Married to the vampire prince

Chapter Six: Shadows of Concern

Elara woke to the quiet stillness of their chamber. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the room. As she sat up, she instinctively glanced to her side and, as expected, Draven was already gone. The sheets were cold to the touch, a reminder of how early he must have left. It was becoming a routine she couldn't decide if she liked or disliked—waking up to an empty room, her husband absent without a word.

Her thoughts drifted as she got out of bed and dressed for the day. Draven had been unexpectedly kind to her since their wedding. He hadn't demanded anything from her, hadn't forced her into fulfilling the dreaded "wifely duties" she had feared. He gave her space, his presence a quiet yet reassuring one. It was a sharp contrast to the cold, distant nature she had been warned to expect from vampires.

After a simple morning routine, Elara decided to have breakfast in the dining hall. The long table, set with polished silverware and steaming dishes, felt overwhelming for just one person. She sighed, sitting at one end as the maids began serving her.

As one leaned forward to pour tea, Elara noticed a pendant hanging from her neck. A tiny silver sunburst with a blood-red ruby at its center, the pendant caught the light and glimmered. Looking around, she realized every maid wore the same necklace.

Curiosity got the better of her. "What does that pendant mean?" she asked softly, gesturing toward the maid's neck.

The maid hesitated, her gaze darting toward the others before she answered. "It's for protection, Your Highness. Against the sun. Without it, we'd be vulnerable."

Elara blinked, taken aback. "The sun?"

"Yes," the maid said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Without this, we'd burn if exposed for too long. It's a necessity for those of us who serve outside or near windows."

Elara frowned. "But… Draven doesn't wear one, does he?"

The maid shook her head. "No, Your Highness. Royals are different. Their blood is purer, stronger. They can endure more."

As the maid stepped away, Elara found herself unable to stop thinking about it. If Draven didn't wear the pendant, did that mean he could be hurt by the sun? The idea sent a strange pang of worry through her. Why did she care so much? He was always leaving her behind, wrapped up in his own affairs. Yet, her thoughts lingered on him as she finished her meal. Did he ever take the time to eat like this, or was he always rushing from one meeting to the next?

---

Later that morning, Elara wandered the castle gardens. The cool breeze rustled the leaves, and the scent of blooming flowers hung in the air. She strolled aimlessly, letting the beauty of the grounds distract her from her thoughts.

She turned a corner and spotted Clara seated under a canopy, her needle moving deftly over an embroidery frame. Clara looked up as Elara approached, a sharp smile curving her lips.

"Ah, Princess Elara," Clara said, her tone sickly sweet. "Come, join me. You must have plenty of time on your hands."

Elara hesitated but didn't want to appear rude. She approached cautiously, her steps slow. Clara handed her a blank piece of fabric and a needle, the challenge clear in her gaze.

"Have you ever tried embroidery?" Clara asked.

Elara shook her head.

"I thought not," Clara said with a smirk. "Well, it's never too late to learn. Go on, let's see what you can do."

Elara took the needle, her fingers fumbling as she tried to mimic Clara's movements. It wasn't long before her inexperience showed. She pricked her finger more than once, and Clara's laughter rang out, sharp and mocking.

"Perhaps you're only good for warming Draven's bed," Clara said with a cruel chuckle.

Elara's cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, a shadow loomed over them.

"Clara," a deep voice said coldly.

Both women looked up to see Alaric, the crown prince, standing there. His dark eyes glinted with anger as he took in the scene.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his tone icy.

Clara paled. "I was just—"

"Humiliating her," Alaric interrupted. "Is this how you spend your days? Making a spectacle of yourself?"

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Clara's embroidery frame and tossed it to the ground. "If you cannot behave with dignity, then leave."

Clara hurried away, her face pale with embarrassment.

Elara stood frozen, unsure of what to say. Alaric glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. "You shouldn't let her get to you," he said simply before walking away.

Elara's hands trembled as she gathered herself and left. She couldn't shake the image of Alaric's anger. His temper was frightening, and she couldn't help but wonder what kind of ruler he would become if he ever took the throne.

Secrets in the Shadows

As she walked through the halls, Elara heard faint voices ahead. She paused, hiding behind a pillar as the words became clearer.

"Send him to the border villages," the king's voice said, sharp and commanding. "Let him handle the rebellion alone."

"But Your Majesty—"

"No excuses," the king interrupted. "Draven is the only one fit for this. If he can't handle it, then so be it."

Elara's heart sank. The king was sending Draven to war, knowing full well the dangers he would face. Why did he hate his own son so much?

More than that, Elara realized with a pang of fear, she didn't want Draven to die. He was her only source of protection in this strange world, the only person who had shown her kindness.

The Evening Confession

Elara wrestled with the decision to tell Draven what she had overheard. Memories of her father's cruelty haunted her, the way he had dismissed her mother's words and punished her for speaking up. But this was different. Draven wasn't like her father, was he?

That evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.

"I overheard the king today," she began hesitantly. "He's sending you to the border villages. Alone."

Draven's expression didn't change, but she saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes.

"I expected as much," he said simply.

"You… expected it?"

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's not the first time he's tried to rid himself of me."

Elara frowned, frustration bubbling in her chest. "And you're just… okay with this?"

Draven chuckled softly. "You're worried about me," he teased.

Her cheeks burned. "I just thought you should know."

Elara huffed, blowing out the candles and climbing into bed. But as she lay there, her thoughts refused to settle.

Draven, too, stayed awake long after she had fallen asleep. For the first time, he felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. He couldn't afford to be reckless now—not when someone cared enough to worry about him.

---

The warm glow of the candles flickered against the walls as Elara finished her walk through the grand hallways. She couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest after overhearing the king's plans for Draven. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps until a maid hastily curtsied before her.

"Your Highness," the maid said nervously, "Lady Clara has requested your presence in the embroidery room."

Elara hesitated, unsure of what Clara could possibly want. Her encounters with the crown prince's wife had always left her feeling small and out of place. But refusing her summons wasn't an option; the political intricacies of the family demanded compliance, no matter how degrading.

With a nod, Elara followed the maid.

---

The embroidery room was lavish,with paintings adorning the walls and an array of silken threads displayed on the tables. Clara sat in the center, surrounded by several maids. Her fingers moved deftly over a delicate piece of fabric, but her sharp gaze fixed on Elara the moment she entered.

"Ah, there you are," Clara said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I thought you might like to join us. Surely, as a princess, you must be skilled in embroidery."

Elara's stomach tightened. She had never been taught embroidery, her upbringing focused on courtly manners and surviving her father's volatile moods. "I... I am not very skilled," she admitted, hoping Clara would let it slide.

Clara's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Nonsense. Every noblewoman knows her way around a needle. Sit here, and let us see your work."

Elara hesitated but complied, taking the seat offered to her. Clara handed her a piece of fabric and a needle threaded with fine gold silk. The other women watched intently, their whispers just loud enough to reach Elara's ears.

As she attempted a few stitches, Clara leaned over her shoulder. "Oh dear," she said loudly, drawing attention to Elara's uneven work. "You've managed to ruin the fabric entirely. Such a shame, really."

The room filled with laughter, and Elara's cheeks burned. She wanted to leave, but Clara wasn't finished.

"It's almost as if you don't belong here at all," Clara said, her tone sharp. "A princess who can't embroider? What exactly did they teach you in your human kingdom?"

Before Elara could respond, the door slammed open. Alaric, the crown prince, strode in, his expression thunderous. His eyes flicked to Clara and then to Elara.

"Clara," he said, his voice dangerously low. "What are you doing?"

Clara straightened, feigning innocence. "Teaching her some skills, dear. She is the princess, after all. She ought to know how to represent our family properly."

Alaric's eyes narrowed. Without another word, he grabbed the ruined fabric from Elara's hands and threw it onto the table. "Humiliating her isn't teaching. You forget your place, Clara."

Clara's mouth fell open, her face pale with shock. "I was only—"

"You were only trying to disgrace her," Alaric snapped. "Do it again, and you'll answer to me."

Elara stared at the scene, stunned. Alaric's fury was unexpected, and for a moment, she felt an odd gratitude toward him, though it was overshadowed by her fear of the volatile dynamics of this family.

Clara, her pride wounded, turned her glare on Elara. "We'll see how long you last here," she hissed under her breath before storming out of the room.

---

Elara tried to steady her breathing as she walked back toward her quarters, but her nerves refused to settle. She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone as she navigated the winding halls. Just as she turned a corner, two guards approached her.

"Princess Elara," one of them said formally. "The king has summoned you to the courtyard."

Her stomach dropped. A summons from the king after such a public display could mean anything, but she had no choice but to follow.

---

The courtyard was quiet, the evening air crisp and heavy with tension. The king stood at the center, his piercing gaze fixed on her as she approached.

"I've heard troubling things," he began, his tone cold and distant. "It seems you've caused quite the stir in my household."

"I apologize if I have done anything to offend," Elara said quickly, lowering her head.

The king stepped closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over her. "Your presence here is tolerated because you are Draven's wife," he said. "Do not mistake that for acceptance. I will not have a human disrupting the order of this family."

Elara swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. The disdain in his voice was unmistakable, and it stung more than she cared to admit.

"You would do well to remember your place," the king continued, his tone dripping with warning. "And remind your husband of his."

Elara nodded, unable to find her voice.

---

By the time she returned to her quarters, her nerves were frayed. She leaned against the door, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths. The events of the day played over in her mind, from Clara's cruelty to the king's biting words.

When she opened her eyes, she was startled to find Draven standing in the room, his arms crossed as he studied her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of concern.

Elara hesitated, unsure whether to tell him about the king's words. But before she could speak, there was a commotion outside. The door burst open, and Clara stormed in, flanked by two guards.

"This woman," Clara spat, pointing at Elara, "tried to humiliate me. She insulted my station and should be punished for her insolence!"

Elara's eyes widened in shock. "That's not true!"

Clara turned to the guards. "She is lying! I demand she be whipped for her disrespect!"

One of the guards stepped forward, his expression apologetic but firm. "We must follow Lady Clara's orders, Princess."

Draven moved before Elara could react, placing himself between her and the guards. His eyes darkened, and his voice dropped to a deadly calm. "No one touches her."

The guards hesitated, glancing at each other nervously.

"Leave," Draven commanded.

The authority in his voice left no room for argument. The guards backed away, and Clara glared at him, her face red with anger.

"This isn't over," she hissed before storming out.

Draven turned to Elara, his expression softening. "Are you alright?"

Elara nodded, though her legs felt weak beneath her. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, his voice gentle. "I told you I'd protect you."

The weight of the day's events threatened to overwhelm her, but for the first time since arriving in this strange world, Elara felt a flicker of safety in Draven's presence.