All of the tireless preparations that have cluttered my days endlessly have finally come to a stop. It's definitely not because I have become the perfect bride. I'm still far from it, but there's nothing that can be done about that now. Not when it's the dreadful day of my wedding.
I should be filled to the brim with anticipation of the events to come. I'll walk down the aisle in a few hours from now, then I'll be bound to Dorian with a kiss and a heavy ring, and finally...
Well, under normal circumstances, I might say Dorian and I would go off on a romantic honeymoon full of many hot nights and carefree, relaxing days. Unfortunately, the last, most painful event that will inevitably follow will be the death of Dorian at my hands.
I swallow down the rising lump in my throat as I place my hands on a bureau, hanging my head. Tears are already beginning to find their way into my eyes.
I force myself to look upward and into my reflection. Through my tears, I can see the beauty that I have been transformed into. My flowing, harshly-colored hair is spun into a bun, held in place by a metal claw that has strings of crystals hanging down, occasionally brushing against the nape of my neck. Two pieces of red hair frame my face which is lightly dusted with silver that sparkles whenever light catches on it. The silver compliments my fair skin as well as the dress Selene had to practically squeeze me into.
Although the dress contracts around me like a snake, I still find myself loving it. Its elegant front is made up of buttery-soft, black fabric that splits into two thick lines which only provide a small portion of cover for each of my breasts. The middle of my chest is left bare to display the silver, ruby-jeweled piece that decorates it. Yet another silver piece of jewelry rests against my stomach. It attaches the fabric covering my chest and the rest of the dress that flows to the floor.
Everything about the dress is to be loved, nothing to be scorned, but I can't say the same for the person wearing it. I don't deserve a single speck of the love that will surely come my way today. For, I'm no bride. I'm a devil in disguise, just waiting to stab the one they love right through their chest. My hand reaches down to the drawer of the bureau, where I have safely stashed the dagger away. As my fingertips brush against the drawer, the door to my room swings open.
"Miss, I can practically hear your sniffles from all the way across the manor!" Selene yells at me in a hushed tone as she hurriedly closes the door before any servants can see me crying. She appears before me, hands gently pressing to my reddened cheeks. "I understand that humans have a grave amount of trouble controlling their emotions during these types of events, but I beg of you, please dry your tears! If you make your grand entrance with puffy eyes and a snot-crusted nose, you'll be scorned until the night the werewolves make peace with the vampires — which will be never — so once again, Miss, compose yourself!"
I nod and raise my arm to wipe my nose, only for Selene to grab it. She sighs, shaking her head in disbelief before fishing a handkerchief from her pocket. Instead of handing it to me, she simply takes the handkerchief and gingerly dabs it under my nose. I almost feel like a child with the way she's doting on me, not that I mind all that much.
"There, you're all better now," She reassures me, stuffing her dirtied handkerchief back into her pocket. "Is there anything I may be able to do to ensure you don't begin crying again? Do not hesitate to tell me. It is my priority to make sure you are the perfect bride for Master Dorian."
At first, I can't think of anything that may be able to settle my inner turmoil. But, after a slight pain hits my stomach, I come up with a request, one that I'm almost certain will be denied. Still, there's no harm in at least trying.
"Can you bring me some food?" I ask her, though she is quick to begin shaking her head in rejection, "I haven't eaten since last night, Selene! A bit of food won't harm me, and I swear that I won't get any on the dress!"
"It is a vampiric custom for the bride to not eat until the feast at the end of the wedding," She explains, turning her gaze away from my pleading one. "This is to ensure that the kiss shared between the bride and groom is pure."
"I'll make sure to wash out my mouth really, really well!" I continue begging her as I follow her in her hasty escape to the door, all the while she is shaking her head. "Come on, Selene, I might pass out if I don't eat something! Dorian won't be able to marry a bride that's unconscious! Selene–...!"
The door is abruptly closed in my face. I hit my fist against it, frustrated and thoroughly defeated. My stomach growls impatiently, practically screaming at me for food, even if it's awful pork.
If I don't eat anything, the noises from my stomach will definitely grow louder and more constant. I cringe at the thought of my stomach gurgling during my walk down the aisle. The sound of the beautiful harp playing definitely won't go well together with my stomach as a growling background singer.
So, I politely say, "Screw the vampiric customs! I'm going to get myself food!"
Carefully, I open my door, peering out from behind it. The hallway is bustling with vampire servants, some of which I have never even seen before. None of them are empty-handed. A few unfortunate servants hold a tower of plates in their hands, while the other ones just carry garlands of flowers. Not a single red pair of eyes cast my way as they pass by, hurrying down the hall with stress creasing their brows and pulling down their lips.
It seems they could care less about the human bride who is slowly inching her way out of her door. When I finally close the door and stand in the middle of the hall, the servants weave a path around me, like a flowing stream that parts around a rock. I smile at this, happy for the lack of attention on me as I sneak over to the kitchen.
Hopefully, there won't be any chefs preparing for the feast or else I'll definitely be shooed away. Please be empty, please! I silently think this over and over until I force myself to push through the kitchen doors. The lingering scent of the chefs' cooking clings heavily to the air. It's a pleasant mixture of cheese, tomatoes, and various spices. I inhale deeply, momentarily closing my eyes as an impatient yell sounds from my stomach.
"It sounds as if there's a raging beast lying in your belly."
My eyes snap open to take in the sight of Biast. His clothes are as elegant as usual, yet I can't seem to appreciate them, especially since he's also wearing black. I scowl at this similarity until confusion begins to overwhelm my irritation.
Biast is fiddling around with a goblet filled with centuries of scratches and chips. Despite its old appearance, the silver metal of the goblet shines brightly, as if it were fit for only a King to press his lips to. The rim of the goblet is gingerly wiped with a cloth by Biast. I would have thought that Biast might have been doing this out of the kindness of his heart if not for the smile curving on his lips.
"What are you doing?" I question him with a stern voice that wavers only slightly when Biast fixes his gaze on me.
"Oh, I'm simply just ensuring the success of tonight," He answers with a tinge of mischief hanging in his words.
Even though I'm not settled by his answer, I choose not to press on the subject. The less I interact with him, the better, especially when we are alone. My stomach growls again, eager to be filled with food, but I choose to ignore it. Starvation for the next couple of hours is much more appealing than even a few minutes of talking with Biast. I turn on my heels, intent on leaving the kitchen and Biast far, far behind.
"My Cyra, don't be so quick to run away," He calls to me, but I continue my walk to the door, not even daring to allow a single falter in my steps. "Of course, you won't be obedient even for a second."
These words are mumbled beneath his sighing breath, yet every syllable stings into me. It makes me want to take my dagger and stab him. Unfortunately, my dagger was left behind in my room. No weapon, just my own fists, and I alone with Biast. Yeah, that doesn't exactly make me feel comfortable.
I pick up my pace, only to stumble to a stop when Biast suddenly appears in front of me. Before I can coldly tell him to leave me alone, he dangles a piece of bread in front of my face. I feel like a dog being taunted by its cruel owner.
"Take the bread while I'm being gracious enough to offer it to you."
When I don't immediately grab the bread and express my gratitude, like how I know he wants me to, he drops the bread on the floor, crushing it with his shoe. He grabs the fabric of my dress that covers my right breast, tugging me forward and exposing my skin to the cold air. His eyes take their time in staring at my exposed skin before he looks up at me.
A wretched whisper falls from his smirking lips, "Go on, eat the bread. I'm sure you won't dare to leave a crumb behind."
I scoff at him, desperately trying to keep my anger from being overpowered by fear. "I don't believe you realize who you're disrespecting, Biast. I'm not just a human that you can push around. I'm the bride of Dorian and the future Queen of Bestias."
My hand rises up from my side and strikes his hand from where it crumpled my dress. I smooth out the wrinkled fabric before I spare a single repulsed look at him.
"I will remember your rude behavior when I have you begging at my mercy. And you know what?" I drop my voice to a low whisper full of hundreds of threats, "I won't give you a single shred of my mercy. I'll just throw you in a dungeon and let you rot away like the filth you are."
"I'll make sure to remember your behavior as well," He promises, but as I storm out of the kitchen, I can't bring myself to see how his words could ever possibly form into a threat against me in the near future.
I'm too wrapped up in my anger toward Biast to be able to stop from walking right into a wall. However, from what I know, a wall does not breathe or let out an annoyed grunt. I cast my gaze up to see Callon whose annoyed expression turns to something close to adoration before quickly morphing into frantic shock.
"Oh, for the love of bleeding hearts," Callon groans quietly to himself as he turns around. His large stature covers me from the person who is following behind him. He looks over his shoulder and at me. "You best be returning to your quarters, Miss. If Dorian sees you, he will not be able to hold himself back, and we cannot risk you being unable to walk down the aisle."
I want to go against his pleas, but it seems he read my mind. He shoots forward and places his hand over Dorian's eyes before Dorian can even see me for a second. Of course, this does not go over well with Dorian. Dorian's hands fumble at Callon's hand, trying to pry it off, though he is not successful due to Callon's determination. I see the almost desperate look in Callon's eyes as if he's begging me to disappear, still, I can't bring myself to move.
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