The Masked Princess Bound To The King She Hates

The wedding bells were ringing, but to Princess Ella who was soon to be a Queen they sounded like a death knell instead of a merry one. At the altar, with her face concealed by a beautiful mask, her heart beat with a will that not even any other person in the room could possibly understand. Today, she was more than just a bride. She was a force to be reckoned with. She held the bouquet tighter with her fingers and looked up at the man who was waiting to see her at the end of the aisle. King Augustine. The same man who had put terror in the hearts of all in the empire. The man she had vowed to destroy. He was a tall, calm man, whose face was a mystery, and who, without any effort, was able to draw the attention of everyone in the hall. When his eyes looked in her face it was keen and uncompromising, as though he read through the mask she was wearing. Princess Ella kept her head, and would not fall. Not today. Not ever. Because this marriage? It was never intended to be genuine. It was a carefully planned conspiracy--a calculated step toward her revenge. And before he knew who she was, it would be too late. The veil was very thick and covered her face, and the lace touched her lips with every breath. The mask was icy against her skin below, concealing the single fact that might jeopardize all that she valued. The great hall which enclosed her was glittering with gold and candlelight. Massive columns rose to a painted ceiling, and chandeliers glistened like stars in a net. The place was filled with nobles, and their whispers were like a troubled wind. They watched her. Judging her. Pondering her true identity. A princess of a deposed dynasty. A political pawn. An outsider in disguise as a queen. The last vows were uttered, and Princess Ella bowed her head, her fingers clenching on the material of her dress. The silk was fine and richly embroidered, and was supposed to represent riches and authority...to her it was like shackles. She could not dare to see the man next her. She resolutely refused to. King Augustine. Just thinking of his name sent a shiver down her spine. Three years ago his army had invaded her kingdom with ruthless violence. The palace which she once called home had been burned down in flames and the odor of smoke lingered days. The marble floors on which she used to play as a child were stained with blood. At daylight all that she had known was gone, everything. except for her. Her home. Her people. Her family. Everything... except for her. "Raise your head." His voice broke through her mind...soothing, deliberate, unheedable. Princess Ella drew a deep breath and raised her head. The veil was still over her face, but she could feel it...the steadiness of his gaze, implacable and unyielding, as a sword-blade against her flesh. Take off the veil, he said. Her heartbeat quickened. A moment she hesitated. Flashes of memory flashed through her mind...screams in the night, flames licking the sky, the last time she had seen her father at the palace gates. No. She forcibly pushed those images away. She raised the veil, with a calculated movement, to expose the mask beneath. There was a murmur in the hall. Good. Let them wonder. The mask was white and smooth covering the upper half of her face. It revealed nothing. It did not provide any information. It was a sign of modesty to them. It was survival to her. King Augustine approached. Too close. She sensed it even though she could not see his whole expression...the intensity of his scrutiny. It was not the impersonal interest of a king in the discharge of his duty. It was sharper still. Something intentional. Is it necessary? he inquired, his voice low but bordered on an indefinable nature. Princess Ella defended herself. "It is tradition, Your Majesty." There was a pause. Tradition, he repeated, nearly in a contemplative manner. There was something in his voice that made her uneasy, as though he had no faith in such things. As though he could see right through them. The ceremony was over before she could think any more. It was met with applause, hollow and distant, as though in another world. Ella hardly heard it. She had reduced to a single object. Him. The way between the great hall and the royal apartments seemed interminable. Every footstep reverberated in the passageway, the noise being swallowed up by high stone walls and long shadows cast by wavering torches. Servants followed at a respectful distance, and silent as ghosts, until they came to the great doors of the royal apartments. They stopped there. The doors were opened. Ella stepped inside. The room was large, dark, and too silent. The walls were covered with rich fabrics and a big bed was in the middle, untouched, awaiting. Waiting. The doors closed behind her with a deep, final bang. The echo lingered. Alone. Queen Ella stood motionless with her hands lying lightly against her gown. She could sense the burden of it all pressing on her...the room, the silence, the man behind her. The lock clicked. Her chest tightened. Slowly, she turned. Augustine was standing at the door, and already looking at her. Not speaking. Not moving. Merely watching. You can take off the mask, he said. The lyrics were simple. But they were important. No. The answer slipped out of her lips before she could stop it. The resultant silence was instantaneous. Acute. Dangerous. Ella drew in her breath, and had to compose herself. It is. a part of the custom. "It is... part of the custom." "Is it?" He started to approach her, taking every step slowly and cautiously, like he had the whole world. The heart of Queen Ella beat quicker. "Customs," he went on, his voice now lower, are frequent handy excuses. King Augustine stood still in front of her, near enough that she could make out his features...the harsh lines of his face, the slight scar along his jaw, the blackness of his eyes...cold, but not without feeling. There was contemplation within them. Awareness. Recognition. The idea gave her a shiver of terror. No. Impossible. Years had passed. No longer was she the girl he might recall. I will retain it, I will maintain it, she said. He said nothing for a while. Then he suddenly extended his hand. Queen Ella stood still when his fingers touched the edge of her mask. Not removing it. Merely touching it. As though it were gauging its reality. Her breath caught. "Strange," he murmured. What is? she said, her voice now softer. "This sensation." Her heart beat missed a beat. The eyes of King Augustine rose, and he looked at her face behind the mask. As though I had met you before. The world seemed to tilt. No. He could not know. He could not. Queen Ella smiled a little, tight-lipped. That is not likely, Your Majesty. Do you believe in fate? The question startled her. No, Queen Ella said after a moment of contemplation. I am a believer in decisions. There was a soft sound. Not quite a laugh. Then you have to think it was the decision of somebody, he said. The fingers of Queen Ella clenched. "Yes." And whose decision do you suppose it was? he said. She turned her head a little, so that she could look at him. "Yours." Their gazes locked. There was a change in his expression. Not anger. Not denial. Something else. Something inscrutable. "Perhaps," he replied. The response was too naive. Too easy. Ella scowled a little behind her mask. You are not sounding definite, she remarked. I know a lot of things, I am sure, he replied. "Just not those that matter." The words lingered. Ella failed to comprehend them. But she could feel their weight. And that disturbed her more than any other thing he had said. Afterwards, when the palace was dead silent and the candles were low, Ella was standing alone by the window, looking out into the darkness beyond the walls. It was a still night. Too still. Her mirror was a reflection of herself in the glass...a masked princess, a secret, a living lie. She touched the edge of the mask, her fingers...but she did not take it off. She could not. Not here. Not yet. The room was silent behind her. Too quiet. Then...a faint sound. Queen Ella stilled. The slight change of motion. She did not wheel about. But she knew. He was watching her. Again. Always observing. As if anticipating. As if he already held knowledge she did not. Her heartbeat quickened. Deep within, beneath all her control, beneath all her silence, there was one question which would not die: Did King Augustine know her. or was he only awaiting the time when she should present herself?