Darkness. Again.
Nothingness. Again.
Hello again, abyss.
By now, Helene was more curious than afraid.
She walked forward, unsure if she was floating through the air or her feet touched a ground that simply existed with the dark. It felt different this time. When she lifted her hands, the outline of its shape was no longer smoke but her own skin, and the air, still thick and familiar, wasn’t as heavy as before.
“Ani,” a voice whispered, echoing all around her.
She spun, looking for the origin, but there was still nothing.
“Who’s there?” she asked into the void.
A warm breeze caressed her waist. “Ani,” it repeated seductively. “Or is it Helene? Which do you prefer?”
A shiver rippled down her spine. “How do you know my name?”
“I know many things about you.” A phantom hand traveled down to her hips, then back up again until she felt a touch spanning the width of her delicate throat.
Helene jumped, watching for a form to appear, but there was still nothing with her in the abyss. “What…what are you?”
As if an invisible hand wasn’t enough, she now felt heated lips nuzzling the skin behind her ear. Breathing hard, she felt her head naturally tilt to the side. A smile spread against her skin.
“Good girl,” it praised her.
She closed her eyes, the voice now sounding clearer and deeper. What was happening to her?
Her back slammed against a hard surface, and suddenly those phantom hands were trailing up her thighs, lifting her skirts. “I saved you earlier,” it rasped. “You owe me something sweet.”
Slinging her leg around a waist, she felt wet kisses dragging across her throat.
Helene opened her eyes.
There was only darkness before, but now, vast, broad shoulders swelled in heavy breaths. When she looked down, a chiseled body flexed against her.
“Who—”
Your Highness.
Helene woke with a start.
Wendy’s curious face moved into view as her head jerked forward. Sitting on a chair by the windows, she realized she had fallen asleep. After sneaking back into the Palace, she had suffered a restless night of fretting over her encounter with the Dreamers and Rafe, the masked man she was now in league with. She had sat down to watch the sun rise when sleep must have overtaken her.
And, the dream.
Helene still felt the flutter of her heart beats thudding against the stone and ring necklaces resting against her chest. What kind of lewd dream had come to find her?
“Your Highness?” Wendy started again, glancing at her with concern. “Your neck…”
She broke free from her daze. “My neck?”
Hesitantly pointing towards her throat, Helene reached up to touch it. When she looked down at her fingers, black marks stained her skin.
Her mouth parted. What was this? Was this her mother’s sickness coming to claim her? Or the dream she was in…was it not a dream at all?
Using the sleeves of her nightgown, she rubbed against the expanse of her neck, and sure enough, the white fabric came back darkened. When she looked down at her garb, even the gown had marks spanning her hips and thighs — all the places she had been touched.
By what, though? The abyss? A phantom? A man?
Shuddering, Helene jolted out of her seat and rushed to a basin of water resting on a dresser. Dunking the spare cloth resting by the bowl, she wiped the marks off her skin, desperate to get all traces of it off of her. Distantly, she heard her other assigned aides from the Imperial Palace enter her chambers to help her prepare for the day.
“Your Highness,” Wendy quietly called, sliding up to her and taking the damp fabric from her hands. “The King requires your presence in the Drawing Room. I can prepare a bath for you, if you wish.”
That’s right. Her father wanted to speak to her — most likely to berate her about the Betrothal Ball. Closing her eyes, Helene sighed. “Yes, thank you, Wendy.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Wendy and a few other ladies went to draw it in the washroom. The other girls dispersed to prepare her dress and jewels. Glancing at her stained gown, she quickly undressed and donned a robe. She took both chains from around her neck to set aside as well, but the sting from last night throbbed against her chest again. Looking down at the center of her breast, a red mark, the size of the black stone necklace, tainted her skin. When she gently prodded it, it felt tender, like a burn.
“Princess Helene?” a maid called.
Helene briskly threw the necklaces into a drawer. “Yes?”
“The Imperial Physician is here to see you.”
“I didn’t send for him,” she murmured, distracted as she walked to the washroom for her bath.
An unfamiliar voice spoke up. “The Prince did.”
Helene stopped, looking towards a middle-aged man with graying whiskers and kind eyes. He bowed before her with a gentle smile. “My name is Smyth, Your Highness. I was sent by Prince Alexander to treat your hands.”
Princess Helene, freshly bathed and eased by her properly tended burns, felt more grounded than before. As she sipped from her tea in the Imperial Drawing Room, she couldn’t help but blush when she looked down at her gloved hands.
She refused to admit it, but the Prince’s actions moved her. Despite her denial, he was observant and thoughtful enough to send the physician she never would have mustered the nerve to summon. Feeling true relief from the expert technique of Smyth’s skilled treatment, at least one thing was unburdened from the overwhelming troubles weighing her down.
“Helene,” her father’s voice sounded as he entered the room.
Promptly standing, she bowed her head in deference. He wasn’t alone. Queen Irene trailed in after him.
“Your Majesties,” she greeted.
As they seated in the palatial room, she felt the usual dirty looks thrown in her direction from the Queen. “Please forgive my extended absence from the Ball, Your Majesty. Prince Alexander and I —”
Her father’s resonant laugh stopped her. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he chuckled. “Ensnaring the Prince with just one dance — you’re skilled, I’ll give you that.”
Her spine stiffened.
“Nonsense,” the Queen snapped, looking at her in disdain. “Do you know the impropriety and scandal her actions have ensued?”
“They’re to be wed,” her father dismissed, taking a small biscuit to chew. “The two getting along is better than any outcome we expected.”
He looked towards her when she didn’t respond. “There’s an extended Banquet the Emperor was gracious enough to host so you can properly present yourself. Don’t spoil this opportunity, and keep up whatever it is you did to seduce the Prince.”
Helene gripped her skirts. He made it sound like she was a temptress eager to spread her legs to secure her position.
“Keep him satisfied. Bend over for him if he wants. We need this marriage to go through.”
With those crude words taunting her, time blurred by until she was standing in the Palace Gardens for the Banquet. Introducing herself to the approaching nobles with a vacant smile, her cheeks ached, and as she conversed with shallow guests that clearly hid their two-faced nature underneath saccharine words and loaded questions, she felt the darkness stirring within her again.
When a Lord, who’s name she couldn’t even remember, leered down at her cleavage while licking his teeth, she wanted to take the flute of her drink and slice it across his face.
“The nights can get lonely here in the Empire,” he continued, stepping closer to her with vulgar eyes. “If you’re looking for a quick release, we can —”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you, Lord Cedric.”
Helene startled at his voice, looking beside her as Prince Alexander laid a courteous hand on her back. While his voice and face were civil, a threat loomed in his eyes.
“Y-your Highness,” Lord Cedric sputtered.
“Leave,” the Prince ordered.
She watched him scramble away pathetically.
“My apologies, Princess,” Alexander rushed out in remorse. “Not only was I late, I also subjected you to encounter these imbeciles alone. You should never have to listen to such things.”
Releasing her tense grip, she turned to her betrothed. “I’ve heard worse things.”
“That saddens me.”
She looked up at him. With dark circles ringing his blood-shot eyes and his complexion unusually pale, the Prince appeared ill. “Are you feeling unwell, Your Highness?” she asked in concern, her reply forgotten.
He gave a stiff smile. “I’m afraid sleep escaped me again. Perhaps I should get Smyth to brew me a concoction.”
She knitted her eyebrows. It looked worse than a simple case of insomnia. Before she could ask him if there was anything he needed, a young woman appeared at Alexander’s side, looking delighted and absolutely thrilled.
“You must be Helene!” she exclaimed with bright eyes. Eyes that were hazel and gold. Grasping her gloved hands, she jumped up and down.
Smiling fondly down at her, Prince Alexander quickly introduced them. “Princess Helene, this is my younger sister, Amelia.”
Helene instantly curtsied, bowing her head down low. “Princess Amelia. My apologies for not introducing myself sooner.”
“Nonsense,” she cried, lifting her by the shoulders.
Standing again, Helene saw how similar the two looked, with their unique eyes and warm hair. Princess Amelia continued in animation, “It was my brother’s fault, stealing you away before we could even get a chance to become friends.” Digging her elbow into her brother’s side, she shot him a playful scowl.
Alexander released a sharp gasp, bending over from the contact. With sweat beading at his brows and pain written all over his face, Helene stared as he grasped his side with trembling hands.
He was injured.
Why?
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