One

THE TREATY

The walls were a porcelain white, just like the skin of most of his servants, shielded by hanging tapestry- colorful threads retelling the story of the forgotten lands that were here before his reign. I had heard stories of this man my entire life, stories that either bored me or excited me, but now it was finally time for me to meet him myself.

The man I was born for.

I stood under an extravagant and large golden chandelier with my hands pinned to my sides. The hall was nothing like I’d ever seen before in my homeland, The Kingdom of Shartane: the Mortal lands.

Transparent bulbs were fixed into the lamps suspended from the ceiling, the black glass on the floor reflected every being in sight, my mouth could not stop watering at the beauty of these people I had never encountered before.

I was uncomfortable in the green dress I had been shoved into, the only dress I owned that was fit enough for an immortal to see, standing in a large ball room full of guards who- although silent- managed to make me feel even more uncomfortable.

I wanted to shift around and beg one of them, any one of them, to unfasten a knot of their choosing on my dress. The only position that did not hurt me or make me feel like my bones were being crushed was with my arms stationed in a triangular position.

I fiddled with my thumbs and caught myself twice before I slumped my shoulders or bit my bottom lip or looked too bored. I tried my hardest to think of my training, my upbringing, spending night and mornings preparing for this role.

Yet I was far from ready.

I could recall, under the twinkling crystal lights hanging from the ceiling, under the gaze of the guards who were blankly staring at their new mistress with dead eyes, the way my handmaid had spoken to me about the man I was about to wed.

"He's beautiful," Katrina had said dreamily behind my back. 

I was about to speak, maybe even laugh, but both attempts to do so were knocked out of my lungs when she tied the last knot on the back of my dress. 

"He has beautiful hair and a glorious smile," she continued.

I couldn't turn around to mock her, I was too busy trying to regain the breath she and her dress knot had just taken from me. 

"You do not know how lucky you are to be his bride," she went on. 

I placed myself on my queen-sized bed, once seated I realized sitting was worse, and then I stood up and leaned against the brown wood attached to the bed. I sucked in a sharp breath, breathing in the woody scent and dust particles in the process. I swallowed a ball of saliva and smiled at her.

"He's old."

Her wrinkled, pale face turned towards me with the worst frown she had ever put on. I did everything in my power not to frown at her. 

"He's immortal!" she snapped. "You have no manners."

I raised my brows, freshly trimmed brows, and smoothed down my dress to avoid her gaze. 

"Let him be immortal," I sighed, "he's nothing like the chivalrous men I hear tales about."

She pushed me roughly off the post I was leaning against and sat me down in front of my bedroom mirror, prepared to punish me for talking about her lifelong man crush by brushing the life out of my head. I couldn’t focus on the pain in my head because I was too busy trying to allow my lungs to take in the air I was barely breathing.

"You know only about sticks and pricks," she grumbled, "men who pick flowers form the ground and hand them to you as gifts. Boys. That's what."

She roughed up my red tendrils and roughly shoved them into a bad, her easier method of making a bun. I couldn't help but smile at her reflection in the mirror. 

"My, my, my," I giggled, "he has taken your logic away."

"Aye," she sighed, dreamily, lost and somehow in love with a man she did not even know- "trust me, yours will disappear too once you meet him."

I rolled my eyes at her reflection and flinched accordingly when she tugged roughly on the strands of my hair. 

"I've already met him."

She sighed sadly, as though I was not aware of a secret that every single man in the entire Mortal Lands knew, and patted me softly against the crown of my head. 

"No, my darling," she kissed me on my ear and sighed again, "no, you have not."

Heavy boots created a loud thud against the black glass of the floorboards. I knew they could only be the feet of my father.

I straightened my back immediately and placed both hands at my sides as a group of men moved into the room.

My father, King Arthur Alexandrite, was positioned in the front, his face turned sour as always, and he moved towards where I stood without a hint of a smile on his face. I looked down at my feet and gulped down the ball of saliva that had suddenly piled up in my mouth. I opened my mouth to breathe normally, somehow, and tried to calm my nerves.

The men who were with my father were representatives of different lands that were ruled by the humans. They were the Lords of the Mortal lands that would, once my father stepped down or past, belong to me.

Drayan was only a Lord in these Lands, we were told that his rank was only high enough to keep my fathers Lands safe. Katrina wasn't lying when she said my betrothed was an immortal but again nobody really knew exactly what he was because they had never existed amongst humans before.

"Serefin," my father said, his voice coming from a few feet away from me.

I remembered, just this once, that I was not to look upon any other man until my betrothed was in the room.

Instead, I turned my face towards the voice of my father but kept my eyes to my feet.

"Yes, my King."

"You know what to do?"

I could hear the panic in his voice, would have been able to paint an image of it too, this present not because he was about to give away his only female child to a man he neither knew nor liked- but because he was afraid I would not be the right queen or wife for the Immortal Lord.

"Yes, my King."

My father moved away from me, his feet rattled against the ground as he joined the other human representatives. They stood in a long line, that may have symbolized a promise of power in my lands, but here they were a band of weak men who were desperate to save their country.

Servants dressed in black silk clothing carried red suede chairs into the room and placed them somewhere behind my back. I was stunned by how flawless their skin was, browns and whites and mixes of both were hidden under the luxurious clothing they wore.

I could not see their faces, though, for they were hidden beneath a veil of black lace.

My dress was too tight for any attempts of sitting down- even on the floor- and at the thought, I clamped down on my bottom lip and began to twiddle my thumbs just as the Immortal Lord himself walked into the room.

My head was high, then, and before I could pretend to be in the right position, I was looking into the eyes of the man who would own my soul for the rest of my life.

He was not old. He was not anything close to old.

The only thought that crossed my mind, as I stood caught under the light- head upright and face open to every man in the room- was that Katrina was right.

He was beautiful.

Drayan Carvass, the Immortal Lord, looked upon me without a hint of emotion in his crispy, pale blue eyes. I was looking at a stern face, pale skin and a straight bridge nose that matched his square jaw perfectly. His lips were a light shade of pink, soft and smooth looking, and we're set in a thin line that made him appear angrier than he possibly seemed.

Drayan was a tower of a man and was dressed in black clothing from his head to his toes that looked like they cost more than my entire life. Long straight threads of white hair were pulled into a bun on the surface of his head, hidden beneath the large black diamond crown he was wearing.

The magical ink coating his skin was black and added to his mythological appearance, making me understand why he was addressed as the Immortal Lord- more now than ever.

But Katrina was wrong about something.

I had finally met the man I was born and raised to marry but I definitely hadn't lost my logic.

"She's too young," he finally spoke and his voice suited his appearance perfectly.

Loud and clear, proud and oozing power, forcing you to be afraid even without a reason to be.

I looked down at my feet and began to breathe throughout my mouth once again. My heart was beating furiously in my chest, so hard I could feel it in my finger tips and in my neck, and I tried my very best not to fidget out of discomfort.

I could hear my father's feet shuffle to match the pace of the striding King as they moved towards where I was positioned.

"What do you mean, sire?" my father pleaded. "She has wasted time, if anything. She has come of age."

The Immortal Lord stopped and my ears basically peaked just so I could manage to hear the conversation. He was just a meter away from me and still barely a breath from his chest could be heard.

"No," he said simply, no reason to argue, "she's too young."

"Take a look at her, sire," my father sighed, exasperated, "look upon her for yourself and speak to her, as agreed, before you decide."

"I have already seen enough," The Lord said, annoyingly so, "take her away."

My father clearly couldn’t stop the Lord from leaving and I looked up just in time for the Lord to turn his back away. They began to walk away again and I allowed myself, for just one second, to fidget.

My father continued to beg and I watched with furrowed brows at how disrespectful and vile the immortal Lord was, treating my father as though he was a spec of dust in the air.

And I couldn't stand the sight.

"Drayan," I spoke.

I was angry and annoyed but once his name left my lips, just a whisper floating through the wide air, my heart jerked from the anticipation of death.