Chapter 6 - The Dinner Of Strangers

Elara’s POV

If Averelle Palace had a heartbeat, tonight it was racing.

Maids hurried past my door, bearing fresh linens and gleaming silver trays. Guards stood watch along the corridors, their boots creating a rhythmic thud that reverberated through the hallways. Meanwhile, two stylists flitted around me like nervous undertakers, fussing over my appearance.

“Hold still, Princess,” one muttered as she carefully pinned my hair.

“Try not to breathe,” the other chimed in, tugging the corset tighter.

“I’d prefer to breathe, thank you,” I replied through clenched teeth.

They ignored me.

Of course, they did.

Celene had sent them, which meant my feelings didn’t really count.

“There,” the head stylist finally said, stepping back to inspect her work. “You’re fit for royalty.”

I turned to face the mirror.

A stranger looked back at me.

My tightly curled hair was pinned high atop my head, a jeweled comb glinting ominously. The dark wine-colored gown clung to my body, elegant but painfully constraining. My face had been made up to appear softer, delicate, and submissive.

I loathed it.

But I didn’t have a choice.

Tonight was significant for Celene.

Tonight, the future of her political ambitions hinged on one meal.

And I had to avoid giving her yet another reason to issue threats against me.

The corridors buzzed with energy as I approached the banquet hall. Soft chatter, the clinking of wine glasses, and the rustle of luxurious fabrics filled the air, everything felt almost too vivid, too sharp, too overwhelming.

“Elara.”

Celene’s voice sliced through the noise like a knife.

I turned to see her.

She was stunning.....draped in a silver gown, her jeweled crown perched gracefully atop her head, her posture flawless. Her beauty was cold and pristine, meant to be admired from a distance.

“You’re late,” she said with a glare.

“I’m five minutes early,” I countered.

“Only inappropriately so. Guests are already seated. They’ll notice you walking in.”

I blinked. “Oh no, how dare I enter… like a normal person.”

Celene took a slow breath, clearly trying to rein in her frustration. “Just... act appropriately. Tonight is crucial. Prince Damon is assessing Averelle just as we are evaluating him.”

“I thought this was an engagement dinner,” I retorted. “Not some military summit.”

“With Velmere,” she replied coolly, “the two are indistinguishable.”

She latched onto my arm, not with affection, but with a firm grip and pulled me toward the doors.

“Smile,” she commanded as guards swung them open.

I didn’t smile.

The room fell silent for an instant as we entered.

Before us stretched a long table adorned with gold-trimmed plates and crystal goblets filled with wine. At the head sat the empty throne of Alaric, soon to be occupied by Celene, with a chair adjacent to it intended for the future Prince Consort.

Velmere officials lined the right side of the table, dressed in deep, obsidian blue. Their bodies were tense, their faces devoid of expression.

Celene released my arm.

“Take a seat there,” she said quietly, gesturing to a spot three places down from her, far enough to feel insignificant, close enough to be closely observed.

I slid into the chair, eyes cast down, hands neatly folded in my lap.

Don't draw attention.

Don't embarrass her.

Don’t even breathe wrong.

I concentrated on my plate. The room buzzed once more, voices rising in volume.

A guard announced loudly near the entrance:

“Presenting His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Damon Valen of Velmere.”

Silence enveloped the hall again.

I kept my gaze fixed downward.

Why would I lift my eyes?

Just another stiff, over-polished royal.

Just another person to judge me.

Just another reminder of a life I never desired.

I busied myself tracing the rim of my glass with my fingertip.

A chair scraped against the table. Someone approached Celene. Diplomatic greetings were exchanged, formal and rehearsed, steeped in political overtones.

Good.

They didn’t need me.

Celene’s voice rose with practiced elegance. “Prince Damon, we are honored to host you....."

Then she hesitated.

A strange pause.

As if she had detected something unexpected in the prince’s expression.

I kept my gaze on my plate.

I had no intention of meeting him.

I had no desire to be cataloged, scrutinized, or silently ranked among other royal women.

Celene carried on with graceful confidence, saying, “Before we begin our meal, let me introduce my family properly.”

Perfect.

Here we go.

Smile.

Don’t trip over your words.

“This is our council advisor, Minister Hale,” she started.

There were polite murmurs in response.

Chairs creaked as they adjusted.

“And this,” Celene went on, “is my younger sister, Princess Elara Windsor.”

Taking a breath, I rose and executed a shallow curtsy.

Yet, I didn’t dare raise my eyes.

Not until Celene cleared her throat sharply.

“Elara,” she whispered urgently.

I lifted my chin.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

Finally, my gaze met the man seated across the table.

And in that moment, time....

......came to a halt.

His penetrating dark eyes.

A strong jawline.

A tattoo just barely visible beneath his collar.

Broad shoulders clad in an imposing black-and-steel uniform.

A sense of familiarity.

A weight I recognized.

A heat that felt intense.

The stranger.

The man from the club.

The one whose kiss felt like the end of everything.

The man I’d left behind on that cheap mattress.

He looked at me as if he’d been struck in the chest.

As if he couldn’t catch his breath.

As if he had been searching for me.

My mouth opened.

No words came out.

No thoughts formed.

And then....

A subtle smile appeared on his lips.

A barely-there smirk.

Intimate.

Understanding.

Full of danger.

He dipped his head in a greeting, yet his gaze remained locked on mine.

In a low, playful whisper meant just for me—

“Found you.”

My heart raced in my chest.

Meanwhile, Celene kept talking, completely unaware.

But I...

I lost track of my surroundings.

Forgot how to breathe.

Ignored the rules.

Because the man who was set to marry my sister…

…was the stranger I had surrendered my last night of freedom to.