Chapter 30 Annelise
ANNELISE
The morning of my wedding dawns with deceptive beauty.
Sunlight streams through my chamber windows, painting everything in shades of gold that mock the darkness of what this day truly represents.
I stand before my mirror, but the woman staring back is a stranger.
Gone is the frightened girl who once trembled at shadows.
In her place stands someone forged in fire and tempered by love.
Today, I become a widow before I’m even truly a wife.
The wedding gown hangs on its stand like a specter, all ivory silk and delicate pearls—a fortune in fabric designed to showcase one man’s wealth and another’s subjugation. I approach it with the reverence it deserves, not as a symbol of joy, but as the costume for the final act of my performance.
Each layer slides over my skin like armor. The chemise, soft as a whisper. The corset, laced tight to create the illusion of fragile femininity. The underskirts, voluminous enough to hide secrets. And secrets I have in abundance.
The first blade slides into a pocket sewn along my thigh, its weight a comforting presence against my leg.
A second finds its home strapped to my opposite calf, hidden beneath layers of silk and lace.
The pearl-handled dagger Tarek gave me nestles against my ribs, secured in the bodice where my heart beats its frantic rhythm. I am a weapon wrapped in wedding silk.
My hands shake as I fasten the final clasps, not from fear, but from barely contained anticipation, from knowing that after today, nothing will ever be the same.
“Breathe,” I whisper to my reflection. “Just breathe.”
But breathing feels impossible when every intake of air brings me closer to the moment when everything I’ve planned will either succeed brilliantly or fail catastrophically.
Footsteps in the corridor make my pulse quicken. I smooth my skirts one final time, ensuring the blades remain hidden, and arrange my features into the serene mask of a blushing bride.
The door opens with a soft creak, and Lyra steps inside. My handmaid looks nervous, her pale hands twisting in her apron as she takes in my transformed appearance.
“My Lady,” she breathes, her eyes wide with what might be admiration or fear. “You look… radiant.”
“Thank you, Lyra,” I say, my voice perfectly controlled, revealing nothing of the storm raging beneath my calm exterior.
She approaches with hesitant steps, her gaze darting around the room as if expecting something out of place. “It’s time,” she says quietly. “Lord Zarren is waiting, and the guests have all assembled.”
“Of course they have.” I turn from the mirror to face her fully. “They wouldn’t want to miss the spectacle.”
Something in my tone makes her flinch, but she rallies quickly. “My Lady, if I may… you seem different today.”
“It’s my wedding day, Lyra. How else should I seem?”
“Happy?” she suggests weakly. “Excited? Most brides—”
“Most brides aren’t being sold like prize cattle to sadistic monsters,” I interrupt, letting a hint of steel enter my voice.
Her face pales. “My Lady, you shouldn’t say such things. If someone were to overhear—”
“Let them overhear.” I step closer, and she instinctively backs away. “What are they going to do? Punish me? Force me into a marriage I don’t want?” I laugh, the sound devoid of warmth. “Too late for that.”
“Please,” she whispers, genuine distress in her voice. “You’re frightening me.”
“Good. You should be frightened.” Another step brings me close enough to see the pulse fluttering in her throat. “Tell me, Lyra, do you sleep well at night? Knowing what you’ve done?”
Her breath catches. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” I tilt my head, studying her like a fascinating specimen. “My midnight walks to the menagerie. My sudden interest in healing herbs. The hours I’ve spent disappearing. Someone told them about all that, didn’t they?”
“My Lady, I—”
“Someone who had access to my chambers. Someone who knew my habits better than anyone else.” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Someone who was supposed to protect me.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “I had to,” she chokes out. “They would have killed me if I didn’t tell them. You don’t understand what they’re capable of—”
“Oh, but I do understand.” I straighten, my composure returning like ice settling over still water. “I understand perfectly. You chose your own skin over mine. I can’t even blame you for it.”
Relief flickers in her eyes, hope that I might forgive her.
“But I can’t forgive you either,” I continue, watching that hope die. “You see, Lyra, your betrayal set certain things in motion. Things that can’t be undone now, even if I wanted to.”
“What things?” she whispers.
I smile, and from her expression, it’s a terrible thing to see. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
She gathers her courage, stepping forward with shaking hands extended. “My Lady, please. Let me help you. I can still—”
“Help me?” I laugh again, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. “You want to help me now?”
“Yes,” she says desperately. “Whatever you’re planning, whatever you think you have to do—I can help. I can make it right.”
I look at her for a long moment, taking in her tear-streaked face, her trembling hands, her desperate need for absolution. Then I let my mask slip completely, showing her the predator I’ve become.
“The only help I want from you, Lyra,” I say with perfect clarity, “is for you to drop dead.”
Her eyes widen with shock and terror as I stride toward her, my wedding gown rustling like the wings of an avenging angel.
“My Lady, please—”
But I’m done listening. Done pretending. Done being anyone’s victim. Today, the performance ends.