Mate 06 - Oracle

Sage

I woke up with a sharp gasp, my body drenched in cold sweat. The remnants of my nightmare clung to me like thick, suffocating smoke, refusing to fade even as I blinked against the dim candlelight. My breaths came in ragged, shallow gulps, my chest tightening with an all-too-familiar ache.

The screams still echoed in my ears.

I had been there again—back in the burning village, surrounded by the accusing glares of desperate people. Flames had roared in the night, swallowing wooden houses whole, turning the air thick and acrid with smoke. The villagers encircled my mother and me, their voices sharp with desperation and fury.

A man knelt before us, his hands covered in blood, his face contorted with grief. "Please! He was bitten—he's dying! You must heal him!"

My mother, trembling, had only clutched me closer, shielding me with fragile arms. "I don't have the ability to heal wounds from a vampire," she whispered, her voice raw and exhausted.

But the villagers did not believe her.

"She's lying!" one shouted. "You abandoned us! You know you can heal! You left us to suffer!"

"She's the cause of all this chaos!" another accused.

Then the crowd surged forward; hands grabbing, pulling—

A gasp tore from my lips as ice-cold water crashed over me. I jolted upright, choking on air, my fingers digging into the soaked fabric of my nightgown. My skin prickled with cold, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.

A shadow loomed over me. "You need to wake up, my lady," a clipped voice announced.

I blinked rapidly, the world around me slowly coming into focus. The maids stood above me, their expressions impassive. One of them held the empty bucket, her face devoid of sympathy.

"There will be a ball for your twenty-first birthday. Your debut," another maid continued as if dousing me in freezing water was the most natural way to wake a noblewoman.

I swallowed my irritation. A ball. The words barely registered through the lingering haze of my nightmares.

"Yes, and you must be properly dressed and presentable," the head maid added, her tone firm, disapproving. "You are not a slave, so do not act like one."

Not a slave. I clenched my jaw, biting back a bitter laugh. Then why did I still feel like one?

For six years, I had been locked behind these castle walls, groomed and trained like a marionette, my every movement dictated. Every word I spoke, every step I took—it had all been carefully controlled. I was molded into the perfect noblewoman, yet I was never truly considered as one.

And now, they expected me to perform.

The maids yanked me from the bed, their hands rough as they dragged me to the bath. The water was lukewarm, scented with oils meant to mask the cold treatment I endured. They scrubbed at my skin with relentless precision, as if trying to rid me of something impure.

"Hold still," one of them snapped when I flinched under the harsh bristles.

I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing my protests.

They dried me off just as quickly, brushing fragrant powders across my skin, applying rouge to my cheeks, and painting my lips a deep, unnatural crimson. My silver hair—an undeniable marker of my mother's blood—was twisted into elaborate curls, pinned with glittering sapphire clips that matched the gown waiting for me.

It was breathtaking—the deep sapphire silk embroidered with golden threads, the fabric soft yet impossibly heavy. The dress fit me perfectly, hugging my waist before flaring out in elegant waves. They adorned me with diamond jewellery, each piece adding more weight, more expectation.

By the time they finished, I no longer recognized the girl in the mirror.

She was beautiful, yes—almost ethereal. But the silver hair, a mark of my mother's lowly origins, set me apart. It reminded everyone, including myself, that I was not truly one of them.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

When the doors swung open, it was Axel.

The Crown Prince Alpha, my stepbrother, regarded me with the same cold indifference he always had. His golden hair was immaculate, his aquamarine eyes unreadable. He stood tall, commanding, exuding power with every breath he took.

"The emperor ordered me to escort you," he said, his voice clipped, emotionless. "Try not to embarrass yourself."

I swallowed the bitter retort that threatened to rise. There was no warmth in his tone, no acknowledgment that I was family. Only duty.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking his offered arm.

The grand ballroom was a vision of opulence, glittering under the light of crystal chandeliers. Ornate golden walls reflected the soft glow of countless candles, casting an ethereal warmth over the gathered nobility. Elegant figures dressed in silk and velvet moved gracefully, their conversations a delicate symphony of murmured words and polite laughter.

And yet, I felt like an intruder in my own celebration.

Standing at the top of the grand staircase, my heart pounded in my chest, not from excitement, but from the suffocating weight of expectation. The heavy gown clung to me like a cage, its beauty a cruel reminder of what I was supposed to be—something delicate, something ornamental. Around my throat, the diamond necklace gleaming under the candlelight was cold and foreign against my skin, as if trying to replace the invisible chains I had worn all my life.

As we descended the grand staircase together, and with every step, the weight in my chest grew heavier.

The murmurs started.

"That's the bastard princess."

"Look at her hair—how unfortunate."

"She may have the symbol of royalty, but she'll never be one of them."

I forced myself to keep my expression serene, to walk down the stairs with measured elegance despite the sting of every cruel remark. I had heard it all before. It should have been easier to ignore.

But tonight, the words cut deeper.

As we moved, the whispers did not cease.

"At least she knows how to walk properly."

"She should be grateful. Without the emperor's mercy, she would have been left in the dirt where she belongs."

"The prince must despise this. Imagine being forced to escort the stain of the royal bloodline."

I kept my head high, my chin lifted in defiance of their words, but inside, something twisted painfully in my chest.

The chandeliers overhead gleamed with the brilliance of a thousand crystals, casting golden reflections onto the polished marble floor. The scent of roses and fine wine drifted through the air, mingling with the low murmur of anticipation as nobles in lavish attires gathered along the edges of the grand ballroom.

"The first dance will start now, Princess Sage with the Crown Prince Alpha Axel Battlerce," someone announced.

A hush fell over the hall. All eyes turned toward the center where we stood, my gloved fingers trembling ever so slightly at my sides.

I had read about this moment in books—the debut of a noble lady should begin with a dance alongside her escort, a family member meant to introduce her to high society. A symbol of acceptance.

But tonight, the meaning felt hollow.

Axel's posture was impeccable, his expression unreadable, yet beneath the mask of royal decorum, his disdain was a palpable force.

He did not want to be here.

Neither did I.

He extended his hand. I placed mine atop his with carefully trained grace, though I could feel the chill of his fingers even through my gloves. Without a word, he led me onto the dance floor, positioning one hand at my waist while I rested my other lightly on his shoulder.

The musicians struck the first notes.

A perfect waltz. That was what the court expected.

Axel guided me through the steps effortlessly, our movements synchronized. The fabric of my gown brushed against the polished floor, my silver skirts swirling as he spun me in time with the melody. From the outside, we must have appeared flawless. Regal. Harmonious.

But the distance between us was as stark as a blade's edge.

"You don't have to pretend to enjoy this," I murmured, my lips barely moving. I forced a small, practiced smile for the sake of those watching.

Axel did not look at me. His grip remained steady, his expression devoid of warmth.

"I'm not pretending."

The coldness in his voice was sharper than any dagger.

I should have expected it. Should have been used to it by now.

And yet, something about tonight made it hurt more than usual.

Around us, whispered admiration floated through the air.

"His Highness is truly magnificent, isn't he?"

"Of course. A prince born to rule—elegant, strong, untouchable."

And then, the inevitable sneer:

"But look at her . . . She may be beautiful, but beauty alone is meaningless. A flower can bloom in filth, but it will always carry the scent of the dirt it came from."

I swallowed hard, but I did not falter in my steps. I had trained too long, had been molded into this role too precisely, to allow my pain to show.

Axel, as always, paid the whispers no mind.

His grip remained firm but impersonal, his every movement exuding effortless nobility.

I dared to look up at him. "You truly despise me, don't you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the music.

Axel's jaw tightened. "I don't think about you enough to despise you."

A simple dismissal. But those words cut deeper than hatred ever could.

Because hatred meant emotion. Indifference meant I was nothing.

The final notes played, and the dance ended with a practiced bow.

Polite applause followed a soft ripple of sound that barely registered in my ears.

Axel stepped away immediately, turning on his shoes without a backward glance.

And just like that, I was alone.

The nobles flocked to him, their voices bubbling with admiration.

"Your Highness, such a splendid performance!"

"Truly the pride of our empire!"

Not a single word was spoken to me.

It was as if I didn't exist.

The crushing weight of it all threatened to suffocate me, but I lifted my chin and forced myself to stand tall. To be silent. To endure.

Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, an elderly noble approached.

Lord Henswick.

He owned a mine and was known for his many illicit love affairs which I had learned about from the tutor.

He was well past his prime, his belly protruding slightly over his embroidered coat. His eyes, however, gleamed with something that sent a shiver down my spine.

"My, my, what a beauty you've become," he mused, reaching for my hand. His fingers lingered too long against my wrist. "Shall we dance, my dear? It would be an honor."

My stomach twisted.

I forced a polite smile. "I appreciate the offer, Lord Henswick, but I—"

"Nonsense!" he interrupted, his grip tightening. "A young lady should not refuse her elders."

A shudder ran down my spine as his fingers trailed up my arm, inching toward my waist.

I cast a desperate glance toward Axel.

He met my eyes for only a fleeting second. Then, without hesitation, he turned away.

No help would come.

Lord Henswick's hand drifted lower, his touch searing like poison. But before he could press further, a firm grip seized my other hand.

"Forgive me, my lord," a deep voice murmured smoothly, "but I believe the lady has already promised this dance to me."

A breath caught in my throat as I turned toward the stranger.

His dark, wavy hair cascaded to his shoulders in a layered wolf cut, framing his chiseled features with effortless allure. His eyes—deep crimson and smoldering with an unrelenting intensity—sent a shiver through me, as if they could see straight into my soul.

Lord Henswick paled at the sight of him. His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

The stranger tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "A problem, my lord?"

Henswick hesitated—then quickly shook his head, muttering a clumsy excuse before hurrying away.

I exhaled slowly, my pulse still unsteady.

The stranger turned to me, his hand warm against mine. "Shall we dance, my lady?"

Something in his gaze felt . . . familiar. Elusive.

I hesitated only a moment before nodding.

And then, just like that, the music resumed.

For the first time that evening, I felt something other than isolation.

His grip was firm, his steps sure, leading me into the waltz with effortless confidence. The whispers of the court faded into nothing.

Then, as we moved, he smiled. A small, genuine smile.

"Happy birthday, Princess Sage. You're beautiful as always."

My breath hitched.

It was the first time tonight that someone had spoken those words with sincerity.

I swallowed. "Thank you."

A pause. Then I dared to ask, "Have we met before?"

Before he could answer, the great doors of the ballroom creaked open.

"The Great Empress Zaire Nieva and Emperor Alpha Alejandro Grey Battlerce," the guards announced.

The emperor and empress entered in a procession of opulence, flanked by the esteemed Elders of Battlerce. Their entrance was grand, their presence commanding. The emperor's expression was unreadable yet suffocating in its intensity. The empress walked beside him, her beauty sharp as a blade, her gown flowing behind her like a river of gold. She did not even spare me a glance.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the emperor's deep voice echoed across the ballroom, "tonight, we celebrate the twenty-first birthday of my daughter, Princess Sage. It is time for her debut into society. As per tradition, she will receive her oracle before you all."

A heavy weight settled in my chest. The oracle. The moment where the gods themselves would reveal my fate.

A chill swept through the air as a group of hooded figures entered. The elders.

The Oracle Ceremony was about to begin.

The stranger's grip on my hand tightened for just a second. He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper near my ear.

"Be careful, and stay courageous," he murmured. "We will meet again. And when we do, I will introduce myself properly."

My eyes widened. "W-Wait—"

But in the next instant, he was gone.

Like a shadow vanishing in candlelight.

And I was left standing there, my heart pounding, the warmth of his touch lingering like an unspoken promise.

The nobles parted as the emperor stepped towards me, his expression unreadable. Though he had rarely been a presence in my life, I knew what this meant.

A customary dance before I receive my oracle.

Steeling myself, I stepped toward him, placing my hand in his. Unlike Axel's cold and distant touch, the emperor's grip was firm, a silent command rather than a gesture of affection. The music began again, and we moved together in a formal yet restrained waltz.

"Do not falter," the emperor said quietly. "All eyes are on you."

"I know," I whispered, keeping my posture perfect despite the weight pressing on my chest.

"You are my daughter," he continued, voice still low, but there was something in his tone—something almost resembling pride. "No matter what the court whispers, you are still of royal blood. Remember that."

It was the closest thing to reassurance I had ever received from him. Maybe he was being nice after abandoning me for my whole life.

As the song came to an end, he stepped back, giving a single nod before turning toward the Elders.

"It is time," one of them declared.

The elders stood in a semi-circle at the center of the ballroom, their heavy robes brushing against the polished marble floor. The lead elder—Hedwig Silverclaw, an aged man with silver-streaked hair and deep-set eyes, held a staff adorned with ancient markings.

I moved forward, my hands trembling slightly as I knelt before them. The entire ballroom watched in utter silence.

This was the moment.

The moment where the Moon Goddess would decide my fate.

The lead elder raised his staff, and the air around us changed—thickened with something powerful, something divine. A soft glow surrounded the staff before it pulsed, illuminating the entire room.

Gasps echoed through the hall.

"A Moon Goddess scroll . . . it hasn't appeared since the emperor's sister . . . ."

"This means her mate is destined . . . . The bond is absolute."

My breath caught in my throat. My mate.

Whoever was named in that scroll would be bound to me, fated by the Moon Goddess herself. This was no ordinary match—this was absolute. A life partner.

I prayed—desperately—that whoever it was would accept me. That he would not see me as a half-blood. That he would want me.

The elder slowly unrolled the scroll, the parchment glowing faintly as the divine words revealed themselves.

Then, he spoke.

"The mate of Princess Sage Battlerce . . . is a crown prince."

A stunned silence fell over the ballroom.

A crown prince?

Shock rippled through the gathered nobles.

"A half-blood with such a high-ranking mate? Impossible!"

"The goddess made a mistake!"

My heart pounded. A crown prince? But which kingdom?

Before I could even process the revelation, someone scoffed loudly.

"This must be false! There is no way—"

The moment the words left the noble's lips, guards seized him, dragging him forward.

"You dare question the Moon Goddess' decree?" one of the elders snapped."You insult the divine will?"

The man paled. "N-No, I—I didn't mean—!"

"To the dungeons," the emperor ordered coldly. "Let this be a warning to all who doubt the goddess' word."

The ballroom remained deathly silent as the noble was forcibly removed.

Then, the elder continued.

"The mate of Princess Sage Battlerce . . . is Crown Prince Damien Angentha."

Gasps filled the air.

Damien Angentha.

The crown prince of the Angentha Kingdom.

I barely registered the sound of a chair scraping against the marble floor as the Empress of Battlerce shot to her feet, her face carefully blank but her fingers tightening over the armrest of her throne.

"The Crown Prince of Angentha?" Her voice was cold, but the underlying sharpness was unmistakable.

The lead Elder turned his gaze toward her.

"Yes. According to the scroll from the Moon Goddess herself, Your Majesty. The oracle has spoken."

The emperor, however, did not share his wife's displeasure. A slow, pleased smile stretched across his lips.

"How fortunate," he murmured, standing from his throne with an air of satisfaction.

"A bond between our two kingdoms . . . . This is a gift from the goddess herself."

I felt my stomach twist.

I knew what this meant.

My father wasn't happy because I had received a fated mate. He was pleased because this union could serve a political purpose.

Because I could be used as a tool.

My fingers clenched against the fabric of my gown, my breath shallow.

Was that all I was worth? A pawn in the game of power?

The tension shifted.

The nobles who had been on the verge of outcry hesitated. The emperor approved of this match. And with the goddess' will behind it, no one could oppose it openly.

But I could still feel the hostility in the air.

The empress fell silent. Axel stood rigid, unreadable. And the court—while subdued—was far from pleased.

I swallowed hard, hands curling into fists against my gown.

My mate was Damien Angentha.

Wherever he was . . . whoever he was . . .

Would he accept me? Or would he, like everyone else, see me as nothing more than a stain on the royal bloodline?