Chapter 10: Threads of Rebellion
Aurenya's POV
I never wanted a wedding dress. Not like this. Not under orders. Not from a king whose face I hadn't even fully seen since the ceremony was announced.
The morning crept in with gold-laced skies and the scent of dew-drenched earth. The manor was quieter than usual, hushed like it, too, held its breath after last night. The amulet. Its whisper still curled at the edges of my mind, a haunting echo I couldn't shake. And yet, Aunt Liora hadn't mentioned it once. Not over breakfast. Not in passing. Like it had never happened. Like silence could erase possession.
"Elara, Seraphine," Aunt Liora said crisply, her hands folded with surgical precision on the table. "Take Aurenya to the palace fitting wing. The King has ordered the seamstresses to expect her."
Not a request. An order. And the way she avoided my eyes said more than her clipped tone ever could.
I stood without answering. Seraphine rose as well, her face pale, eyes distant. She had been quiet since last night, the hollowness in her gaze deepening like a well. Elara gently wrapped an arm around her, and I caught the quick glance they shared. Concern. Fear, maybe. But Seraphine said nothing.
We didn't speak as we made our way toward the east tower. The palace was a labyrinth of marble arches and velvet-lined corridors, each turn another reminder that I did not belong here. The royal fitting wing sat like a jewel box at the heart of it all, glittering with the polish of perfection. It reeked of expectation.
"This used to be a sun gallery," Elara murmured as we passed beneath a row of carved cherubs. "Now it's just a place to measure girls for dresses they didn't ask for."
I gave her a sideways look. "You always did know how to make fairy tales sound like funerals."
She didn't smile.
Inside, the head seamstress waited with her entourage of assistants. Gold needles. Silver shears. Racks of dresses lined the walls like quiet judges.
"Lady Aurenya," she said with a practiced bow. "His Majesty requested this be your primary fitting."
She gestured grandly to a gown suspended on a crystal mannequin. Pale gold and ivory silk, embroidered with phoenix feathers in pearl thread.
In my past life, I had worn it. I remembered the tightness at my throat when I looked into the mirror. I remembered the praise in her voice, the pride in my aunt's eyes. The absence of choice.
Not this time.
I walked up to the dress. It shimmered in the light, blindingly soft, obedient.
I took the shears from her assistant's tray.
"My lady?" the seamstress asked, startled.
I met her eyes. Then I turned to the gown.
And drove the shears straight through the bodice.
A shocked gasp echoed across the room. Silk tore with the sound of a soul unraveling. I didn't stop. I cut again. And again. Until the phoenix feathers fell to the floor in pieces.
Seraphine stepped back. Elara looked both horrified and impressed.
I tossed the shears onto the floor. "Get me something baby blue. Magnificent. Like the sky before a storm."
The seamstress's lips parted in protest. "His Majesty—"
"Will recover," I said, brushing past her. "Or he won't. Either way, I'm not wearing a death shroud."
She sputtered. "This is royal insubordination."
"No," I said coolly, "this is taste."
The gown they returned with was breathtaking. Layers of blue silk that faded into the softest silver at the hem, like starlight dipped in water. The bodice hugged like armor, the sleeves sheer but strong. When I turned in the mirror, I didn't see a bride. I saw a reckoning.
It didn't take long. Word traveled faster than scandal in these halls.
Minutes later, one of the King's guards arrived, expression grim. "His Majesty requests Lady Aurenya's presence. Immediately."
I smoothed the new gown. Not ivory. Not obedient. My colors. My defiance.
"Let him wait," I said, but I was already moving.
—
His quarters were at the top of the western wing. I'd never been here alone.
Two guards opened the doors. I stepped inside.
He stood at the window, back to me. He didn't turn.
"You destroyed the dress."
"No," I said, walking in slowly. "I liberated it."
A pause. Then he turned.
Gods, he was beautiful.
Sharp lines. That quiet rage. Like a painting made of war.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I wore it once before," I said, meeting his gaze. "And I remember what it felt like. This time, I'll choose."
His eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you've lived this before."
"Maybe I have."
A beat passed, heavy. Then, as he looked at me, something strange flickered beneath his icy veneer.
I heard it.
"Stubborn. Spoiled. Reckless. Yet... captivating."
My breath caught. I didn't understand what I was hearing at first. It hadn't come from his mouth, but it had been his voice. Inside my mind. Clear as if whispered against my skin.
I said nothing. I didn't move. Shock twisted through me like smoke in my lungs.
I kept my face blank, afraid to show the storm beginning behind my eyes. Did he hear me back? Could he feel that I'd just... trespassed?
He said nothing either. Just watched me.
And then again:
"She walks in like a tempest and expects the room to kneel."
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. That voice—his voice—was not the one he used aloud. It was rawer. Darker. And despite his cold gaze, there was curiosity behind the scorn.
But his mouth said only, "You will wear the dress I command."
I raised my chin. "Then you should have sent for a doll, not a bride."
His eyes flashed. "You forget your place."
"She doesn't fear me. Or pretends well. Either way... dangerous."
The thoughts were coming clearer now. Sharper. As if a dam had cracked open inside me.
My heart thumped against my ribs. He was cruel with his words—but his mind… his mind wasn't as certain.
"I chose my place the moment I cut that gown," I said, voice low.
He studied me for a long moment. Then he turned back toward the window, voice clipped. "Leave."
I didn't need to be told twice.
But as I walked to the door, I heard it again—soft, quiet, like a secret never meant to be spoken:
"If she keeps looking at me like that, I might forget why I hate her."
I froze.
But only for a second.
Then I opened the door and walked out like I hadn't heard a thing.
—
Seraphine was waiting in the hall, seated on a bench like a ghost of herself. Her eyes flicked up when she saw me but didn't brighten.
"How did it go?" she asked.
I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to ask if she, too, had ever heard thoughts not her own. But she looked fragile. And too quiet.
"He wasn't pleased," I said.
She gave a small nod. "You wore blue."
"I wore power."
She didn't smile.
Back at the manor, I finally breathed again. The silence of the estate felt heavier somehow, like the shadows knew things they weren't saying.
I locked myself in my chamber and let the blue gown fall into a heap on the floor.
The mirror caught my reflection. And for the first time, I wasn't sure who I was looking at.
The girl who'd cut the wedding dress.
The girl who could hear a King's thoughts.
The girl the amulet had whispered to in the dark.
"What are you becoming?" I whispered.
But the mirror had no answer.
And the night was just beginning.
This had never happened before.
Not in the life I remembered. Not in the one I lived before everything shattered.
In that life, I wore the gown without protest. I walked to him like a lamb, not a storm.
There was no voice in my mind. No flicker of his thoughts laced with reluctant wonder. No electric thread tying me to him in ways I didn't understand.
So why now?
What changed?
Why could I hear him—him—of all people?
The question sank deep into my bones like frost.
And somewhere, beneath all the fear and unraveling truth, a darker thought stirred.
What if this wasn't a gift?
What if it was the beginning of something far more dangerous?