Where is She Staying?
Damian's gaze remained fixed on the door.
"So... what happens now?" Seraphina asked, her fingers fidgeting nervously. Her eyes locked onto his, searching for answers.
He pressed his lips together.
"L-Lord Damian?" Seraphina tried again, feeling a sense of distance between them despite their proximity.
Although he stood right in front of her, it felt as if his mind and thoughts were far away.
"Two more weeks until the coronation. Until then, you'll be hiding here," Damian finally replied.
Seraphina frowned. "And then?"
"Well, my hope is that no one sees you, princess. If someone does, it would be game over for both of us," he explained.
"For you?"
"Yes, for me too," Damian affirmed.
A surge of questions flooded Seraphina's mind. Why would it be the end for him? Wasn't he a prince? Did it have something to do with his lack of powers? And if so, why? Could it be the same curse that plagued the prince during her mother's time?
She needed to know what the worst-case scenario entailed.
"Why?" she blurted out. "Why would it be the end?"
"So many questions already, princess," Damian responded, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.
Seraphina realized that it was just the two of them in the room, alone. She had never been alone with an unfamiliar man without a chaperone in her previous life. Yet, since arriving here, she had found herself in countless circumstances with Damian that defied convention.
The realization was sparked by the nickname he used. The same nickname that always sent shivers down her spine.
"W-well, I need to know," she stuttered, averting her gaze from Damian.
His eyes held an intimidating allure, captivating and unnerving all at once.
"Hmm..."
Both Seraphina and Damian froze as the sound of a resounding bell reverberated throughout the palace.
"What is..." she began, her words trailing off.
"Time to break the fast. I will be back with food and your trunk," he declared, exiting the room before Seraphina could utter a word.
"Uh-"
She continued to stare in his direction, a mix of uncertainty and curiosity lingering within her. The idea of unpacking her belongings in the presence of this enigmatic prince didn't sit well with her. However, she knew she had to take some action.
"What could a prince possibly have in his room?" she pondered to herself.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the simplicity of the space. The bedroom emanated a masculine charm, its design centered around a captivating palette of black hues. The walls were coated in a velvety, matte black, instilling a sense of tranquility and intimacy. The smooth ebony floor was adorned with a plush black rug, offering a luxurious landing for bare feet.
Against one wall stood a sturdy wooden bed with dark, polished posts and elegant black silk drapes cascading from above. The bedding was adorned with black velvet and satin, adding a touch of opulence to the otherwise minimalistic room. A sleek, black dresser with intricately carved details provided storage space for personal items.
A small writing desk stood by the window, bathed in natural light that filtered through heavy black curtains. Its surface was uncluttered, save for an inkwell and quill, hinting at the prince's occasional need for correspondence or reflection.
In the corner, a simple armchair upholstered in black leather offered a comfortable spot for contemplation or reading. A tall bookshelf lined with volumes of various genres showcased the prince's intellectual pursuits and interests.
The room exuded an air of refined simplicity, an embodiment of the prince's understated yet confident taste. Seraphina couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she contemplated sharing this intimate space with a stranger, even one as captivating as Damian.
Once again, her keen eyes picked up on the subtle accents and decor thoughtfully placed throughout the room. A sleek black and silver desk commanded attention as it stood against the wall, providing a dedicated workspace for its owner.
But it was the corner of the bed, where her personal belongings lay, that finally captured her gaze.
"I wonder what could be there today..."
Curiosity surged within her, urging her to uncover the mysteries hidden within her possessions. With a desire to keep her secrets safe from Damian or prying eyes, she moved closer to the door and firmly closed it, shutting out the outside world.
"This lock..." she muttered, struggling momentarily with the door lock. Her heart fluttered with the nagging thought of Damian suddenly walking in. What cover story would she use if caught in a compromising situation?
But before long, she found solace in the secured confines of the bedroom.
Returning her attention to the trunk containing all her clothes and cherished items, she lifted the lid, revealing the familiar contents. And there, nestled among her belongings, the first thing that caught her eye was the old journal, holding memories and untold stories from the past.
"Here it is," she sighed and took it.
With the book in hand, she lay down on the bed, resting on her stomach. Her legs were in the air as she opened the book.
4th October 1782
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9th October 1782
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"What...? December?" Sera groaned.
How could the writer skip a few months? What could possibly have happened? Were they engaged? Did the couple marry? What could have possibly happened?
With a deep frown etched on her forehead, she began to read.
My Dearest Journal,
December 10th, 1782
Today, I pen these words to immortalize the cherished memories of my wedding day. Oh, how my heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as I walked down the aisle, the gaze of countless eyes fixed upon me. The whispers and stares felt like a gust of wind, threatening to blow away my composure. But in that moment, I took solace in the knowledge that by my side stood the person I loved most in this world.
The day unfolded like a whirlwind, a blur of delicate lace and satin. The church was adorned with flowers, their fragrant embrace filling the air. The soft glow of candlelight danced upon the faces of our loved ones, their smiles beacons of warmth and affection. I clasped the bouquet tightly in my hands, its delicate blossoms mirroring the delicate bloom of love in my heart.
As I walked down the aisle, my eyes were locked with his. The depths of his gaze, a reflection of adoration and devotion, eased my worries and stilled my trembling nerves. I was not alone in this journey. Together, we embarked on a path filled with promises and dreams, pledging our love and commitment before God and those who bore witness.
Two months have passed since that blessed day, and oh, how swiftly they have flown by! The moments we shared as newlyweds, the stolen glances and tender caresses, have left an indelible mark upon my soul. The joy that fills my heart each day is a testament to the love we share, a love that grows stronger with every passing breath.
I am grateful, beyond measure, for the blessings bestowed upon us. Our families, united in celebration, have embraced us with open arms and warm hearts. Their love and support have fortified us, nurturing the foundation of our new life together. The trials and tribulations we may face are mere ripples in the vast ocean of love that surrounds us.
As I reflect upon our journey thus far, I am reminded of the words of a beloved poet: "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." It is with this unwavering love that I face the unknown, grateful for the experiences that lie ahead, and the unwavering presence of the one who holds my heart.
With deepest affection,
Genevieve Ashbourne
-
"Wedding... Already?" Sera sighed loudly. "I wish you wrote all about your love story... The pure bond you and papa shared..." she talked to herself. "The way papa's eyes lit up when he was talking about you... It showed me love, it showed me what it could be like, and it was the first time I experienced... Ugh!"
Mentally, she was twenty-eight—because Jane was twenty-eight. But for the first time, she felt pathetic for not being able to love or experience the embrace of another man.
If she could go back and redo her life as Jane, she would try to make amendments to her love life. But then again, what if her mother was right? What if men could only bring weakness to a woman's life?
"Mother, whoever you are, please! I want to know more! I want answers to so many questions!" she thought, looking at the book. Her eyes pleaded as if the book were a real person.
She sighed and hid the book right where it was. Without thinking further, she settled onto the bed and fell into a slumber—a slumber that was filled with a nightmare that often haunted her.
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Seven hours later, she gasped for air, her chest heaving.
The relentless knocks on the door startled her, jolting her back to consciousness. She attempted to stand up from the bed, but her legs betrayed her, refusing to cooperate.
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