The king's Runaway Bride

Caroline's fingers trailed along the edge of the iron window frame, cold against her skin. Outside, the night was already blanketed in mist, the soft glow of the moon barely visible beyond the thick clouds. She could hear faint sounds in the distance-howling wolves from the forest, the murmuring winds sweeping through the trees. They seemed so close. Sometimes, she imagined herself running into that forest, never looking back.

She gripped the window frame tighter. Tonight was her last night of freedom.

"Caroline?"

The voice at her door startled her. She straightened, masking her unease as best as she could, and turned to face her maid, Lydia, who had been her only friend in this hollow castle. Lydia's face was a mix of sympathy and worry as she took in Caroline's expression.

"It's almost time to dress," Lydia whispered, a hint of hesitation in her voice. "Are you ready?"

Ready. The word lingered in her mind like a curse. How could she ever be ready? She was being forced into a marriage with a man everyone feared, a man who had lost three wives already. The whispers about Damon Morningstar drifted through every corner of the kingdom. Some said he was cursed. Others said he was just... merciless.

And now, he was to be her husband.

Taking a shaky breath, Caroline nodded, even though the weight of the decision felt like stones sinking in her chest. "Let's get this over with," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Lydia offered a small, sad smile and motioned her to the center of the room. Caroline stood still, feeling as though she were some kind of puppet being dressed for show, her fate decided by others long before she had any chance to resist. As Lydia worked, pinning and adjusting the heavy gown, Caroline's mind wandered to the last conversation she'd had with her father.

She'd pleaded with him, begged him to reconsider, to let her stay. But he had merely looked at her with the same coldness he reserved for anything that was of no use to him.

"It's already done, Caroline. You'll be the queen," he had said, as if that title should have made her grateful.

"But his wives... they all... they're all dead," she'd argued, her voice breaking as she'd forced the words out. "What if the rumors are true?"

Her father's expression hadn't changed. "Then pray you're strong enough to survive."

Now, here she was, being prepared to face a man who was rumored to tear apart anything that got too close. Her fingers brushed the delicate lace of the gown, feeling its softness even as her chest tightened. This wasn't her choice; it was never her choice. The man waiting for her downstairs was a stranger, but she already knew he saw her as his possession, a pawn to secure his throne.

Caroline snapped back to reality as Lydia stepped back, admiring her handiwork. The gown was beautiful, ethereal even, but all Caroline could feel was its weight pressing down on her shoulders.

"Caroline..." Lydia's voice was hesitant, softer than usual. "Do you think you'll be happy? With him?"

Caroline met Lydia's eyes in the mirror, searching for words she didn't have. "I think... I think I'll survive," she whispered. "I have to."

The moment stretched in silence, the weight of her words settling between them. Then, a sharp knock at the door broke the tension. Lydia flinched, and Caroline swallowed hard, bracing herself as she turned toward the door.

"Miss Caroline," a guard announced, his voice cold and impersonal. "The king awaits."

The king. She still wasn't used to hearing it. Damon Morningstar had been a name spoken in hushed tones, a figure as distant as a legend. Now, he was a reality, one she couldn't escape.

Lydia gave her a small nod, a final gesture of support, and Caroline forced herself to walk forward, her legs moving of their own accord. The hallways of the castle were dimly lit, their shadows stretching like claws across the stone floors. She could feel the weight of every step, the quiet echo of her footsteps a reminder that she was stepping into the unknown.

When they reached the grand hall, her heart thudded against her ribs, each beat seeming to grow louder. The guard pushed the doors open, and she felt the air shift, cold and still, like the breath before a storm. Inside, Damon stood alone at the end of the aisle, his back to her, his dark figure casting a shadow that seemed to stretch all the way to where she stood.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the urge to turn and run was overwhelming. But she didn't move. She couldn't. So, instead, she stepped inside, one foot after the other, feeling the weight of his presence even from a distance.

As if sensing her, he turned, his gaze piercing as it settled on her. Damon Morningstar was... intense. His features were sharp, almost severe, with a gaze that seemed to burn right through her. His dark hair fell just above his collar, framing his face in a way that made him look both regal and dangerous. She'd heard tales of his cruelty, of his ruthlessness, but in this moment, she couldn't decide if the stories had been exaggerated... or if they hadn't told the half of it.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and the silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, yet carrying an undeniable authority.

"Caroline," he said, her name rolling off his tongue with a weight that sent a shiver down her spine. "I trust you understand what's expected of you."

She swallowed, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good." He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. "Because this union isn't one you can simply walk away from."

The words hung between them, both a promise and a warning. She couldn't bring herself to look away, even as her heart pounded with a mix of fear and something else she couldn't quite name. Damon's gaze was unrelenting, as though he could see every thought flickering through her mind.

"Are you afraid of me, Caroline?" he asked, his tone almost mocking, as though he enjoyed watching her squirm.

She lifted her chin, refusing to show weakness, even if every instinct in her body told her to look away. "I don't know you, Your Majesty."

He smirked, a dark gleam in his eyes. "You'll come to know me soon enough." He paused, his gaze trailing over her with a possessive intensity. "And you'll learn that I'm a man who gets what he wants."

Her hands clenched at her sides, the steel in his words sparking a faint ember of defiance within her. "I may be your queen," she said quietly, "but I'm not your prisoner."

His smile widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see, won't we?" His gaze hardened, his tone softening, though it held a dangerous edge. "Remember, Caroline, you belong to me now. Whatever freedom you thought you had... it ends here."

The words struck her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She had expected indifference, maybe even cruelty, but this... possessiveness, this intensity... it was more than she'd been prepared for. She bit her lip, the urge to challenge him bubbling beneath her fear, but before she could speak, he reached out, his hand lifting to rest beneath her chin, tilting her face to meet his gaze.

"Say it," he demanded softly, his voice like a blade. "Say you understand."

The heat of his hand against her skin made her heart race, her defiance faltering beneath his touch. She felt trapped, ensnared by his gaze, by the power he held over her.

"I... understand," she whispered, the words bitter on her tongue.

Damon's thumb brushed her jaw, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softened, as though something had cracked within him. But the moment passed, and his gaze hardened once more.

"Good," he murmured, his hand dropping away. He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "Then we're done here. Tomorrow, you'll be queen. Tonight... consider it your last night of freedom."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall.