CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
I stand before the full-length mirror in my bridal chambers, staring at my reflection like it belongs to someone else.
The healer Knox sent worked miracles; my wounds have almost completely healed, leaving only faint shadows beneath my eyes and a lingering tenderness in my ribs that the corset carefully conceals.
This is supposed to be the happiest moment of my life.
The thought tastes bitter as ashes.
He hates me now. The knowledge sits in my chest like a lead weight. After everything I confessed, after seeing the truth of what I really am—he hates me, and I can't blame him.
The walk to the grand hall feels endless, each step echoing through the marble corridors like a countdown to my execution. My heart pounds so violently, I'm certain everyone can hear it.
The massive oak doors to the grand hall swing open, and my breath catches in my throat.
Hundreds of candles cast golden light over the assembled guests—nobles, dignitaries, and royal family members arranged in perfect rows.
White roses and baby's breath adorn every surface, their sweet perfume making the air thick and cloying.
And there, at the altar beneath an archway of twisted silver and gold, stands Knox.
My legs nearly give out at the sight of him.
He's devastatingly handsome in his formal attire—a midnight blue velvet jacket embroidered with silver thread, fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders.
His dark hair is styled to perfection, and when he turns at the sound of the doors opening, those green eyes I love so desperately meet mine across the vast space.
He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him.
For a moment, just a moment, I see something flicker across his face—not hatred, but something infinitely more painful. Loss. Grief for what we could have been if I hadn't destroyed everything with my lies.
The wedding march begins, played by a string quartet hidden among the flowers. It's my cue to walk down that impossibly long aisle, to play the role of the blushing bride for all these witnesses who have no idea they're watching an elaborate charade.
One foot in front of the other. Just keep breathing.
Knox's expression grows more carefully controlled with each step I take toward him.
By the time I reach the altar, his face has settled into the perfectly polite mask he wears during state functions.
Professional. Distant. Absolutely nothing like the man who used to bring me flowers every morning and whisper my name like a prayer.
The officiant begins the ceremony with words about love and commitment that feel like daggers to my heart. I barely hear them, too focused on Knox's rigid posture, the way he won't quite meet my eyes even as we stand facing each other.
This is agony. This is worse than any torture Jax ever inflicted.
My eyes scan the crowd constantly, searching for any suspicious movement, any sign that Jax plans to turn this sacred ceremony into a bloodbath. But the guests remain peacefully seated, their attention focused on the romantic spectacle before them.
Why isn't he making his move? What is he waiting for?
The unease grows with each passing minute. Jax isn't known for his patience, and a royal wedding presents too perfect an opportunity for chaos.
Then the moment arrives—the exchange of vows. The officiant turns to Knox first, and my heart clenches as those beautiful green eyes finally, truly look at me.
"Do you, Knox Alexander Blackthorne, take Aubrey to be your wife? Do you promise to love her, cherish her, protect her, and remain faithful to her for all the days of your life?"
Knox's voice is clear, steady. "I do."
Two simple words that should mean everything, and instead feel like another lie we're telling together.
When it's my turn, I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. "I do," I whisper, the words barely audible even to my own ears.
His fingers are warm and steady as he slides the wedding ring onto my finger—a band of white gold set with diamonds that catches the candlelight like captured stars.
"I vow to love you, protect you, and be forever loyal to you," he says.
If only this weren't just an act. If only I could truly have his love and loyalty. If only I could really be his Luna.
But reality is cruel, and I lost the right to any of those things the moment I chose deception over trust.
The officiant pronounces us husband and wife, and Knox leans down to brush his lips against mine in the traditional wedding kiss. It's brief, chaste, utterly without the passion we once shared—but it's enough to send electricity racing through my entire body.
He's my husband now. In name, if nothing else.
The reception begins immediately. When the first dance is announced, Knox offers me his hand with courtly politeness. "Shall we?"
I take his hand, trying not to think about how perfectly it fits against mine, and let him lead me onto the polished dance floor. The orchestra begins a slow waltz, and Knox's arm slides around my waist, pulling me into the traditional position.
"Smile," Knox murmurs against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "Everyone's watching."
I obey, tilting my face up toward his and forcing my lips into what I hope resembles joy.
"You're doing beautifully," he says quietly, and for a moment I think I catch something softer in his expression. "Just a little longer."
The evening stretches on interminably. Guest after guest approaches to offer congratulations, and I find myself mechanically accepting their good wishes while my mind remains elsewhere. Where is Jax? Why hasn't he made his move?
As the evening finally winds down and guests begin to take their leave, my anxiety ratchets up another notch. Soon, we'll have to return to our chambers—to the rooms we once shared, where we'll have to confront the ruins of what we once had.
What happens now? Do we just... pretend to be married? Sleep in separate beds and avoid each other for the rest of our lives?
The last guest finally departs, and the castle staff begins the enormous task of cleaning up after the celebration. Knox offers me his arm once more, a gesture so automatic it probably means nothing.
"Shall we?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and let him escort me through the quiet corridors toward our chambers.
When we reach the door to our suite, Knox pauses. His hand hovers over the handle for a moment, as if he's reconsidering whatever he planned to say or do.
Instead, he opens the door and steps aside to let me enter first. Ever the gentleman, even now.
I walk into the sitting room, hyperaware of his presence behind me. The chambers look exactly as they did this morning—roses in crystal vases, candles casting warm light over familiar furniture. But everything feels different now, charged with the weight of unspoken words and broken trust.
Knox closes the door behind us with a soft click, and suddenly we're alone together for the first time since I destroyed everything between us.
I turn to face him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Knox, I—"
But he's already walking away, heading toward the door that connects to his private study. He pauses at the threshold, his hand on the doorframe, but doesn't turn around.
"Goodnight, Aubrey," he says quietly. "Get some rest."
Then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoes through the empty room.
I stand alone in my wedding dress, surrounded by the remnants of a celebration that felt more like a funeral, and finally let the tears I've been holding back all day fall freely down my cheeks.
My wedding day. The day I married the man I love, and lost him forever.