the timid bride

Chapter 21: The Curse in the Mirror

The royal chambers were still and silent, save for the slow tick of the ancient grandfather clock tucked near the corner. The fire had gone cold, but Princess Arin's heart was colder. She sat on the edge of the chaise lounge, wrapped in a thick robe, her hair still damp from the bath she had taken hours ago. She hadn't slept, hadn't eaten. Her thoughts were poisoned with echoes of the Prince's words, his touch, his control.

She hated how much her body remembered his presence, even when her heart wanted to scream.

The door creaked open.

She stiffened.

But it was not Prince Rael.

It was Ema, the old maid who had been with her since the wedding. The woman moved quietly, like a ghost of the palace itself. In her frail hands, she carried a covered tray and a strange, flat object wrapped in black cloth.

"I brought soup," Ema said, her voice gentle. "And something the Queen wished you to have."

"The Queen?" Arin asked, confused. "Why would she send me anything?"

Ema didn't answer. She placed the tray on the table and then set down the wrapped object beside it. "Eat, child. You'll need your strength."

Then she left without another word.

Arin's curiosity outweighed her suspicion. She pulled the cloth away from the object. It was a mirror—old, oval, and framed in dark wood etched with strange symbols.

She tilted it toward her face.

At first, she saw only her reflection—tired eyes, flushed cheeks, and damp curls clinging to her temple.

But then something shimmered.

The glass rippled like water, and the reflection blurred. Another face appeared—one that looked like hers, but older, stronger, and strangely regal. The reflection spoke.

"Do not trust the throne. The crown binds more than the body—it chains the soul."

Arin stumbled back, dropping the mirror. It didn't shatter. Instead, it pulsed softly with a silver light before going dark again.

Her breathing quickened. "What… what was that?"

The door opened again. This time, it was Rael.

"Who were you speaking to?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the mirror on the floor.

"No one," she said quickly. "It—it was nothing."

He walked over, picked up the mirror, and stared at it. For a second, something flickered in his gaze. Recognition? Fear?

"You touched this?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.

"Yes. Why?"

Rael turned away, placing the mirror facedown on the mantle. "That mirror is cursed. It belonged to the last bride who entered this castle before you."

Arin's blood ran cold. "What happened to her?"

He didn't look back. "She never left."

The words struck Arin like a slap. "Are you saying she died?"

"She disobeyed," he replied. "And the mirror showed her what it shows all disobedient brides—what they could become, if only they dared."

His tone sent chills through her spine.

"You're hiding something," Arin said, stepping closer. "You know more than you're saying."

Rael turned then, his eyes blazing. "And you know less than you think. That's the danger."

She didn't flinch this time. "Maybe I'm tired of being kept in the dark."

He grabbed her wrist, firm but not painful. "Careful, Arin. You're not ready for truth."

"Maybe I am," she whispered.

Their faces were inches apart. There was heat between them again—dangerous, wild heat. But it wasn't desire that burned in Arin's chest. It was rebellion.

He let go of her wrist and took a step back. "Then come with me."

"To where?"

"To the place the truth is buried."

—

They moved through the silent palace halls like shadows, avoiding guards and closed doors. Rael didn't explain, and Arin didn't ask again. Her heart pounded in her chest as they descended into the forbidden wing of the castle.

Eventually, they reached a heavy wooden door with a golden snake carved into it. Rael placed his palm on the carving, and it hissed—yes, actually hissed—before the door creaked open.

Beyond it was a cold stone stairway that spiraled downward.

"This is where she went," Rael said. "The bride before you. Her name was Elara."

Arin followed him without hesitation now. Whatever the truth was, she needed to see it for herself.

At the bottom of the stairs was a chamber lit by cold blue flames. Ancient tapestries hung along the walls, showing the same face over and over—a woman who looked eerily like Arin. And at the center of the room stood a stone altar with a book upon it.

Rael walked up to the book and opened it. "This is the Chronicle of the Brides."

"Chronicle?" Arin repeated.

He nodded. "Every generation, a bride is chosen for the prince. Not out of love—but out of a curse."

Arin stared at him, her world unraveling. "What curse?"

Rael didn't answer directly. Instead, he began to read aloud:

> "She who bears the blood of the maiden and the soul of the storm shall awaken the throne's true form…"

Rael looked at her. "You, Arin, are that maiden."

"No," she whispered. "No, I was just chosen—by accident, I thought—"

"You weren't," he said. "You were born for this."

Her knees buckled, and she stumbled back against the wall.

Rael walked closer, but slower this time, almost as if he feared touching her. "That's why I kept my distance at first. That's why I tried to control you. If the curse activates too soon… it'll destroy everything."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "And what about you? Are you cursed too?"

He gave a sad smile. "I am the curse's keeper. Bound to the throne. Bound to you."

Silence filled the chamber. It was too much. Too heavy.

And then Arin asked the question that had haunted her since the wedding:

"Do you even love me, Rael?"

He didn't speak. Not at first.

Then he reached out and touched her face, gently this time.

"I didn't want to," he said. "I tried not to. But I do."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Then let me go. Let me choose my fate."

He looked torn, struggling against something unseen.

"I can't," he whispered. "Because if you go… the kingdom falls."

—

When they returned to her chambers, the mirror on the mantle had turned black again.

This time, Arin didn't look away. She stared at her reflection—and saw not herself, but the face of Elara, the bride who never left.

Elara's voice whispered through the glass: "He says he loves you. So did mine."

Arin closed her eyes.

Tomorrow, she would find out the whole truth.

Even if it destroyed them both.