Chapter 3: a Rejected Bride
The estate of Lord Alden was grander than Tamara remembered from her distant, childhood dreams. It was a palace of white stone, manicured gardens, and servants rushing about in fine linen. But to Tamara, the air inside felt thinner, colder, and far more suffocating than the dense forest.
She stood in the grand parlor, her posture straight, her leather mask firmly in place. Across from her sat her family. Lord Alden looked older, his hair graying at the temples, his eyes calculating. Her mother sat rigidly, looking anywhere but at Tamara. And next to them stood Tania.
Tania was breathtaking. Her skin was like porcelain, her hair spun gold, and her dress made of the finest violet silk. She looked at Tamara with a mixture of pity and intense disgust, holding a perfumed handkerchief to her nose as if the scent of the forest still clung to her twin.
“You’ve grown tall,” Alden said, his voice entirely devoid of paternal warmth. “No matter. We do not have time for pleasantries. You are here because you have a duty to this family.”
“A duty?” Tamara echoed, her voice flat. “You paid seventy sol a month to ensure I had no family.”
Alden slammed his fist on the table. “Silence! You will respect my roof! I have arranged a marriage for you. The Governor’s eldest son, Julien, is looking for a wife. This alliance will secure my shipping rights through the southern canals for the next twenty years.”
“And why aren’t you sending Tania?” Tamara asked, tilting her head.
Tania scoffed, crossing her arms. “As if I would marry a man without seeing him first. Besides, Julien is known to be incredibly vain. Father offered a massive dowry along with you because we needed to clear you off our ledgers.”
Before Tamara could reply, the heavy oak doors opened, and the Governor’s son stepped into the room. Julien was a young man dressed in ostentatious gold embroidery, his chest puffed out like a proud peacock. He smiled smoothly at Alden, but his eyes immediately locked onto Tamara’s masked form.
“Lord Alden,” Julien purred, stepping closer. “I was told your second daughter was… unconventional. But I did not expect a masquerade.”
“She is modest, Julien,” Alden lied smoothly, offering a strained laugh. “A trait developed from her quiet upbringing.”
“Well, modesty is fine, but a man must see what he is purchasing,” Julien said, reaching out with a careless, arrogant hand. Before Tamara could step back, his fingers caught the edge of her leather mask and ripped it away.
The room fell into a deathly silence. Julien stared at her right cheek. The dark, ink-black crescent moon seemed to pulse under the bright chandeliers of the parlor. His smooth smile vanished, replaced instantly by an expression of raw horror and visceral disgust. He staggered back a step, dropping the mask onto the floor.
“By the gods!” Julien shouted, wiping his hand on his tunic as if he had touched a corpse.
“She’s deformed! She’s a monster! Lord Alden, you attempted to bind my house to a cursed creature? This birthmark is the sign of the shadow beasts! My family’s fortunes would bleed dry within a month!”
“Julien, wait—” Alden pleaded, stepping forward.
“No!” Julien hissed, backing toward the door. “The arrangement is off. I would rather marry a beggar girl than put this ugly, cursed thing at the head of my table. I reject her!”
He turned and slammed the door behind him, his furious footsteps fading down the hall. Tamara stood perfectly still. She didn’t cry. She didn’t cover her face. She looked at her father, whose expression had quickly shifted from panic to a terrifying, cold calculation.
He wasn’t mourning his daughter’s public humiliation; he was already figuring out how to turn the disaster into profit. Because Julien had officially backed out of the contract first, the penalty clause required the Governor’s house to forfeit a large sum of gold to Alden.
Tamara looked down at her mask on the floor. She realized with absolute clarity: to these people, she would never be a human being.
Even now, she was still just a transaction.