|| WATTPAD FEATURED STORY ||
|| WATTY'S 2018 SHORTLISTED ||
Zora was only a little girl when her mother raked out her left eye. A mauled princess, she is alive only because of her political marriage potential. In a world where misogyny reigns, there...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oblivious that a similar event was taking place in a kingdom not too far away, Jurauk slouched on his throne, tipping an empty goblet back and forth.
It was too difficult to breathe amongst all the false smiles and ice-cold eyes. Jurauk felt like he was being asphyxiated. His throat was constricting and the embroidered gold tunic he wore squeezed his chest.
His clothing was much too flashy. He was golden like the sun, radiating light throughout the room. He even avoided looking at it for fear that it would blind him.
The room itself wasn't too bad. The servants had placed colored balls over the flickering candles to cast eerie yet beautiful polychrome lights across the obsidian floor. Only the elite were here. Anyone lesser would be exploited and found crying in a corner.
A strong, steady hand laid upon his shoulder. "You should stop sulking and go out to make some friends," chastised the Imperius. Jurauk's father was tall and regal, clothed in billowing blood red robes decorated with intricate obsidian designs. His brown beard was neatly trimmed, and the silver-rimmed spectacles brought out the green flecks in his black eyes
"Nobody will really be my friend," mumbled Jurauk, slouching further. "Those females just want my name and money. And maybe me."
The Imperius let out a hearty chuckle. "Don't say that, son. I'm sure there's one girl who'd like you." Wisely, his father didn't bring up Elisabelle.
Suppressing a yawn, Jurauk rose. "I'm sick of sitting around. I guess I'll walk around, get some fresh air." The Imperius nodded before turning to answer the question of a pudgy minister.
Unfortunately, Jurauk couldn't take one step off the dais before he was swarmed with fluttering silks and fans. He was besieged by false eyelashes and piercing giggles.
"Oh Prince Jurauk, it's nearly midnight, yet you still have not granted anyone a dance!" cooed a girl with long black tresses. Jurauk -out of necessity- vaguely recognized her as Vika, a baroness in her own right. She was a slight girl dressed in puffy ballgown that showed off her slim waist. Before he could get a better look, a bosom was thrust into his view.
Shocked, he quickly looked away, feeling the duchess Katya's sultry gaze searing into him. She leaned closer, a hand trailing up his arm.
Oh, she was married too. Gently but firmly, Jurauk slid her hand off. "Greetings, ladies," he mumbled. "How are you this fair evening?"
"We're just fine," they chorused, shooting each other dirty looks. There was a bit of shoving around.
"So, to whom of us will you offer a dance to?" squeaked Ingrid. Helplessly, Jurauk glanced to his father, but the Imperius was nowhere to be seen.
He wanted to say, Neither of you! But alas, that would not bode well with their fathers, who would sure be outraged that a Nefarian Prince dismissed them so casually.
