**Chapter Three: Dinner with the Devil**
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection like I didn't recognize the girl in the glass.
The navy-blue gown clung to my frame, elegant and intimidating, with silver embroidery snaking along the sleeves like vines. My hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the base of my neck, and my lips were painted a deep crimson that didn't feel like mine. I looked... powerful. Regal.
But inside?
I was trembling.
Elira stood a few feet away, watching me silently. She had been my maid for only two days, but I already knew she was different—quieter, sharper. She didn't fuss like the other palace staff. She observed.
"Do you think he'll be angry tonight?" I asked, adjusting the sleeves nervously.
Elira blinked. "Isn't he always?"
I gave a hollow laugh. That was probably true.
Dinner with him.
In his chambers.
Alone.
A thousand thoughts spiraled in my head as I made my way through the palace, guided by two guards. They didn't speak, didn't glance my way. They were simply escorts. Human shadows.
We stopped before a tall black door flanked by silver sconces. One guard knocked once.
A pause.
Then, "Enter."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
The door opened, and I stepped inside.
His chambers were nothing like mine. While my room was warm with pastel tones and delicate art, his was cold and commanding. Dark woods, stone walls, sharp furniture, black-and-gold curtains. A fireplace burned low in the corner, throwing shadows across the floor.
And there he was—Lorenzo.
He stood by a bar cart, pouring himself a drink. Dressed in black slacks and a navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, he looked more like a king than a prince. Powerful. Unapproachable.
Deadly.
"You came," he said without turning.
"You summoned me."
He chuckled—low and mocking. "So obedient already?"
I said nothing.
He turned and gestured to the small round table set for two near the fireplace. "Sit."
I moved carefully, sitting across from him. He poured wine into my glass without asking and took the seat opposite mine.
The meal was already set. Roasted duck, glazed vegetables, and some sort of expensive-looking soup. My stomach clenched.
"Eat," he said, taking a bite of his own.
I obeyed, though the food tasted like ash in my mouth.
He watched me for a long moment.
"You're calmer than I expected."
"I'm scared," I said honestly. "But I'm trying not to show it."
Lorenzo leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. "I don't want a wife who's scared of me."
"Then maybe you shouldn't threaten her."
Our eyes locked.
The air between us sparked with tension.
"You're braver than your sister," he said suddenly.
I stiffened. "You knew her?"
He nodded. "Briefly. She was beautiful. Charming. And terribly fake."
A pang of pain shot through me. I'd spent my whole life in Amara's shadow, but hearing him speak about her like that—so coldly—was still jarring.
"She ran," I whispered. "And I had no choice but to take her place."
"You always have a choice, Zara. You just chose the one that didn't get your family ruined."
I flinched. He was right. My parents had begged me with tears in their eyes. Our family's debts, their reputation, everything depended on the marriage.
I didn't want to be here.
But I hadn't been able to say no.
"Tell me something," he said, leaning forward. "What are you really afraid of? Me?"
"Yes," I whispered. "And also... losing myself in all of this."
He stared at me, his gray eyes unreadable.
"You're already mine," he said simply. "But I have no interest in turning you into a puppet. I want loyalty, not blind obedience."
I blinked. "That sounds like a contradiction."
Lorenzo smirked. "It is."
We ate in silence for a while. Despite my nerves, the food slowly began to warm me from the inside. I was halfway through my plate when he spoke again.
"You're going to learn the rules of the court. You'll sit beside me at events. Attend galas. Smile when needed. Lie when needed."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you'll sleep in that room alone forever. And you'll watch every door close in your face."
Harsh.
But honest.
I pushed my plate away. "So this is my life now. A fake crown and a cold husband."
"Fake?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You're married to the next king of this empire. That crown is real. The question is whether you'll rise to it—or be crushed beneath it."
He stood then, crossing the space between us slowly.
My breath hitched.
He stopped just inches away, looking down at me.
"I don't want your love, Zara. I don't believe in it. But I do want your fire. I want to see what you do when you're trapped, cornered, forced to play the game. Will you beg?"
"No."
"Will you run?"
"No."
"Then maybe," he murmured, brushing a finger under my chin, "you'll survive."
My skin prickled where he touched me. He wasn't gentle. But he wasn't cruel either.
He was testing me.
He always was.
"You may go," he said suddenly, stepping back.
I rose, my legs shaky. "That's it?"
"For tonight."
I turned, moving toward the door. But just as I reached it, his voice called out again.
"One more thing, Zara."
I looked back.
"You'll be wearing the royal crest tomorrow. Officially. The people will know you're their future queen."
My eyes widened. "So soon?"
"There's no point hiding anymore."
And then, the line that made my heart stop.
"You belong to me now. Let the world see it."
I didn't reply.
I left.
But even after the door closed behind me and I returned to the safety of my room, his voice stayed in my ears.
*You belong to me now.*
Maybe it was true.
Maybe I was his.
But I wasn't broken.
Not yet.
And if he thought I would bow without a fight...
He had no idea who I was becoming.