Storm Book 1 of Wings of Mist Series

Rose made her way from the carriage and into the blinding light. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed upon the infamous Moon Palace.

It loomed before her like an ancient mountain, imposing and threatening. Walls of obsidian stone glittered under the radiant morning sun, shimmering like the surface of a deep, bottomless ocean. Yet, even as it reflected the light, it seemed to swallow every ray. Absorbing it into its depths until only darkness remained, akin to the midnight sky untouched by stars.

The contrast was striking and hypnotic. An unsettling beauty that both intrigued and unnerved her.

"Princess." The scarred guard called her, snapping her attention back to the present matter.

He pointed towards a group of women clad in short, navy uniformed dresses. Low bodices cradled their breasts, propping them up like eggs in a crate. While satin-stockinged shoes clung to their long legs.

Rose's gaze moved upward from their attire to their starkly cropped hair, a sight that quickened her breath and sent an icy shiver down her spine. The hair barely reached the napes of their necks.

Her bottom lip quivered in horror and she instinctively clutched a lock of her golden hair, pressing it close to her body. It was a sharp contrast to the way she dressed. Although torn, her emerald silk robes covered every inch of her body. With a high neck, long flowing sleeves and a hem that kissed her slipper-clad feet.

"These will be your handmaidens for the day." The emissary approached her after dismounting from his steed. "Tomorrow you will wed the prince and will be assigned new servants for your quarters." 

Rose swallowed her apprehension and followed the emissary as he beckoned to her. He began explaining things once again, but she could not hear a single word he said. She was preoccupied with all the women her eyes scanned over. Most were dressed in the navy uniform, ebony hair cut short as they bustled around the palace.

She did not understand it. In Anova, long hair was a symbol of elegance, grace, and purity. The longer it cascaded down your back, the more beautiful and desired a young fae woman was deemed. It was her pride and joy, a cherished part of her identity. As she followed in a daze, a haunting image filled her mind—how awful she would look once it was cut. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not allow these fae to see her weakness.

Instead, Rose focused on gathering her emotions and locking them away deep within herself. Poised and regal, her face would not betray her. She took a deep breath and thrust her chin out defiantly.

She was a princess, after all, and she would exude every inch of that title. Each step became a declaration, her posture straightening as she remembered the strength of her lineage. No matter what became of her, she would carry the grace of Anova like a banner of war.

Before long, she was handed over completely to the handmaidens, who ushered her into a large workroom within the palace. As she entered, her gaze was drawn to the vibrant display of fabrics that draped the walls, each piece more luxurious than the last. Linens, silks, and satins clamored for her attention alongside leather, fur, and wool, creating a melody of colors and textures that made her fingers itch to touch them.

"My lady," one seamstress said, her tone brisk but respectful enough for a royal. "We need to fit you into your wedding gown."

The words sent a chill through Rose as the skin on her arms prickled with unease.

There was once a time she dreamed of her wedding day. She envisioned her groom as tall, with sky-blue eyes and hair the color of ripened wheat—a handsome figure with strong, lean muscles that rippled under his tunic. In her mind, he wore traditional white Anova robes, holding her hand proudly before the crowd of adoring onlookers.

Now, everything was different. Her dreams had twisted into nightmares, and her Prince Charming had become Alric—the dark fae.

Rose stared at the mannequin a few feet from her as the women bustled around her, removing her torn clothing with sharp tugs and pulls. The gown displayed before her was as enchanting and menacing as the lands of Cetera themselves. It was a masterpiece, designed with a Queen Anne neckline made of crimson silk that flowed seamlessly into delicate golden lace, intertwining with gold and scarlet threads at the shoulders before dropping into billowing crimson sleeves. The intricate patterns of gold embroidery continued down the center of the gown, captivatingly complex. Despite its Ceteran design, Rose couldn't help but admire the exquisite detail and richness of the fabric.

When she stepped into the gown and glanced at herself in the mirror, a smile timidly graced her lips. The gown hugged her form, filling her with a sense of beauty. She sighed as she stared at her reflection. At least she would be a beautiful bride. Even if she wasn't wearing white.

There was a loud knock on the door that echoed through the workroom, causing all the women to turn in unison. All except Rose, who remained transfixed by her reflection, admiring how her pale skin and golden locks contrasted sharply with the deep red of the dress.

"The King has requested her presence in the ballroom."

Rose stilled, holding her breath. She met her own gaze in the mirror, gathering strength from the familiar reflection that stared back at her. It would be the only reminder of the home she had left.

One handmaiden stood abruptly, a puzzled look creasing her brow. "Prince Alric said she was supposed to be brought to his room."

"Well, the King has requested her presence."

Rose turned her head to face the entrance, taking in the man standing in the doorway. He was also dressed in navy attire—fitted tunic with a subtle checkered pattern and tight trousers. Nothing remarkable about him, yet his presence felt charged with urgency.

A few of the women whispered among themselves, their voices low, and Rose couldn't make out a single word. Yet, she sensed the hesitation in the handmaidens, which sparked her curiosity.

"Dress her, please." The man shifted from foot to foot. "He asked for her to come without delay."

Rose studied the exchange closely, noting how the man fidgeted and the way the women exchanged anxious glances. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as tension filled the air, dropping on them like a thick fog after a storm. Finally, one woman took charge. Hesitantly, she bowed to Rose before moving behind her and nimbly undoing the buttons of her gown.

The servant at the door relaxed, lowering his head before exiting the room to give them privacy.

"Do you have something longer?" Rose asked when one handmaiden brought over a satin mulberry dress that seemed to be missing much of the skirt.

The girl looked at her with confusion. "I'm sorry, princess. I'm not sure what you mean."

Rose motioned toward her legs with a flicker of frustration. "Do you have something that is longer here?"

"It is not the style here, princess." Another girl replied, shaking her head.

"So, no one wears long dresses in Cetera?" Rose's heart sank at the thought.

The girl shook her head again. "Only the queen, princess."

She clenched her jaw. "Well… how about the princess?"

The women exchanged nervous glances, apprehension flickering in their eyes. "Only… the princess of Cetera can wear it if she chooses."

Heat crept up Rose's neck and cheeks. "So, am I not considered a princess, then?"

"Please, princess." The brave handmaiden pleaded, her fingers trembling as she held the shunned dress. "I cannot change the rules."

Rose silently observed them, taking in their wide, slanted eyes filled with worry. They seemed to tremble, anticipating her response. These were not the dark fae from the stories she had envisioned—fear and meekness had never crossed her mind when she imagined them.

"Alright."

A collective sigh of relief washed over the women, their tension easing. In that moment, Rose couldn't shake the feeling of unease creeping in. What caution should she take upon seeing the king? These women clearly feared him, and the notion twisted her stomach with trepidation, gnawing at her insides like a relentless predator.

Once clothed, Rose followed the servant from the workroom, her hands occasionally tugging at the hem of the dress. She felt incredibly exposed, having worn nothing this short in her life. The dress barely covered her rear, leaving only a few precious inches for the hem. Bending down in comfort would be impossible. The long satin boots clung tightly to her thighs as the fabric rubbed uncomfortably against her skin. She prayed silently that the excessive rubbing wouldn't create a rash.

When they reached the doors to the ballroom, the servant cleared his throat and exchanged a knowing look with the guard beside her. They exchanged pleasantries before the guard tapped on the door, signaling their arrival.

"Presenting Princess Rose of Anova." A voice boomed from within, reverberating through the grand hall.

Rose inhaled deeply as the large oak doors creaked open. Pulling the bottom of her dress down one more time, she cleared her throat and took a hesitant step inside.

Opulence of the highest caliber instantly greeted her. Magnificent chandeliers dangled from golden chains, casting a warm light that reflected off the jewel-encrusted enclosure. Opals the size of her head lined the molding and columns, while black pearls studded the rest of the walls, their glossy surfaces capturing the rays and throwing it back in glimmers. The floor, however, seemed to swallow every reflected ounce of light within the room. Its black marble surface was daunting as she cautiously walked across its surface.

Her eyes quickly found the king sitting on his throne, legs spread wide as if he owned the very air he breathed. Everyone else around him seemed to melt away into the background, overshadowed by the commanding aura he exuded—demanding respect without a word. The crown atop his head glittered like the sun at its peak, yet it could not conceal the striking feature of his ebony hair, tightly gathered in a bun. Two thin braids framed his face, white as snow and adorned with three black beads that caught the light with every flicker.

A shiver ran down her spine as his gaze seemed to penetrate her, sending a chill through her very core. She didn't like the look of his eyes—they exuded death and chaos, promising nothing but turmoil should he deem it.

Rose glanced away from him to Prince Alric, who dutifully stood by his side. In the light, he appeared even more imposing. His slanted indigo eyes scrutinized her every move as she made her way towards them. Long black hair sat gathered in a high ponytail with a crimson sash while tendrils framed his face, exuding a warrior-like power. He stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back, adorned in a fitted black silk tunic and pants, and a jeweled belt cinching his waist. Rose's gaze lingered on his decorative knee-high boots, which completed his authoritative appearance.

She stopped a few feet from the throne and bowed her head politely, her heart pounding in her chest. A tiny voice inside her head screamed for her to turn around and run, but she brushed it away. There was nowhere to run. Home was gone, and this was the place she would have to get used to.

A rustle of fabric broke the tense silence, and then her chin was roughly lifted from her bow. A chilling jolt ran through her as she locked eyes with the king, his breath warm against her face.

"Well," he smirked, a cruel glint in his gaze. "Welcome, Rose…to my Moon Palace."