Adeline's Wedding Night

A wave of nausea surged up from the pit of my stomach, hot and unexpected, gripping my insides with a fierceness that left me momentarily breathless. The glittering ballroom spun gently around me, the laughter and hushed conversations morphing into something sharp and cruel. Every whisper felt like a dagger, each sidelong glance slicing through the fragile veil of composure I wore. I could feel their curiosity pressing in on me, soft, probing, suffocating. As if the weight of the room knew it threatened to crush me, the king turned toward me with a serene grace. His eyes, warm and commanding, settled on mine, and he extended his hand.

"My daughter, may I have this dance?"

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. There was a tenderness to it, something almost fatherly. It wrapped around me like a shawl, shielding me, if only for a moment, from the churning uncertainty inside.

My voice barely rose above a whisper as I curtsied and placed my hand in his. “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

We glided onto the dance floor. I was aware of every eye on us. The music played gently, a distant hum beneath the roar of my thoughts. The king's presence was steady, yet I felt so exposed. He positioned me with the ease of experience, but inside, I was unraveling.

"I am sorry about my son," he murmured, his voice low, nearly lost in the music.

The words hit me like a blow to the chest. I faltered slightly in step, my breath catching. Why would he apologize for Alexander? His gaze was fixed just beyond my shoulder, thoughtful.

"His behavior is unacceptable, and I will speak to him."

I clung to the words, unsure of what they meant but desperate to believe they held an answer. The air around us tightened.

“Have I offended him in some way?” I asked, the words tumbling from me unguarded, fragile with panic. "Whatever I did, I am sorry."

The king’s expression softened. He looked at me not with pity, but with regret, perhaps.

"It is not you, my dear. Do not worry your pretty little head about it; I will take care of everything."

How could I not worry? His kindness only deepened my shame. I smiled faintly, mechanically, but inside, my thoughts spiraled like smoke in a closed room. Why hadn’t Alexander returned? Why had he abandoned me in the middle of the floor, left me standing there alone while strangers observed with narrowed eyes and veiled whispers? The dance ended far too quickly. I curtsied with grace I no longer felt. As I rose, something cold brushed against me, a stare. My gaze lifted, and I saw her. She stood across the ballroom like a specter in shadow: a woman in an opulent black gown, her neckline dripping with jewels that shimmered like poisoned stars. Her eyes bore into mine, dark, assessing, and chilling. A slow, almost mocking smile curled her lips. A shiver danced down my spine.

"That is Cecelia, a friend of Alexander’s. Pay her no mind," the king said, his voice neutral but firm.

How could I? There was something about her that unsettled me deeply, as if she knew things about my husband I had not yet dared to imagine. The clock struck midnight. One by one, guests began to take their leave, exchanging pleasantries with the king. Some smiled at me, others offered fleeting congratulations, but beneath the surface, I felt the weight of their pity. They knew. Or perhaps they simply guessed. Either way, I could feel it, the sense that I had already been humiliated, already failed to live up to the image expected of a bride. The room emptied. The lights dimmed. The servants moved like ghosts, restoring order to the glittering wreckage of the evening. I stood alone in the doorway, staring into the silence left behind. This was meant to be a night of magic, of dreams fulfilled and vows whispered in secret. Instead, I felt like a girl lost in a tale gone wrong. I’d never been alone with a man before, not like this. Certainly not with the one fate had chosen for me. What did he expect of me? What did he want? What if I failed to be enough? What if I wasn’t beautiful enough, bold enough, experienced enough? What if he regretted marrying me? I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

"Adeline, I believe you should retire to your chambers; Alexander will meet you there."

The king’s words pulled me from my downward spiral. I managed a curtsy and turned to go, praying that the night would somehow right itself. My chambers were bathed in candlelight when I entered. The flicker of flames danced against the stone walls, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Charity, my faithful lady-in-waiting, looked up from her corner with a kind smile.

"How was your night, my lady?"

I stood there, unmoving. The ache behind my eyes grew heavier.

“Alexander left after our first dance,” I whispered. "He just left. No explanation. No goodbye."

Charity’s expression faltered. She didn’t know what to say. No words could soften what had already been carved into me. She simply nodded and moved toward me.

"Can I help you out of that dress, ma’am?"

I nodded wordlessly. Her hands were gentle, practiced. The gown fell away in layers, and I stepped into the warm bath she had drawn. The heat lapped against my skin, washing away the remnants of perfume, sweat, and sorrow. It couldn’t touch the ache inside. Once bathed, she helped me into a satin nightgown, the black lace clinging to my skin like ink. She smiled faintly.

"He will love it, miss."

She didn’t believe that. Neither did I. With a quiet goodnight, she disappeared into the corridor, leaving me alone. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the doorway like a fool waiting for a ghost. Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two. My heart sank with each tick of the clock. He wasn’t coming. The satin clung to me like shame. I pulled it off and dressed in something simpler, something that didn’t whisper promises I couldn’t keep. As I pulled the covers back, a single tear slipped down my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. I let it fall. I didn’t even know what I was mourning yet, my dignity, perhaps. Or the illusion that I could be loved. Eventually, exhaustion claimed me. The morning light crept in slowly, casting gold across the silken sheets. Charity’s soft footsteps woke me, and she paused when she saw me—saw the tear stains that had dried on my cheeks.

"What happened, miss?"

My voice cracked. "He never showed up."

Her expression crumpled into quiet sympathy. "I’m sorry, miss."

"Do you think there’s something wrong with me?"

She shook her head firmly. "No, miss. This is not your fault."

I took a breath, steadying myself. "Please help me dress for breakfast. I don’t want to make a bad impression on my first day in this family."

Charity worked quickly, dressing me with delicate precision. I tried to stand tall, to push down the gnawing hollowness inside. It followed me like a shadow down the corridor. The grand breakfast hall was already bustling. The king sat at the head of the table and motioned for me to join him.

I curtsied. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

"Please stand."

I obeyed, folding into the chair beside him, the scent of fresh bread and spiced tea doing nothing to soothe my unease.

"I trust you had a delightful evening?"

I hesitated. "It was restful. Thank you, Your Majesty."

He studied me, a glint of suspicion flickering in his eyes. "Is my son not feeling well?"

My mouth went dry. "I do not know what you mean, Your Majesty."

His brows drew together. "Was he not with you this morning?"

The blood drained from my face. My voice was small and shaking. "I’m afraid I haven’t seen Alexander since he left the reception yesterday."

Silence fell like a guillotine. The king’s face darkened, his jaw tightening.

"I am sorry, my dear," he growled. "I will talk with my son." He stood abruptly. "Please excuse me."

Just like that, I was left again, alone at the table, surrounded by silence, a quiet ache blooming in my chest.