Dear heart, why him?
The second and the youngest princess of the Kingdom of Caelwyn did not choose to love him, at least, that was what she forced herself to believe. After years of admiring him from afar, Ilaria Alysanne Ryuu found herself walking down the grandiloquent aisle with the person her heart was drawn to for the longest time.
Clad in a white gown and a mesmerizing tiara on her head, she was the epitome of a blossomed lily in the middle of colourful tulips. The platinum blonde shade of her silky hair was so light it was almost white; silvery — a warm undertone that complimented her supple skin.
The golden tassel charm laced into her silvery locks fell like the tears of a saint, while the dragon-wing hair barrettes rested on either side of her head — an heirloom that symbolized her clan, the White Dragon. It had once belonged to her mother, the late beloved Queen of Caelwyn.
Accompanied by the sound of bells, a sweet smile swept across her pink lips as she walked through the sea of aristocrats and nobles alike. Violet eyes twinkling beneath the thousands of chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. Soft violins and piano resounded throughout the royal palace of the kingdom promised as her second home.
The people could not help but stare in awe. Some gawked at her ethereal beauty as she walked with slow, graceful strides, while others watched in envy, driven by their own greedy and selfish desires. Yet, no matter how many flowers adorned the palace, none could compare to the radiance of the bride that day.
Under the blessings of the High Priest, the groom and the bride stood side-by-side, complimenting each other's presence like a fervent couple made in heaven as they exchanged their vows. At that moment, Ilaria could feel her heart churning and twisting as it pounded against her ribcage.
Was it fear or nervousness? She could not tell. There was a tinge of happiness that she could only conceal whirling in her heart, and it took so much in her to prevent herself from smiling in delight. To be standing with her husband-to-be for this sole occasion makes her lose her composure. It makes her almost dizzy, but she knew better than to let herself hope for too much.
Marriage was a celebration of love. A unification of two souls that swore to protect and love each other until death separated them apart, except, the groom did not reciprocate the feelings his bride had for him. The truth is, to expect a marriage of love was the least of the royal's concerns.
To dream was never an off-beam, but to hope was a desire demanding cessation before a heart was broken. As a princess, Ilaria understood her stature and the responsibility she held as a woman. She cannot let her feelings be swayed.
Appearance and mannerisms were significant aspects that reflected her as a person, and being reserved and just as well as humble and kind was one of her many qualities that earned her lovable. The primary duty of a princess, however, was to produce an heir and secure the succession of the husband they were betrothed to.
Ilaria was prepared for this. Although she had expected her marriage to merely be based on the strategic interests of the council, her heart melted the day she was appraised as the betrothed of Levan Gawen, the Crown Prince of Noctharis.
Ilaria turned to her groom as they proceeded to exchange rings. Amid the fancy and grandeur decorations, everything seemed to be pale in contrast to the man standing before her. The words of the High Priest went deaf in her ears once she lifted her head to properly behold the face she had come to love as he focused on putting the ring on her finger.
She could feel her hands tremble when he touched her skin. Although it lacked tenderness, it was enough to send tingles down her spine that made her giddy. This was certainly not the first time she had seen him up close, but every time she was met with the opportunity, she was still mesmerized by his striking features.
The crown prince's raven hair was slicked neatly back, though a few unruly strands betrayed him, falling stubbornly across his forehead and casting shadows over his thick, dark brows. His features were all sharp precision. A jawline carved with authority, cheekbones high and commanding, and lips set in a line that spoke of discipline yet hinted at hidden fire.
He looked less like a man born of flesh and flaws, and more like a figure wrought by a master sculptor — a vision of power and poise veiled in mortal guise. Tall and broad-shouldered, his frame carried the effortless strength of someone born to rule, each measured stride resonating with quiet dominance.
There was no need for armor to make him imposing; the sheer weight of his presence bent the air around him. Power clung to him like a second skin, dangerous yet magnetic, a warning and a lure all at once. And still she found it hauntingly beautiful.
But the most enticing thing she had ever seen was the melted pot of finest gold that was his eyes — The orbs that named him a true descendant of the Black Dragon; They shimmered beneath the white light, reflecting a perfect shade of yellow that could be easily mistaken as honey.
As he peered at her beneath his long lashes, she was bewitched in a matter of seconds. Her eyes unblinking, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. There seemed to be glitter swirling in his eyes. And, in a way, it was so captivating; so inviting; so calming she thought she could spend the rest of her life just staring at him.
That was when a light pinch fell on her fingertip. Ilaria blinked her eyes and was snapped back to reality. The warm and fuzzy ambience around her adjusted. And when she looked down at her hand, there was already a ring on her finger.
Ah, this... Ilaria gulped, noticing the crown prince lowering his eyelids to look at her sceptically when the heat rose to her cheeks.
Her attention shifted towards the crowds that were admiring them. Hot sweat trickled down the nape of her neck as she meekly took the other ring and carefully slid it on his finger, knowing that she had delayed the ceremony by daydreaming.
Once the band was finally sealed, the High Priest cleared his throat and raised his hands, standing majestically before the prince and the princess as his deep and gruff voice boomed across the hall. "As of today, Crown Prince Levan Gawen of Noctharis, together with Princess Ilaria Alysanne Ryuu of Caelwyn have consented together in holy wedlock."
"By the blessings of the dragons, today you have become married. Today, your souls were declared as one and you will never walk the paths of life alone again." He took a deep breath.
"As we invoke the benediction from the divine spirit of the eternal dragon, may the newlyweds remember this profound commitment as they begin their journey together. You have for each other a golden band. You have vowed to honour your words for eternity."
"By the power vested in me, and in the sight of the sacred dragons and these witnesses, I pronounce you husband and wife. To seal the union, you may now kiss!" Loud applauses resounded across the hall. Despite the rapid beats of her heart, Ilaria concealed her excitement.
While the wedding may have started and ended smoothly, what these cheering crowds believe was nothing but a mere stratagem. Ilaria smiled at her husband, ignoring the sudden ache in her heart at the reality that she was the only one who was genuinely happy with this union.
As she looked at his cold and unblinking gaze, she wanted him to see the flowers in her eyes and hear the songs that were playing in her mind. But there was a formidable barrier between them, one that he set up to block her from marching into his heart as he unknowingly pulled a string of hers.
A soft and careful touch landed on her chin, pushing her to the brink of collapsing. Had she been unaware that this was just a show and nothing more than responsibility, her legs would have buckled then and there.
Levan lifted her head as he leaned down, not even bothering to look at her eyes as his other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her into a warm embrace of ecstasy that sent her body soaring in delight. There seemed to be a spark in his eyes, which, lacked love and tenderness that she could only dream.
"Forgive me," he had whispered, his hot breath tingling her skin. Although she was curious to whom the apology was inferred, her mind swirled and her heart fluttered the moment he brushed his lips against hers.