Chapter Four
“From this day forward, under the eyes of the Ancients, until death parts us.”
Rolan’s bastard eyes dampened as his voice twined with his bride’s lilting one. By some miracle, happiness was flowing between them unfettered by the seething glare of the Empress above. He could practically picture his bride grinning behind her face covering. In seconds, he would know for sure what that sweet expression looked like. He would swallow it down like a fresh drink of water.
“You may now reveal yourselves.”
He lowered his head so she could lift the chain veil that covered his face, and then straightened to let her see him. He stood proudly for mere seconds before his bride let off a frightened gasp behind her veil. She jerked her hand away, taking a heavy step backward.
Rolan glanced at the throne, finding the Empress”s cruel smirk, and the weight of a thousand boulders hit his chest.
This wasn’t right. Something was amiss.
The priestess continued as if nothing was wrong. “I now present your groom, Rolan of Vegoth.”
He stared at his veiled bride, and could tell her gaze was no longer on him. No longer smiling. No longer happy. Her head tilted to the priestess, then to the Empress before settling her stare at the floor.
Silence settled in the cathedral as the court waited for him to reveal the female he’d just vowed to care for until death.
Because of the Empress’s sick satisfaction in seeing him hurt, he was used to hiding his emotions, making his expression stoney and unbothered. But this time, here, now… it was impossible.
He could feel his scowl making deep creases in his furred brow, could sense the priestess’ unease at his frustrated visage. Discomfort hung heavy in the air.
But he still couldn’t fathom why, his mind not yet willing to connect cause to effect.
With a frustrated growl, he reached for his bride’s veil, but her frightened gasp caught in his chest and he slowed his movements. Whatever was happening, there was no need to scare her.
Carefully, he lifted the heavy metal chains and laid them back over her soft pink roses, not wanting to damage them. Then he stepped back to finally see her—
A pang of despair like nothing he’d ever felt ripped through his gut. So intense, he was forced to press a hand to his side to stifle the physical pain of it.
Did he make a sound?
He must have, because his bride’s eyes lifted to look at him and he stumbled backward. Much like she had before.
Between one blink and the next, the world crashed down around him, all the hopes and dreams of a happy future crumbling like the ruins of an old cathedral, until they were a sick and distorted pile at his feet.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
The Empress’s cruelty reigned supreme again. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. All the wedding preparations, the misleading hints at why a monster like him might receive a bride, the silent observance from her throne as they happily recited their vows… it was all carefully constructed for this singular moment in time.
To humiliate him.
Dangle the carrot, then yank it away so the hare will always know his place.
Before him, his bride stood small and petite as he expected, her face heart shaped and cherubic. Golden blond hair peaked out from the head covering, strands of it trailing down her cheek. Her eyes sparkled, the color of glass with faint blue-green undertones and her nose was a dainty slope just above full pink lips.
If he was the proverbial beast, she was pure and utter beauty.
But most alarming of all was her skin.
It was smooth as porcelain. No hair to mar it. No fur to be ashamed of.
She was nothing like him.
He swallowed the ache in his throat, determined to pull the shattered pieces of himself back together. He couldn’t let the Empress know that her aim had hit its mark so thoroughly he might never recover.
“I now present your bride, Abauna of Trice.”
Trice. She was from the working tribe. Was that what the Empress meant by suited to him? Lower class than a typical Vegoth? With her beauty, Abauna could have married a true warrior. She should’ve been welcomed among the higher class. Lauded and treated with dignity.
Now her life would be forever tainted.
Sadness threatened to overwhelm him. Not for himself, but for his female. Her future was ruined because the Empress wanted to humiliate him.
It was unfair.
He glared up at the Ancients, his former gratitude replaced with anger.
Did they even care? Would her cruelty forever go unchecked?
“You may now retreat to the wedding chambers to confirm your union,” the priestess urged. “The proving will come at sunrise and then you will be assigned your residence.”
When neither of them moved to leave, she clapped her hands together with a brusque, “Be on your way. No time to waste, as you might find you require a little extra. We will reconvene on the morrow.”
As Rolan took his bride’s hand and headed for the chambers, he silently cursed them all to hell.
The Ancients. The Empress. But most of all his own vile ability to hope for better.
***
Abauna remained silent until they were closed away in the bedding chambers, the door solidly locked behind them.
She had heard tales of the Empress”s pet beast-man. Endured stories of his fearsome visage, snarling growls, and razor sharp claws. How he’d killed men for simply looking upon him, and that he was so crazed and feral he had to be fed through a hole in the wall of the dungeon he inhabited. Only the Empress herself could tame him, it was said, though no one knew how. Just that the evil female had owned him since childhood, and used him for her entertainment at will.
Yes, Abauna had heard much about the beast-man. Who hadn’t? But she never dreamed she would be married to such a monster.
The Empress had outdone herself.
Her hate for Abauna was beyond measure.
Her heart twisted, recalling the emotions that clogged her throat as they spoke their vows. The way her groom had seemed so proud. So caring.
It’s not a burden. It’s a gift.
How could the monster the rumors spoke of be the same person who vowed to care for her always until death?
Perhaps this man wasn’t the Empress’s pet beast. Was there another Vegoth who looked like an animal? One she’d never heard of?
“Are you…” she began, but fear had her by the throat. His dark eyes darted to her and she looked away.
“What is it, bride?” he growled. Softly though. Not how she expected a furious beast to behave.
She pressed her lips together, needing the seal to keep the whimper in her throat contained. What was wrong with her? She was of Trice; she was tougher than this.
“A-Are you the Empress’s beast? The one people talk about?”
The words had barely left her mouth before his shoulders slumped and he turned away.
“I… I only ask because…” She swallowed, wishing she had water for her dry throat. “Well, maybe there’s been some mistake.”
He laughed, so quietly she almost missed it. She even wished she had, because it wasn’t a nice sound. It was pure misery.
“There’s no mistake.” He shook his head, turning just enough that she could see his brow furrow. “Yes. I am the Empress’s beast you’ve heard of. And now, I suppose…” With a sigh he faced her, crossing his huge arms over his broad chest, the steel of his uniform clanking faintly. “I am yours.”
Hers.
The air in the room went impossibly thin. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn”t catch her breath.
The Empress really did marry her to a monster.
Abauna sucked in an empty breath and somehow found enough oxygen to stay upright.
“Bride, are you well? Do you need to sit?” His voice was the same as when he’d first greeted her, low and solid. But this time, it was tinged with choking regret.
She recognized the feeling.
But ironically, it was his voice that steadied her. Brought her back from the brink of panic.
That voice was the same one that comforted her at the altar when she was frightened.
No matter what, that had to mean something.
So far, he’d done nothing to make her believe he was the animal the rumors described.
“Sit. You must rest,” her groom murmured, guiding her to the small chair in the corner of the room.
She did as he commanded, watching mutely as he crossed the room to the table holding a carafe of water, filling a goblet before returning.
“Here. Drink.”
She took the goblet and he stepped back, putting distance between them as if he knew he was the cause of her anxiety and didn’t want to make it worse.
Things were definitely not as they seemed with her groom.
Everyone deserved a chance. That’s what she decided as they said their vows, and it wasn’t any different now.
He deserved a chance, and she was his bride. If anyone should give him one, it was certainly her.
She lifted her chin, steeling herself.
“Thank you, groom. The drink was exactly what I needed.”