Gasps rippled through the ballroom, a wave of shock and murmurs that swelled with every passing second. All eyes were fixed on the scene before them: the third prince sprawled on the polished floor, glaring up in fury. Towering over him was the seventh prince, his rage a living, breathing force. His crimson eyes burned with a terrifying intensity, his fury almost tangible.
The third prince cursed, his voice sharp and venomous as he touched his nose, now bleeding from the blow. He scrambled to his feet, his movements brimming with wrath.
Without hesitation, he swung his fist toward the seventh prince. But the seventh prince blocked it effortlessly, his movements swift and precise, and drew back his own hand, ready to retaliate.
Before the next blow could land, a commanding voice cut through the air.
"Stop. Both of you."
The ballroom fell silent as everyone turned to the source. It was the first prince, the heir to the throne, his presence unmistakable.
The one I served when I worked in the palace. The one who had saved me from the prison I thought I’d never escape.
He stood tall, his black hair gleaming under the chandelier’s light. A long scar ran along the side of his jaw—not grotesque, but noticeable, a mark that somehow added to his rugged handsomeness. His dark green eyes, sharp and piercing, swept across the room before settling on me for a fleeting moment. It was as if he could see straight through me, though his attention quickly returned to his brothers.
The seventh prince’s hand was still raised, ready to strike, but under the first prince’s unwavering gaze, both brothers reluctantly stepped back. Peace had been restored with just a single command.
“Apologies for the disturbance,” came a sweet, gentle voice that broke the tension. Everyone’s attention turned to the speaker: a striking woman standing two steps behind the first prince. She wasn’t his partner but rather his aide, her presence graceful yet authoritative. Her curly white hair framed a face of quiet beauty, and her almond-shaped eyes sparkled under the ballroom lights.
The seventh prince turned his fiery gaze to me, his expression an enigma of anger and accusation, as if I had somehow been the cause of this. Before I could decipher it, he looked away and disappeared into thin air, vanishing as suddenly as he had appeared.
The third prince cursed under his breath, muttering darkly as he left the ballroom, his movements stiff with frustration. What just happened?
I wanted to slip away as well, to disappear from the judgmental stares and whispers. But before I could, the aide called out to me.
“Lady Emelia, I am Aurelia. The first prince is waiting for your presence.”
What could he possibly want now?
I had no choice. Refusing the heir to the throne—the future king—was unthinkable.
Aurelia led me to a lavish room adorned with a grand chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. At the center was a single sofa, richly upholstered, and a small table in front of it. The first prince sat there, his posture regal, his dark green eyes fixed on me as I entered.
I lowered my gaze and bowed, showing him the respect he commanded. Despite my gratitude for his help in releasing me from prison, a bitter irony lingered in my heart. It was one of his brothers who had thrown me into that hell in the first place. And yet, here I was, feeling indebted to him for pulling me out.
I stood silently, waiting for him to speak. The seconds dragged on, each one heavier than the last, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence.
“Emelia,” he said, his tone measured and calm.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
His gaze was steady, unreadable. “I don’t know what’s going on in your mind, but the situation between my brothers is already tense enough. Don’t make it worse.”
My heart raced at his words, confusion swirling in my thoughts. How am I making it worse? I wanted to ask, but I held my tongue. What his brothers were doing had nothing to do with me—or so I thought.
I met his gaze, the confusion evident on my face. He must have seen it because he sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration.
“Just stay away from him,” he said, his tone firm.
“I meant the third prince.”
His words sent a jolt through me. The third prince?
My thoughts raced. Why would he say that? What did he mean?
This was the first time we had ever truly spoken, yet his words left me conflicted, my thoughts spiraling in a hundred directions. Before I could press for answers, Aurelia appeared again, gently guiding me out of the room.
I left with more questions than answers, the weight of his warning lingering heavy in my heart.
YOU ARE READING
Enthrallment : The Twisted Trust
Fantasía" please don't " He pleaded, his voice cracking with despair. Tears streamed down his face as he dropped to his knees, clutching at the air as if trying to grasp the fleeting fragments of her presence. ...
