Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Guards push open the doors to the main hall with a flourish, revealing a long hall with several rows of benches. The room falls silent as every guest turns to look at me. White rose petals flatten beneath my feet as I walk down the aisle, beckoning me to my fate.
My wedding dress trails behind me like a leaden chain.
The skirt is heavy, layered with an excessive amount of fabric.
I pull my overextravagant right sleeve down, an anxious habit developed to ensure the secret of my silver marking.
The stems of my bouquet snap under my vice-like grip as dread swallows me whole.
What is taking Wrath so long? Surely, they will arrive before the ceremony concludes.
Olav holds out a hand. I hate it when people touch my hands, let alone look at the scars that mar them.
I begrudgingly take it in mine and allow him to guide me up the steps to the altar.
His fingers linger on my skin for too long before he takes my bouquet and sets it aside.
Olav’s eyes rove over me as he takes in my appearance, a sinister grin forming on his lips.
“You look better than Kathryn in that dress,” Olav whispers.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it bleeds.
Holding my tongue and composure is far more challenging than I imagined.
My gaze darts around for any sign of the Elvarrans, but there are none.
A man in simple robes stands to my left.
He opens a worn, leather-bound book in his hands, clearing his throat before speaking.
Itheon save me…
“Divine God Itheon, bless this union as two hearts bond into one. Guide their fates together and bless their union with warmth and peace. May honor bind their words under your watchful gaze,” the cleric says aloud, starting the ceremony.
He holds a small cushion with two gold bands before us.
Olav plucks the first ring, taking my hands in his as he starts his vows.
“I, Olav Friedrich, vow to take Raelys Valantis as my wife from this day forward. To do my duty, till death do us part. May Itheon ordain, and therefore I pledge my troth,” he announces confidently, slipping a ring onto my finger.
My heart hammers in my chest. Every nerve in my body is ablaze with panic as sweat forms on my brow.
Like boiling water, the dread and anguish swirl around me, pulling me under the surface.
Soon, I won’t be able to hold my breath any longer.
This wretched old man smiles at me, tightening his grip around my hands, as if he’s pleased with my discomfort.
I want to scream.
Taking the second ring, I say my vows. “I, Raelys Valantis…” My voice trembles as I swallow the lump in my throat.
Itheon please. Anything but this. “Vow to take Olav Friedrich as my husband from this day forward…” I do not.
I do not. I do not. “May Itheon ordain, and therefore I pledge my troth,” I say, my voice low and devoid of excitement as I slip a ring onto his finger.
“To be kind and obedient in bed and at home,” the cleric corrects me.
Gods. I had completely messed up my vows because I am so flustered. Now I have to repeat them; my tribulation is never-ending. Olav strokes the back of my hand, a gesture of comfort, but it only makes my desire to crumple to the floor stronger, now from dread and embarrassment.
What is taking Wrath so godsdamn long?!
“I, Raelys Valantis, vow to take Olav Friedrich as my husband from this day forward.” I start over. “To be kind and obedient in bed and at home, till death do us part. May Itheon ordain, and therefore… I pledge my troth.” I repeat the hollow words.
The cleric nods, setting down the book. He pulls out a strap of cloth and binds our hands together. “I now declare in the eyes of Itheon that you are husband and wife.”
Olav wastes no time, grabbing my face and placing his lips on mine.
My entire body freezes, rooted in the spot, as I automatically tilt back.
Luckily, Olav doesn’t seem to notice as he takes our interlaced fingers and walks me back down the aisle.
I flinch from the touch, recoiling from his tight grip.
I stumble a few steps as Olav drags me from the room, a bolt of fear shooting through me.
I look around, up, behind, every corner imaginable for some cue or signal for help. None comes. Wrath made a fool of me. No one is coming to save me. This deal is some sick joke to him, and the silver bargain lingering on my skin is a farce.
Thinking quickly, I need to devise a plan to save myself.
“Perhaps my bedchambers?” I suggest. “I would be more comfortable there.”
Olav laughs. “All right.” His eyes rake over me, dark with anticipation. My skin prickles, instinct screaming danger, but there’s nowhere to run. He looks at me the way a wolf studies its trapped prey.
I am no prey.
He opens the door to my bedchambers, slamming it behind us.
I startle at the bang, surprised that someone his age could retain that much strength.
Olav grips my shoulders and shoves me face-down into the bed, pinning me down.
His fingers move to push up my skirt as he tries to sort through the layers of silk.
My hand darts underneath the pillow beside me.
“I promise I’ll be easy on you… since it’s your first time.” He smiles, his teeth yellow as his rancid breath puffs against my cheek.
I close my fingers around the dagger's hilt, and I swing. The blade finds its mark, burying into his gut. Blood splatters over my face and the bedsheets as Olav roars in pain. I had kept Lydia’s dagger under my pillow—a precaution now proven invaluable.
“You bitch!” Olav yells, the back of his hand meeting my cheek. “Guards!”
He knocks me to the floor, my body hitting the bedside table as I fall.
Olav rips out the dagger, tossing it aside.
The blade clatters to the floor and slides across the stone.
I chase after it, running as fast as I can, but this damned dress is too cumbersome.
Olav grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me back towards him.
I let out a cry of pain and pick up the stool that one of the handmaidens used to dress me to swing at him.
The wood hits him with a heavy thunk, causing him to loosen his grip on me. Pain shoots through my scalp as I tear myself free. I dash for the dagger, knowing if I don’t get it, it will be the end of me.
“I’ll have you hanged for this!” Olav yells at me, his bright red face matching the stain on his tunic. “Where are the guards!?” He pulls open the door, opening his mouth to call for help.
A sword soars through the air, sinking directly through Olav's chest. My breath catches in my throat from the gruesome sight.
I watch as his body slumps to the floor, a pool of blood spreading across the stone.
Nausea bubbles up in my gut. My hand shakes with adrenaline as I clutch the dagger in front of me.
A black leather boot slowly steps over the corpse and into the room.
“My, my, Princess. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Wrath’s voice reaches me as he passes through the doorframe.
“Took you long enough,” I say in annoyance, lowering the dagger to my side.
“Does that mean you’re eager to see me?” he asks curiously.
I scoff, storming across the room to my trunk and flinging open the top. I wipe the bloody dagger onto this hideous dress before sheathing it. I pull out my riding boots and cloak, knowing I have little time to get out of this castle, steal a horse, and ride back home to Cathros.
Everything would be back to normal before long.
“It seems like you’re in a hurry. What for?” Wrath studies me closely. There’s the invisible brush of his magic across my skin as he nears. I loathe the sensation.
“That’s none of your concern,” I bite out, ripping off my wedding ring and throwing it over my shoulder. It clatters to the floor in the distance, and I feel as though I’ve released myself from a handcuff.
“Surely you’re not going to try to return home alone.” Wrath’s words make me pause what I’m doing. I give him a deadly gaze. “What will the seven kingdoms think when they discover the King of Avelisar’s body dead in your chambers?”
“Then drag his body elsewhere!” I snap at him, reaching up to pull the adornments from my hair. I toss them aside as I free my hair from its updo. My waves fall to my waist, and I feel immediate relief across my scalp. “And it’s more like five kingdoms now,” I correct him.
I pull on the pants I stole from Valentin’s room under my dress, realizing they’re about two sizes too big. Striding over to Olav’s body, I rip his belt free and loop it through my pants, buckling the belt on the tightest setting, and hoping it stays in place.
“It’s unlikely they’ll believe that the king died, and you escaped.” Wrath is vexingly calm for having just ended a life.
“What are you suggesting then?” I race behind the divider, yanking the dress off. “Fake my death?” I pull on a tunic and tuck it into the waistband. Slinging my cloak around my shoulders, I fasten it in the front, preparing myself for a long journey ahead.
“That’s a fair idea.” He plays along. “Then where will you go?”
I circle the divider, braiding my long hair into three loose strands as quickly as possible before fastening the ends. Packing everything I can into the leather satchel Eleanor gave me, I sling it over my shoulder as I approach Wrath.
“You’re not seriously suggesting that I go with you.” It’s my turn to laugh sardonically. “Does the destroyer of peace require a pet? I didn’t take you for the companion type.”
I expect him to get angry at my insult. That my outburst would end in him attempting to kill me once more. Instead, I see his lips quirk as he holds back a reaction, his eyes alight with challenge.
“I’m not suggesting.” His tone is lethal as he leans close, invading my space.
My expression drops. “And what if I refuse?”