Garden of Shadows (UNAVAILABLE - seriously, there's nothing)

Chapter 1

She couldn’t help but notice how empty and lifeless his eyes were. They were darker than coal and as cold as the peak of a mountain; not a single ounce of emotion was to be seen. They were the type of eyes that could bring a person to despair, to fear for their lives. Eyes that could see, but couldn’t feel.

These eyes didn’t, couldn’t belong to anyone but to the most feared man in Viravion. Even Castor, king of Antarcion, feared his rival greatly; a man who was almost three decades younger than him.

Syren gripped her bare arms and shivered, despite the warmth of the castle. She had been dressed in a simple strapless dress, a gauzy shawl placed on top which did nothing to conceal her bare shoulders. The outfit made her feel exposed. Why had the maids dressed her in such light clothing, completely unsuitable for the eternal winter of their land? Especially on a day in which most of the hearths were devoid of any embers of fire.

She could not continue dwelling on her inappropriate attire, though. The matter at hand was far more pressing. She didn’t know why she was dressed as she was; why she stood peeking through a slit in a doorway, right at the dark-haired man Castor told her she’d be wed to. Her gut told her that something was going to happen, something entirely not in her favour which made her heart pound and the palms of her hands sweat.

“Lady Rillianne!”

Her heart all but froze at the sound of her name being called, the butterflies in her stomach turning to lead. She silently cursed herself for feeling so weak. After all, things couldn’t be that bad, could they?

She straightened her back and put on a mask of indifference, striding in with her head held high. She was determined not to let any weakness show, especially to Castor and the dark-haired man, the Emperor of Viravion. The task had proven to be more difficult than she had though, especially since she felt like she couldn’t even convince herself.

She stopped in front of Castor first, dropping into a polite curtsy like her maid, Minzy, had taught her. “Greetings, Uncle Castor,” she said softly, straightening only when he nodded his head in acknowledgement. She then turned to her future husband and proceeded with the same action.

“Greetings, er…” she faltered, the name of the man escaping her.

“Emperor Athren Zeric,” Castor cut in, sensing Syren’s error. “I would like to present my lovely niece, Lady Syren Rillianne.”

Like Castor, Athren simply nodded in acknowledgement, allowing Syren to stand up straight. She smiled and, despite her nervousness, found herself observing him now that she stood closer to him.

Her first impression?

The gossiping castle maids were not wrong about how devilishly handsome he was. As Minzy had said: appearance of an angel, soul of a devil. His black hair fell past his shoulders, pulled into a low ponytail, and long bangs framed a face chiselled to perfection. In fact, he looked too perfect with his straight nose, strong jawline and sensuous lips. If it were not for the scar that marred his cheek, she would’ve thought that he was a doll come to life.

Castor gestured for her to sit down on the love seat facing Athren. She obliged, sitting stiffly on the very edge. Something seemed…off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but something was definitely lacking. The feeling nagged at her.

Athren and Castor continued to converse while she absentmindedly nodded politely at the appropriate times to make it seem as if she were listening intently. Their words fell deaf to her ears as she strained her mind, trying to figure out what exactly made her feel so uneasy.

And then it hit her.

Except for the three of them, not a single soul was to be seen in the room with them. They were in one of Castor’s grandest parlours, the one where social interaction was inevitable. The parlour, on normal days, would be considered the flame that draws flocks of moths every hour every day.