Wild Heir (Fated Royals 4)

Though their dresses were deep blue, the fabric had a grayish sheen; the way they moved, like a quiet pack, reminded me of half a dozen rats, all acting and thinking as one.

The women seized me, and this time my protests and orders fell on completely deaf ears. Before I knew it, they’d hauled me through the graveyard, and down a path that led to the front of the cathedral. At the steps of the big church, they jammed a bouquet in my hand, opened the cathedral doors…and shoved me inside.

Stumbling forward, I raised my face to the sound of a hundred pews squeaking as the assembled guests rose and turned to face me. The organ bellowed the traditional Praquean bride’s march, but the organ was off tune and it sounded more like a funeral dirge than anything else.

I wanted nothing more than to turn and run, and I was about to do it. But there, at the end of the long aisle, decorated in silks and flowers, were my parents, waiting for me by the altar.

My heart dropped. My father looked pale, shaken, and unkempt. My mother looked thinner than ever, seated in a special chair beside him. She was clearly too weak to stand, even for this.

As if I had been winded once again, all the fight drained out of me when I laid eyes on them, which I was sure was the point. To remind me of what I stood to lose.

My father looked terrified. With his eyes, he urged me forward, shooting sidelong glances at Petre, who stood there waiting as well a smug smile tugging his lips into a twist.

Scanning the crowd, I saw no sign of Vasile. Three empty seats in the front row on Petre’s family’s side were empty, presumably set aside for his parents and his brother, none of whom were in attendance, and I didn’t understand what was happening.

Had Petre killed his entire family? Could his cruelty be so sharp he took all of them, just to claim the business and the royal title?

Grief gripped my heart. Vasile was dead, I was sure of it, or he would be here. He would have come…

I gripped my bouquet hard and closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of incense and candle wax. Thorns of holly leaves dug into my palms as I squeezed the bouquet; I focused on that pain, channeled it, let it clear my mind. I knew what I had to do. Not for my sake, but for my parents. For their safety and for their future. As for me, I would have time worry about that later.

I hoped.

Opening my eyes, I finally let my gaze fall on Petre. As I did, it was as if all my fear froze in my veins and turned to courage.

He might try to kill me, it was true.

But not if I killed him first.

Marry him. Save my family.

Then save myself.

The memory of holding the knife to Vasile’s throat flashed in my mind. Only this time, it was Petre’s face I saw and I sliced his throat, watching the life drain away.

With that murderous cold calculation in my head, I took my first step down the aisle. Then another. Then another. But with each step, my resolve began to fade and fear took its place.

Again and again, I let my eyes sweep back and forth across the church, desperately urging myself to wake from this nightmare. Telling myself that it wasn’t real, that the scent of incense and mildew was in my head, that the chill in the air was just me shivering in the bed I still shared with Vasile, that at any moment he would turn and wrap his arm around me and I’d be comforted, knowing that we were together.

But none of that was true. The nightmare was real, and I was stuck in it for the rest of my life.

If I turned to go, the rats would seize me. If I escaped, my parents would be killed, and eventually so too would I.

I couldn’t bear to think of it. I couldn’t even let my mind gloss over that sadness. Forward was my only choice. And so I took another step down the aisle towards my doomed future life.

Once I arrived at altar, I refused to look at Petre. I would not give him the respect of my gaze and attention.

I stood beside him, straight and cold, looking up at the priest, who looked shocked by my appearance, disheveled as I was, a smug satisfaction that I came to him on my terms. Wild and furious.

Let them all stare at the dirt and bruises. Let them all know what the man standing beside me had done. The priest cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze, and began to address the congregation in Latin, as was the way of all ancient Praquean royal weddings.