Chapter Three #2
I could feel the carriage shift as the redhead and Vrad climbed on the back before the carriage started moving.
“Let me be clear,” Mr. Grimwood said as we rocked around through the woods.
“If you make a scene, if you try to run away, I will drag you back to your lake, tie you to a tree, and let you and your lake watch each other slowly die.” He paused, letting his words—and the dread behind them—sink in.
“How long do you think that would take? Days? Weeks? I think it would be weeks. Slow, agonizing weeks.”
My heart lurched.
It would be agonizing. A death a million times over. Because I wouldn’t just feel my own life-force and the soul of the lake itself, but every single creature whose life depended on it: the plants, flowers, fish, birds, bugs, perhaps even some of the mammals.
Without me to tend to the lake’s soul, they would all die. We would die together. Like Mr. Grimwood said… slowly… agonizingly.
I had everything to lose if I fought this. If I went along, there was hope for escape.
I wouldn’t pretend to know anything about the Unseelie Court, but I had to imagine there would be ways to leave the palace, to quickly escape into the woods.
And if the prince and king had no idea that I was of the lake and not Grimwood’s daughter, they wouldn’t know how to find me. If Grimwood and his lackeys came for me, I would know to watch for them, to tell the trees to warn me, and could make a quick escape.
That meant my only option right that moment was to do what I was told. Walk down that aisle. Stand at the altar. Endure whatever ceremonies there might be afterward. Then… then I had to escape. Before the wedding night expectations. Before I possibly got locked indoors, slowly dying.
So I sat back against the seat and stared ahead, trying to breathe through my anxiety.
Luckily (or unluckily, depending on which way you were looking at the situation), it was not the long ride I’d been anticipating.
And once we got there, I was immediately dragged by my ‘father’ to the front of a seated crowd.
It wasn’t as grand an event as I would have expected for a royal wedding.
It was outdoors with the backdrop being the palace itself—tall, gray, imposing, full of parapets, turrets, towers, and corbels.
I’d never seen a castle in person before, but had witnessed them from the memories of some of the creatures that frequented my lakes.
This was perhaps the most menacing-looking one I could imagine. It was perhaps fitting, given it was where the royal family of the Dark Court resided.
There were no flowers. No arches. Nothing soft for the occasion. Maybe that was because everyone gathered knew this was not a union of love but a simple business or political union.
When I glanced at the audience, all I saw were grim faces in their formalwear.
My heart was pounding so fast, I felt faint as the king was announced and took his seat.
This was it.
My breathing went fast and shallow, making my head feel light.
“We present His Royal Prince Jet—”
The groom didn’t wait to finish being introduced, just strode down the aisle with a long-legged, almost predatory feline grace.
Everything about him seemed frustrated, impatient, maybe even borderline angry.
I could barely focus on the words spoken by the serious man with gray hair and a thick beard in a black tunic dress-type thing.
I wasn’t asked to say anything.
But the prince—Jet—had to vow to provide for and protect me.
“I will,” he said, his deep, smooth voice sending a shiver through me.
“You may lift your bride’s veil and attach the royal tiara.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Grimwood stiffen and shift in his seat.
As for my groom, he sighed and reached toward me.
The veil shifted, further obscuring my vision before it was suddenly unobstructed.
And there was my husband.
My breath caught, a strange stitch behind my ribcage.
He had chiseled bone structure, sharp cheekbones, a broody brow, and a stern set to his lips with pushed-back black hair and intelligent, gunmetal blue eyes. Drawing all your attention away from his attractiveness was a bright pink scar running across his neck. Almost like, I don’t know, a burn.
I saw a flash of surprise followed by something I couldn’t parse—something almost soft. But it was gone in a moment, making me wonder if I’d seen it at all.
In its place was something harsh and tight that culminated in a muscle twitching in his jaw as he reached out toward the officiant who held a small copper tiara in the shape of vines with black gemstones dotted like leaves or flowers.
It was a study in contrasts: both delicate and feminine but stark and brutal.
The prince set it on my head before turning back to the officiant.
“Are we done?” he asked.
The man looked taken aback but was quick to shake his head. “The rings, My Prince.”
“Right,” the prince said, glancing back at the man standing near him.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a ring.
I wasn’t even aware of telling my body to slide the ring onto his finger, but I watched as the silver and onyx slid into place.
My ring was next—a delicate band that looked too small to support the giant curving oblong onyx holder.
There was a strange catch in my breath as I watched him slip the ring onto my finger before turning back to the officiant.
“Is that it?”
The man nodded, his face tight.
“Good.”
My wrist was grabbed in a firm, but not crushing, hold, and I was pulled from the altar and toward the castle.
To what fate?
I guess only time would tell.