The doors of the arena boomed open, spilling sunlight and noise into my skull.
Trumpets blared. The rustle of silks, the murmurs of nobles, the metallic gleam of crowns and tiaras...all of it pressed in at once.
Rows upon rows of royals filled the stands, their jeweled heads glinting like stars under the midday sun.
Hehe, royalty is sure one big circus. I smirked
Noblemen and ladies leaned forward, whispering behind fans and gloved hands. And then, across the space, my gaze snagged on him.
Kaelric.
He stood off to the side, draped in formal armor polished to a mirror shine.
His face was calm, unreadable, though his eyes, sharp and steady, were fixed right on me.
My breath hitched.
I leaned toward Maris, whispering harshly. "Why is he standing there? Shouldn't he be at the altar?"
Marin blinked at me, puzzled. "Nay, my lady. The Lord Kaelric is but the younger son.
"Thy betrothed standeth yonder."she said nodding forward.
I followed her gaze steadily, and then...I saw him.
There he stood. Tall. Imposing. Broad shoulders, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes so dark they seemed to judge me before I even moved.
His cloak of deep crimson trailed behind him like a warning banner. The silence around him quiet...but alarming.
And yet…he barely looked at me. Not a flicker, not a word. Just that cold, measured stare, like a predator marking its territory.
Well, hello, sir. I see why the maids call you winter steel. I deadpanned inwardly.
I stared at the long aisle in front of me, my brain scrambling. Okay, breathe. You're a princess…sort of…ish. You can do this.
But my internal monologue was drowned by the ridiculous weight of my gown, the corset constricting my ribs, and the sheer oh-no-this-is-happening panic.
"Ruthless…arrogant…cold…" I muttered under my breath, counting all the ways this could go terribly wrong.
And then I caught it...a flicker. A flicker of something in his gaze, just for a fraction of a second.
Curiosity? Recognition?
Maybe he was just annoyed by the way my hair stuck out like a halo in this blasted veil.
Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only that imposing, unreadable mask of perfection behind.
Great. I thought, clutching my skirts. I'm about to marry a man who could probably crush me with a single eyebrow raise.
The aisle stretched ahead like a battlefield, and judging by the glares stabbing into me from every direction, I was already losing.
Rows of princesses, tiaras glittering like sharpened blades, turned their gazes on me. If looks could kill, I'd be nothing but ashes on the mosaic floor.
I thought princesses were supposed to love prince charmings and all that nonsense.
Well here, it seemed they all have a thing for Lord Ruthless.
I hissed under my breath, clutching my skirts to keep from tripping. "Lovely. Royal fashion show with a side of death threats."
When I finally reached the altar, he was waiting.
The prince. My… betrothed.
His face was carved into flawless composure...no nerves, no warmth. Just control.
Then he spoke, his voice was low, precise, meant for me alone.
"I had expected far more elegance from thee."
I arched a brow. Of all the things to comment on.
"And I expected more protection from you," I murmured back sweetly. "Those glares? Burning holes straight through my skin."
One corner of his mouth lifted... something that would never pass for a smile.
"They all wish to be thee."
I snorted. "I'd gladly give up the position."
That earned me a glance. Slow. Assessing. Like I was an unexpected variable he hadn't accounted for.
And that was when a terrible, reckless idea sparked in my head.
My heart thudded as I lifted my chin. "Tell me," I said quietly, "you don't want this either. Do you?"
His jaw tightened...just barely.
"…Nay."
I grinned. "Perfect. Then let's call this whole circus off."
His gaze hardened, any trace of amusement vanishing like it had never existed.
"It would be a shame," he said coolly, "to halt a wedding already in motion."
"Shame?" I scoffed. "Please. It's no one's business but ours."
He straightened fully then, every inch of him radiating command. "We cannot halt it."
"Is the Almighty ruthless prince being a chicken?" I mocked, enjoying the annoyance ticking in his jaw.
"This wedding will not be halted." He said again, voice dangerously low.
I smirked, gathering my skirts. "Try and stop me "
I turned, smiling sweetly at the royal audience. Murmurs rippled across the arena as I took one step.
Then another.
Freedom felt close enough to taste...but nothing ever goes according to how I want it.
Taking the third step, I felt a hand closed around my arm.
I turned sharply, about to yank my arm away.
But clearly he had other plans. His other arm wrapped firmly around my waist, pulling me flush against him with unyielding strength.
His grip wasn't frantic. It wasn't angry. It was certain.
His hand rose to my cheek, fingers startlingly gentle.
His thumb rested just beneath my jaw, steady and deliberate, forcing my face up.
I could feel the warmth of his breath, close enough to be mistaken for intimacy...close enough to sell the lie to everyone watching.
A collective gasp rippled through the arena and I could literally smell the jealousy in the air.
One that shouldn't even exist!
We looked intimate. Tender. Almost loving.
But up close, his eyes were anything but cold. Sharp. Uncompromising.
My lungs were burning, not from lack of air, but from the humiliation of being pinned like some love-struck maiden in front of half the royal courts.
"Do not struggle," he murmured, breath barely grazing my ear. "You will only make this worse...for yourself."
Curse these wedding gowns. I was already plotting the most efficient way to knee him in front of the entire royal court.
The royal official arrived, blinked at our situation and cleared his throat nervously.
"Will thou not take thy wedding vows?"
Before I could unleash every protest in my lungs, he answered smoothly.
"We will." His arm tightening, just enough to remind me I wasn't going anywhere.
"This position," he added calmly, "feels much more… committed."
Committed? Oh, he just messed with the wrong princess!
The vows began, each word heavy with tradition and chains I hadn't agreed to.
When it was my turn, I shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood and spat, "I do."
"By the powers bestowed upon me," the official declared, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
"That won't be necessary." he said, releasing me so fast like some old property he wanted nothing to do with.
Gasps echoed through the court and my face turned crimson...not from flattery, but from pure, unfiltered rage.
I bit my lips, fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms.
He was so going to regret this!