'Hey Celeste, I unfortunately couldn't find the half.' I look surprised at Elenor in the doorway. The lady stands with a bag in one hand and the forged list in her other. There is something to be said for the fact that she managed to find a bag full of stuff from that list.

'Give it to Alisha. I have to leave,' I tell her before walking past her out of the house. Night has fallen, the sun has gone to bed and the moon is waking up. I now know the road as if it were my own village. From tomorrow, I will be queen of this village.

That title has haunted me since birth. The life of a queen is not about gold. It is a heavy title, an important one. Beneath all that gold shines the reality of the title but not of power. As a queen, you have as much power as an ordinary chambermaid. It is and remains the king who makes the rules.

Once I dreamed of that crown, that splendour. By now I know better. The title and life is not for me. If the day ever comes when my father finds death by my hand I do not inherit the crown. I am a woman. I could demand it given my position and Elien's condition but I don't want it. A queen with the blood of so many on her hands is not worthy of the crown and the people.

With those thoughts, I walk into the dead quiet temple. The main hall is now fully decorated. White and green decorations hang all over the room. From garlands to balloons, candles to torches. I have to hand it to the elves that they handle the decorations better than the royal family. At my wedding to Christiaan, all the decorations were blue or black, if there were any. I have banished that day in my mind to the extent that I cannot recall the venue clearly in my memories. I want to walk to my room until a voice stops me.

'Lady Celeste.' I look up and see one of the last people I expected to see standing there. Minerva, Walmoet's second wife, is coming my way. The woman in her late thirties still looks like she is in her early twenties. Her brown hair shines in the moonlight. The green dress sways along her body as her bare feet glide across the floor. I have not been able to exchange many words with the woman before so her addressing me is crazy enough.

'Lady Minerva,' I reply. Minerva comes to stand in front of me, looks at my body.

'I hope you feel ready for marriage.' The only thing I do know about the woman is that neat and professional. Real emotion or an opinion you're not going to get from her.

'Certainly, thank you,' I reply with a small smile. She nods and takes a step closer.

'You must understand that the women did not expect your proposal. Neither did the changes in ceremony. Cultural exchange is of course always desirable and that is why we would like to invite you to tea in your white bread days. We would love to hear from you if you can find the time.' Her words are so discreetly chosen that I struggle to decipher her real reasons.

'Thank you. I will be heard from,' I reply.

'Good night,' is the last thing the woman says before she walks away. In confusion, I am left looking at the lady. I had expected one of the women to speak to me again but so kindly did not stand by those expectations.

I shake off the situation and walk to my room. I open the white door and walk into the room. I can be brief about the decoration, everything is white. The wall, the floor, the bed. Here and there is some green decoration but that's all. It is a room used only by the bride-to-be. There is no need for ornate and elaborate decoration. There is a chair, a wardrobe and a bed. Nothing more is needed.

I light the candles, begin to undress and continue getting ready for the night. My last night in this room, my last night without a bond with Walmoet. That I have to marry the man says enough about my marriage partners. A marriage is political, not out of love. I will never marry a man for love, never.

As soon as I want to blow out the last candle for the night, a knock sounds on the door. This night is a drag of whining and people wanting something from me. Sighing, I let the last green candle burn as I make my way to the door. Annoyed, I open the door and am surprised for the second time by the person standing in front of me. The two familiar red eyes look at me, glinting in the dark.

'May I come in?" he asks softly. Although I was about to attempt sleep, I also knew that it was going to take hours. The nights when I fell asleep without a problem are far away. Without saying anything, I step aside and let Novak walk in. Sometimes I seem to forget what he looked like a year ago. Not a millimetre of the white hair is visible anymore and the blue eyes have been taken over by red. How white his skin used to be so healthy-looking it is now. I wonder if Myles would recognise him. Despite his outward changes, Novak has always remained the journeyman and headstrong boy that he was.

Slowly, I close the door and turn in his direction. It is forbidden for him to be in this room, completely unsupervised. Yet I don't manage to send him away or seem to have any intention of leaving. Slowly, he lowers the long black coat from his shoulders. He places the black fabric on the only chair in the room. The pockets of the dark red trousers are stuffed to the brim with all sorts of stuff. The black jumper conceals the muscles he has gained over the months.

'We need to talk,' he says as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. His hands are on the white sheets while his gaze is fixed on me.

'Tell,' is the only answer I give him before crossing my arms. The air in the room is heavy. It seems as if the white space has been taken over by black smoke.

'You're avoiding me and you know it, I know it too. I think because you are trying to avoid reality. You knew when you came up with it that this plan is dangerous and absurd. I must confess that I didn't expect that lunatic to go into it but still we are here. We have talked enough about Christiaan to conclude that that man still haunts you literally and figuratively. You put yourself in almost exactly the same situation, marrying yourself off a man who only seeks power and treats women like dirt. You try to convince yourself that you can handle it and that it is your own choice but you actually find it terrifying,' I take a step closer to Novak's direction, trying to realise what he is saying.

'Yes I am avoiding you but not because I am trying to avoid reality. You it hid reality from me for months. Walmoet and Christiaan are two completely different situations. I'm not trying to convince myself it's my choice, it's my choice,' I contradict him. Novak sighs deeply and slowly gets up from the bed. The boy is almost head taller than me, completely without heels. Despite this, I feel anything but intimidated.

'Why are you lying to me,' is all he has to say to my rebuttal. I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms.

'I'm not lying,' I reply simply yet irritated. This time it is Novak's turn to roll his eyes.

'Celeste you've been lying to me for weeks. First about you not smoking, about your drinking, the letters from Alisha, having your plan and now this. I really haven't given you any reason not to trust me. Why are you lying to me?' he asks again. If I knew I would give him the answer but I have no idea. The lies fly out of my mouth like the stories parents tell their children at bedtime. Without effort, without thought. I don't need this discussion, his supposedly wise words.

'I never lied about me smoking or my drinking. You knew I got letters from Alisha and didn't answer them. My plan I just didn't tell you but I didn't lie.' Before I realise what is happening Novak pushes me against the wall, pins his hands next to my head and clutches my eyes in his. Surprised, I look at the two irritated red eyes. Novak and I have had disagreements before but the aggression now igniting in him is something I have not often seen before.

'Is this what you want? Apparently you want people to throw you out and be unkind to you,' he whispers. I put my hands on his chest. His eyes slide to the enchanted Onyx around my neck, the dark prison of death and the place where all magic is kept.

'Let go of me,' I say angrily as I push him away from me and walk past him towards the bed. However, I don't have the chance to reach the bed. My wrist is grabbed and once again my back lands against the wall. My head bangs against the white wall. Immediately, I grab my pounding head and look at Novak in surprise.

'Are you out of your mind or something?' The words leave my mouth in total fury. I want to push Novak away again but am too surprised by his next action. He grabs the bottom of the nightgown with his right hand, lifts it and pulls the dagger out of its holder. He throws the knife a long way into the room. The knife slides several metres across the wooden floor until it comes to a stop.

'What are you doing?' I ask in surprise. His hands slide over my shoulders to my neck. Soon I realise he is opening the clasp of the chain. The silver chain slides through my skin into Novak's hand. As soon as the chain leaves my skin, my aggression subsides and fatigue strikes my body. Novak walks to the small wardrobe with the chain in his hand and places it on the white wood. I push myself away from the wall, following Novak's movements.

'What are you doing?' I ask softly again. The boy turns in my direction again, takes a few steps and holds out his hand to me. Doubtful, I put my hand in his and let myself drift to where he wants me.

'Showing you that your reality is not always right'.