you have towards me until the end of the wedding.¡± He lets out a low chuckle, but there¡¯s no warmth in it. ¡°Why are you so keen on getting married anyway?¡± ¡°Reasons¡ªpersonal ones that I¡¯d rather not divulge to rude gentlemen such as yourself.¡± ¡°Alright, then. How did you know I would be at the Galerie du Temps last night?¡± I suppressed the urge to turn to Verona. Where she got the information, I do not know, but one thing is certain. I don¡¯t want to drag her into this. ¡°Calculated guess,¡± I say, keeping my tone even. ¡°The wedding wasn¡¯t until August, you know? I had originally requested an audience with Lady Silena Carter to call off the wedding, since I was sure that Celestia Carter would decline the union.¡± He watches my reaction closely, his eyes never leaving my face. I remain silent, jaw clenching to physically stop a retort, forming at my throat, threatening to escape. ¡°And then, you came into the picture,¡± he continues, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. ¡°Traded places with your sister¡ªso willing to be married that your mother pushed the wedding date three months earlier than the proposed schedule at a day¡¯s notice.¡± We stop walking, the realization dawning on me as I feel his shoulder bump mine. ¡°I doubt you are doing this to earn your mother¡¯s favor. In fact, I think you hardly care about what she thinks of you. What exactly are you getting out of this marriage, Elaine Carter?¡± His voice drops to a whisper, leaning closer as if to draw out the truth. I held out a hand before Verona could intervene. She stayed still, stoned in place, despite her visible itch to whisk me away. I turn to Alistair, facing him fully. The wind picks up, sending a chill through the air that almost brings our noses to touch. ¡°First of all, I¡¯d rather have you keep my name out of your handsome little mouth. And again, I do believe my reasons are not any of your concern, husband dearest. I¡¯m sure having a Carter as your wife would not be entirely useless to you either. So please, let us save our energy and get through this pretense as soon as possible.¡± ¡°You think I¡¯m handsome?¡± ¡°Oh, dear gods, you infuriate me.¡± I turn on my heel to head back. ¡°Wait.¡± This time his eyes are serious. ¡°I shall agree to this only if you promise to tell me the reason you married me. If you¡¯re going to use me, I should at least know what for.¡± ¡°Really, you are in no position to make demands¡ª¡° ¡°I am not demanding, I am asking. Nicely, at that.¡± He steps closer, his tone softening. ¡°Do I have your word?¡± He extends his right hand, and I take a second before I accept it. His grip is firm but not painful. When I try to pull away, he doesn¡¯t let go immediately. Instead, he lets his forefinger trace the pad of my palm, up to the tip of my finger. My hand falls back to my side, a tingling sensation lingering. I fight not to notice the look Verona is giving me. I shake my head. ¡°Let us turn back.¡± A large camera is placed in the middle of the room, the operator behind it signals something towards my mother, and she gestures for us in front. My siblings remain quiet at the side, their presence a silent grounding reminder of the family I was leaving behind. Alistair and I stand side by side. ¡°Could you put your hands over his shoulder?¡± The operator instructs. I glance at Alistair, who offers me a small, almost imperceptible nod. With a deep breath, I step closer, raising my hand hesitantly. My fingers brush against his shoulder, and I feel the heat of his body through the fabric of his suit. He doesn¡¯t flinch, but there¡¯s a slight tightening of his jaw that tells me he¡¯s as uncomfortable as I am. ¡°Closer, please. Lady Elaine, if you could face Mr. Kingsley a bit more.¡± I turn slightly, my body now angled towards Alistair. His hand comes up to rest on the small of my back, a touch that sends a jolt directly through my spine. His fingers are warm and firm, and I have to suppress a shiver. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the room fades away, leaving just the two of us standing in a silent battle of wills. ¡°Perfect. Hold that pose,¡± the operator says, peering through the camera¡¯s viewfinder. My heart beats faster, and I force myself to maintain a neutral expression. Alistair¡¯s gaze is intense, his eyes locked onto mine with an unreadable expression. The operator fiddles with the camera, adjusting the focus and the angle. ¡°Just a moment longer,¡± he murmurs, oblivious to the storm brewing between us. As the seconds tick by, I become acutely aware of every point of contact between us: his hand on my back, my hand on his shoulder, the closeness of our bodies. The pose is intimate, yet the reality is anything but. Finally, the operator steps back, satisfied. ¡°All done. Thank you.¡± I drop my hand from Alistair¡¯s shoulder, stepping back quickly as I was burnt by the touch. He releases me just as quick, his hand falling to his side. Without a word, I turn to leave, feeling Alistair¡¯s gaze follow me. This will be a long day. Wedding at the Paseo The whole afternoon I spent getting ready for the evening. The helpers scrubbed my skin raw, bathed me in rose-scented water, and soaked my hair in a blend of coconut and olive oil. Verona, ever diligent, brushed out my hair until it shone, her fingers weaving it into a crown atop my head. The scent of roses and the rich oils clung to me, creating a heady mix that filled the room. A new dress was stationed at my bed, this time ivory white in color and partnered with a long, lacy veil. It weighed like nothing, all fine silk and lace, that I worry might be too revealing. The sleeves were cut just a few inches above my bust, bodice dipping scandalously low, and the skirt hugged waist and legs. Mother had made sure my fashion will make it to tomorrow¡¯s headlines. Jewelry came next¡ªsimple yet stunning. A pair of diamond earrings, a delicate bracelet, and a silver necklace that rested just above the neckline of my dress. Verona places the veil, pining it behind my head, and her eyes meet mine in the mirror. They had a certain gleam to them, that I knew all too well. New information. One she¡¯s dying to spill. ¡°Turn¡¯s out your betrothed is much more interesting than I thought.¡± ¡°Spare me the theatrics, Verona.¡± I keep my eyes on my reflection, adjusting the veil one last time. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°Well, remember Edward Kingsley¡¯s three grandsons, how they¡¯re all in the Galerie¡¯s executive suite?¡± A smirk forming on her lips. ¡°Alistair is currently head of finances, which is admittedly already a huge role. BUT I¡¯ve heard that Edward Kingsley soon be ste¨C¡± A knock at the door. I turn to Verona, who did not appreciate the disturbance. ¡°We¡¯ll continue this tonight.¡± I place my hand on the door handle. I sigh. ¡°For now, I¡¯ll have to endure my wedding ceremony.¡± I open the door. The wedding will take place at the Paseo orchard. To be honest, I would have argued if I had known earlier, but I decided against it. The Paseo is sacred to me, with fond memories of my debut taking place at the very location. I don¡¯t want them to be stained with the sham of a wedding. But of course, I had to understand the time restraints we were facing. That was the only place that could cater not just an event¨Cbut the union of two powerful families in Sideral. We went there by a white automobile, adorned with white flowers and ribbons. The journey was short but felt like an eternity as I stared out the window, watching the landscape blur into the evening as the sun set. The Paseo features a huge willow tree in the middle of a wide grassy field, its branches creeping at the sides, forming a concave arch . Back in September, my birth month, it was all green. But now, it has blooms of a light yellow hue, the lanterns casting a golden glow over the scene. The entire field was transformed into an ethereal setting, with fairy lights hanging from the branches and flower petals lining the aisle. As I step out of the car, I hear my heart pounding in my ears. The sheer number of guests is overwhelming. Rows upon rows of seats are filled with elegantly dressed people, all eyes turning towards me. The weight of their gazes press at my nerves, and I had to summon every ounce of composure to keep my face serene. This place, once a sanctuary of joyful memories, now felt like a stage where I had to perform. The pretense of this wedding loomed over me, threatening to overshadow the cherished moments I had here. Mother, instead of walking me to the altar, sits in front alongside my siblings. A subtle show that I will be filling in her footsteps. Yet, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. To me, that wasn¡¯t the case: I didn¡¯t need her to walk. As I pass down the aisle, I feel my legs trembling slightly beneath the thin fabric of my gown. I have never felt so bare. Each step feels heavier than the last, but I maintain a steady pace. ¡°She looks beautiful¡­¡± ¡°¡­ a darling¡­¡± ¡°¡­ a pretty face.¡± ¡°You look like a knight,¡± Someone whispers. ¡°going into battle.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. My breathing stops when I saw Alistair beside me, his presence both reassuring and intimidating. He looks dashing in his white suit, his hair slicked back. I was thankful when he didn¡¯t say anything after that. The ceremony proceeded in a blur, each word and gesture blending together. My heart raced as the officiant spoke. And then, it¡¯s time for the kiss. My stomach churns at the thought of kissing Alistair in front of everyone, the very idea making my palms sweat. I glance at Alistair, who is watching me with an unreadable expression. "Let me take care of this," Alistair whispers. He leans in slowly, giving me time to prepare, but it did little to calm my nerves. I close my eyes. His hand cups my cheek gently, sending a surprising sense of comfort through me. I never felt his lips on mine. But the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. My eyes flutter open and I see Alistair¡¯s face incredibly close to mine, his eyes closed, head angled perfectly to conceal the reality of our so-called kiss. The hand on my cheek created the illusion for the audience, shielding our lie from their view. I allow myself to take in the sight of his face, something I hadn''t had the chance to do before. His eyelashes are long enough to cast shadows on his cheeks. He smells nice too, a blend of sandalwood and something sweet. ¡°Enjoying the view?¡± he murmurs, his eyes opening slowly as he pulls back. I try to think of a retort, something clever to counter his annoying question, but I decide against it. My gaze softens with gratitude. ¡°Thank you.¡± The reception was a grand affair, held at the Galerie du temps. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests, who mingled and laughed with each other, sipping on flutes of champagne¡ª a special blend from The Elysium. The tables were adorned with lavish floral arrangements and the air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and lilies. A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music blending in with the hum of conversation. I navigate through the crowd, offering polite smiles and nods to those who congratulated me. Despite the festive atmosphere, a knot of anxiety still remains tight in my stomach. The day had been a whirlwind, and now, with the formalities behind us, I feel the strange sense of detachment from the revelry around me. As I stand near the refreshment table, absently swirling a glass of champagne, Verona appears by my side. She leans in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°My lady,¡± she bows, eyeing around cautiously, ¡°if I may trouble you for a moment.¡± ¡°No trouble is too much if it means escaping this facade,¡± I mumble under my breath. She tried not to smile. ¡°Remember our conversation from earlier?¡± ¡°About Alistair and his role at the Galerie?¡± ¡°Follow me,¡± she says, tugging gently at my arm. We slip through the crowd, weaving our way towards a quieter corner of the room. Once we¡¯re relatively alone, she continues. ¡°As I was saying before we were interrupted, Alistair is currently the head of finances at the Galerie. But there¡¯s more to it than just that.¡± Verona¡¯s eyes are sparkling with the thrill. ¡°Apparently, Edward Kingsley is planning to step down soon. There¡¯s a lot of speculation about who will take over.¡± ¡°And you think it will be Alistair?¡± I ask, placing a hand under my chin, my interest piqued. ¡°Oh, I know it will be Alistair.¡± She crosses her arms. ¡°He¡¯s the most capable of the three grandsons, from what I¡¯ve heard, and Edward¡¯s favorite. But there¡¯s tension among them, especially with the eldest, Albert. Alistair taking the lead could stir up quite a bit of trouble.¡± I process this, considering the implications. ¡°So, he has a lot riding on this. It makes sense why he¡¯d be so willing to go through with the wedding.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the case, my lady,¡± Verona interjects. ¡°As your betrothed mentioned earlier, he was planning to call off the wedding.¡± ¡°You think Alistair isn¡¯t aware of all this?¡± ¡°If he is, I do not think he¡¯s interested in it at all.¡± Verona glances around to ensure no one was listening, then leans in even closer. ¡°From what I¡¯ve gathered, Alistair is hesitant to assume his role. He doesn¡¯t want the burden of leading the Galerie or the estate.¡± I furrow my brow. ¡°Why would he hesitate? It¡¯s a prestigious position.¡± Verona sighs. ¡°That, I do not know. He¡¯s been trying to find a way out of it, which is why he initially wanted to call off the wedding. Marrying into another powerful family would only be another load to his stack of responsibilities.¡± I glance over at Alistair, who is now deeply engaged in conversation with a group of influential guests. His calm and composed exterior masked the inner turmoil Verona described. ¡°So, he¡¯s trapped,¡±I say, softly. ¡°Just like me.¡± Duties of a Wife ¡°Lighten up, this is your first night as a wife.¡± Mother says. She managed to escape the festivities, now escorting me away from the Galerie, right towards the parked auto in front. ¡°Because being a Kingsley should be the greatest joy of my life?¡± I say, with a straight face, opening the door. ¡°Carter-Kingsley,¡± she corrects me, holding the door open as I get in. This is somehow the most involved she¡¯s ever been in my life. And it¡¯s marrying me off. ¡°At least put in the effort to pretend. I wasn¡¯t at all jumping in joy when your father and I wed, but I had grown affectionate for him eventually.¡± My grip tightens on the door handle. ¡°Must I really leave tonight? I can go at first light tom¨C¡± ¡°Elaine, we¡¯ve already gone over this,¡± she pinches the bridge of her nose. ¡°You do know what to do, right?¡± ¡°I¡­ I am aware, Mother.¡± I travel alone to Alistair¡¯s house, wherever that is. I was told we wouldn¡¯t be residing with the other members of House Kingsley, which is honestly quite a relief. I would be a stranger among them, and the thought of navigating another web of unfamiliar faces and expectations was more than I can bear. The journey is quiet, save for the occasional sound of the driver¡¯s hum as he maneuvers the car through the winding roads. The thick woods make it impossible to see the stars and the only light comes from the moon and the car¡¯s headlights cutting through the night. My mind drifts back to the wedding, to the sea of faces and the overwhelming emotions, and I find myself grateful for the solitude of the car. It gives me a moment to breathe, to gather my thoughts. When we finally arrive, I step out of the car and am greeted by the sight of Alistair¡¯s residence. It¡¯s a surprisingly quaint structure, cozy yet elegant, with tall windows and ivy climbing up the stone walls. The driver helps me with my bags and I make my way to the entrance. I¡¯m too tired to even judge his interior decor. A maid greets me and shows me to the master bedroom. As I set my bags down, I hear the sound of water running and before I can even check, the sound of the bathroom door opening snaps me out of my thoughts. I turn to see Alistair stepping out, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets glisten on his skin, and his hair is damp, tousled in a way that makes him look effortlessly handsome. For a moment, I¡¯m caught off guard, my breath hitching at the sight of him. He pauses when he sees me, his eyes meeting mine. ¡°Elaine,¡± he says, breaking the silence. His voice is low, almost a whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve been expecting you, but I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d be here so soon.¡± ¡°I... I didn¡¯t know what to expect,¡± I reply, my voice barely steady. I look away, trying to compose myself. ¡°You see¡­ My mother.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± He nods, like that was explanation enough. ¡°Then you must know¨C¡± ¡°Perhaps we can, um, talk about it when you are¡­ decent?¡± I cut him off, still unable to meet his eyes. ¡°Alright.¡± I could hear the smile in his voice. ¡°You might want to freshen up yourself. The bathroom is all yours.¡± Grateful for the excuse to escape the intensity of the moment, I nod quickly. ¡°Yes, I think I¡¯ll do that.¡± I hurry past him, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. The bathroom is still filled with steam, the scent of his soap lingering in the air. I shut the door behind me and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. As I turn to the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my flushed face and I suppress a groan. This was not how I imagined the first evening. Not that I¡¯ve been making a habit of imagining it. Needing a moment to collect myself, I splash my face with cold water. As the cool liquid touches my skin, I feel a little more grounded. The tub is filled with fresh lukewarm water and I blush at the thought that he decided to draw me a bath so it is ready once I arrive. I step inside and let the water calm my thoughts. It feels strange to be left alone when just earlier I had a group of helpers tending to my every need. But once I finished, the realization hit me¨CI forgot to bring a change of clothes. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I glance around the bathroom, hoping to find something, anything, to cover myself with, but there¡¯s nothing except for a spare towel. ¡°This will do.¡± I mutter under my breath. I didn¡¯t want him to look around my belongings either. I wrap the towel around me and brace myself to face the inevitable. Opening the door just a crack, I peek out into the bedroom. Alistair is now fully dressed, thankfully, drying his hair with a towel, but the sight of him still sends a jolt through me. Stepping out, I try to move quickly to my bags without drawing too much attention to myself. ¡°Forgot something?¡± His voice carries a hint of amusement. ¡°Yes, I¡­ um, my clothes,¡± I admit, trying to keep my composure as I rifle through my bag for a nightgown. All the ones that Verona has packed for me are much too revealing. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not every day you get to see your bride in a towel,¡± he teases, his tone light but his eyes shamelessly sweeping over my body. Flustered, I grab the first thing I can find and clutch it to my chest. ¡°This is hardly the time for jokes, Alistair.¡± He chuckles softly. ¡°I suppose not. But you do look rather lovely.¡± Ignoring the compliment, I quickly retreat back into the bathroom and shut the door. Only then was I able to look at the clothing I chose. A sleeveless evening gown, layers upon layers of lace with threadbare satin lining. This evening is turning out to be more challenging than I anticipated. I step out again, Alistair sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. His expression is more serious now, the earlier amusement gone. I bite my lip, thinking about my mother''s advice. Although I was never quite sure about it¨C how it starts, how it''s done, and when it¡¯s supposed to end. I have only read about it in books, and even there the descriptions are too vague for me to understand. Alistair walks towards me, stopping just a few inches away. ¡°May I?¡± I nod, my heartbeat drumming in my ears. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, warm and firm. I close my eyes, bracing myself for what¡¯s to come. I feel his hands on my right shoulder, warm and electrifying. His touch is gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if he¡¯s not entirely comfortable with this either. Instead of pulling me into an embrace, his hands start to move methodically over my body, pressing and probing. He traces the line of my collarbone, his fingers lingering slightly as if checking for hidden seams. His slow caress sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to suppress a gasp when his hands slide down to my waist. That¡¯s when I figured out what he¡¯s doing. He¡¯s checking for weapons. ¡°I see you¡¯re enjoying yourself,¡± I tease, attempting to keep my voice light despite the fluttering in my stomach. ¡°Just being thorough,¡± he replies, his tone detached. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t particularly like having a knife through my chest when I¡¯m asleep.¡± ¡°In this nightgown?¡± I scoff. ¡°It¡¯s practically see-through.¡± Besides, a knife is too unrefined for a lady such as myself. He doesn¡¯t respond immediately, hands continuing their search. They trace the small curve of my waist, sliding down my hips, and even check the hem of my gown. My skin prickles where his fingers brush, and I can¡¯t help but feel a mix of nerves and something else I can¡¯t quite name. ¡°Better paranoid than dead,¡± he murmurs finally, stepping back. I let out a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding. ¡°You are finished?¡± I ask, trying to sound annoyed but mostly relieved. ¡°For now,¡± he says, his eyes meeting mine. ¡°I just needed to be sure.¡± ¡°Sure of what?¡± ¡°That you¡¯re not a threat,¡± he answers simply. ¡°We may be married, but trust isn¡¯t built overnight.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t searched you yet.¡± I declare, crossing my arms over my chest. ¡°Well, you can rest assured, I¡¯m not hiding anything. I don¡¯t make a habit of putting weapons where I sleep, Elaine.¡± A low chuckle echoes in the room. ¡°Or would you like me to undress to prove a point?¡± ¡°That¡­ won¡¯t be necessary.¡± He gives a small nod, his expression softening slightly. ¡°Then let¡¯s call a truce and get some rest. Today has been exhausting.¡± I watch as he moves to the right of the bed, pulling back the covers. I follow suit, still processing the strange blend of emotions his touch had stirred in me. We keep a small space between us¨Cno man¡¯s land. He reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. ¡°Good night, Elaine,¡± he says softly. ¡°Good night, Alistair,¡± I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.