Melania continued her slow approach to the Queen. A shiver ran through her every time she passed a mannequin whose head turned to follow her, their glassy eyes tracking her every step. But as she drew nearer, her fear began to fade—the Queen was smiling, waiting for her with an almost motherly patience.
She was only a few steps away from the throne when—
"Melania!"
The deep, commanding voice seemed to come from nowhere. She spun around and saw him—a man standing at the far end of the hall, beyond the rows of mannequins.
He was strikingly handsome, with a face carved in sharp lines—a strong jaw, angular cheekbones, and a well-balanced, darker complexion. His black hair was thick and tousled, catching the light in its lustrous waves. His eyes, an intense dark ocean blue, seemed to pierce straight through her. His eyebrows sloped in a serious expression, adding to the quiet authority he radiated.
The rest of him was no less remarkable—broad shoulders, a powerful neck, arms roped with muscle, a firm chest, and strong, sculpted legs. He looked as though he had stepped out of some ancient legend.
"Come with me, Melania!" he called again, his voice echoing through the hall. "You don't belong here!"
He strode toward her, extending a hand. Something inside her stirred—an inexplicable thrill, as though she had known him her entire life. She reached out, her fingers trembling, closing the gap between them.
But before their hands could touch, the Queen's smile vanished.
"Put that man in the lion's den!" she commanded, her voice like ice.
In an instant, the male mannequins surged forward, seizing the man by both arms. He struggled fiercely, muscles straining, but their grip was unyielding.
"Melania!" he shouted, fighting against them.
Before she could move, the female mannequins surrounded her, their cold hands gripping her tightly. One of them yanked her backward, pulling her away from him as the distance between them grew—and his voice faded into the echoing walls of the palace.