Elara's POV
"Get away from me." I scrambled backward, my hand still pressed against my stinging cheek.
Vivienne laughed. It sounded like breaking glass. "Oh, you have spirit. That's adorable. The last bride had spirit too. They found pieces of her scattered across the duke's bedroom."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" She stood gracefully, smoothing her perfect dress. "Bride number one lasted three days. Bride number two made it almost a week. By bride number seven, he was getting efficient—she died on the wedding night itself." Her smile widened. "I wonder which you'll be. Quick death? Or slow?"
My hands clenched into fists. Everything in me wanted to punch that smug look off her face, but I'd learned long ago that fighting someone in their own house never ended well.
"Why do you even care?" I forced my voice steady. "You're not the one marrying him."
"Because you're taking what's mine!" Vivienne's mask of sweetness cracked. "Do you know what it's like being told your bastard half-sister—some gutter orphan from another world—is worth more than you? That Father would rather sacrifice you than risk me?"
"I didn't ask for this!"
"I don't care what you asked for." She moved to the door. "Enjoy your last day alive, sister. I'll make sure to wear black to your funeral. Oh wait—you're already wearing it."
She slammed the door behind her.
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To wake up from this nightmare.
Instead, I sat on the cold floor and tried to breathe.
Hours passed. Maybe. Without my phone, I couldn't tell time anymore. The sun moved across the window, and that was all I knew.
When the door opened again, three women entered carrying bundles of dark fabric. The oldest one—the same servant from this morning—looked at me with pity.
"Come, my lady. We must prepare you for tomorrow's ceremony."
"I'm not getting married." My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"Please, my lady. Don't make this harder." The woman's hands trembled. "If you refuse, the baron will—" She stopped, glancing at the other servants. "Please. Just cooperate."
I wanted to fight. But these women were just following orders, probably terrified of Aldric themselves. Taking my anger out on them wouldn't help anyone.
"Fine." I stood slowly. "What do I have to do?"
They dressed me in silence. The gown was heavy silk, darker than midnight. Black. Not white or ivory or any wedding color I'd ever seen.
"Why is it black?" I asked quietly.
The youngest servant—a girl who couldn't be older than sixteen—whispered, "It's traditional, my lady. For the duke's brides." Her voice dropped even lower. "They say it's mourning clothes. Because everyone knows what happens after."
"Hush!" The older woman snapped. But her eyes were wet with tears.
As they worked on my hair, braiding it with black ribbons, the servants whispered stories. They probably thought I couldn't hear, but every word felt like a knife.
"They say his face is cursed. That looking at it drives women mad."
"I heard he drains their blood during the night. Uses it for dark magic."
"No, no—he keeps their bodies in the castle walls. That's why you can hear screaming at midnight."
"My cousin worked there. Said the last bride clawed at the doors begging for help, but no one could save her."
I gripped the chair arms, my knuckles turning white. This duke—this Reaper—sounded like a monster from a horror movie. And tomorrow I had to marry him.
The young servant began braiding a section of my hair near my face. Her hands shook so badly she kept dropping the strands. When I looked up, tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed quietly. "You seem nice. You don't deserve this. I'm so sorry."
Something broke inside my chest. This girl—this stranger—felt worse for me than my own father did.
"What's your name?" I asked softly.
"Anna, my lady."
"Thank you for being kind to me, Anna." I squeezed her hand. "It means more than you know."
She cried harder.
The next morning came too fast. They led me through stone corridors to a chapel filled with nobles in dark clothes. It looked less like a wedding and more like a funeral. People stared at me with pity or curiosity or—worst of all—entertainment. Like I was a show they'd paid to watch.
I searched the crowd for Aldric.
He wasn't there. My own father couldn't even pretend to care that he was sending me to my death.
The chapel doors opened. Music played—slow, haunting, nothing like wedding music should sound.
"Walk," the older servant whispered behind me. "You must walk now, my lady."
My legs felt like lead. Each step down that aisle took all my strength. Nobles whispered as I passed. I caught fragments:
"—so young—"
"—poor thing doesn't even—"
"—won't last three days—"
At the front of the chapel stood a priest in dark robes. And beside him...
My breath caught.
A man—if he was even a man—stood completely still. He was tall, dressed in black armor that looked like it had seen real battles. His shoulders were broad, his posture perfect and rigid.
But it was the mask that froze my blood.
Silver metal covered his entire face, revealing nothing except two eye holes. Through those holes, ice-blue eyes stared at me. They were the coldest eyes I'd ever seen—empty of warmth, of kindness, of anything human.
He looked like death itself waiting at the altar.
I stopped walking. Every instinct screamed at me to run.
"Keep going," someone hissed behind me.
Somehow, my feet moved. One step. Another. Closer to the monster in the mask.
When I finally stood beside him, he didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared at me with those frozen eyes.
The priest began speaking in that strange language I somehow understood. Words about duty and honor and binding vows. I didn't listen. I couldn't stop staring at the mask, wondering what horror it hid underneath.
What face was so terrible it had to be covered?
"Do you, Lady Elara Thorne, take Duke Kael Vorsaith as your husband?"
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
The duke's hand moved. He grabbed my wrist—not gently, not cruelly, just firm and cold even through his glove.
"Say yes." His voice was deep, rough, like gravel scraping against stone. "Unless you want to make this worse for yourself."
Terror locked my throat. But somewhere beneath the fear, anger sparked. I'd survived nineteen years of a brutal world on my own. I'd outlasted foster homes and poverty and loneliness. I wouldn't let this masked stranger see me break.
I lifted my chin and stared straight into those ice-blue eyes.
"Yes," I said clearly. "I take him."
Something flickered in those eyes—surprise, maybe. Like he hadn't expected me to look at him directly.
"Do you, Duke Kael Vorsaith, take Lady Elara Thorne as your wife?"
Silence.
The duke stared at me for what felt like forever. Then, in that dead voice:
"Yes."
The priest pronounced us married.
The duke released my wrist, turned, and walked away without another word. Without looking back. Without acknowledging I existed.
The nobles gasped. The priest looked shocked.
I stood frozen at the altar, my new husband's footsteps echoing as he left me standing alone.
Then a guard appeared beside me. "Come, my lady. The carriage to Shadowmere is waiting."
"Where—" My voice cracked. "Where is the duke?"
The guard's expression was grim. "He rides separately. He always does." He paused. "You have a choice now. Follow him to Shadowmere Castle, or stay here and face the baron's wrath for refusing."
I looked back at the chapel full of nobles who'd watched my humiliation. At the door where my father should have been but wasn't.
Then I looked at the guard.
"Take me to the carriage."
If I was going to die, at least it wouldn't be at the hands of the man who'd betrayed me. At least I'd die knowing I chose my own path, even if that path led to a monster's castle.
The guard nodded and led me outside.
A black carriage waited. No decorations. No celebration. Just a cage on wheels.
I climbed inside, and the door slammed shut. Through the small window, I saw him—the duke—mounting a massive black horse. He didn't look at me. Didn't acknowledge me at all.
The carriage lurched forward.
As we pulled away from the chapel, I pressed my hand against the window and watched my last chance at escape disappear behind me.
Three days to Shadowmere, the guard had said. Three days until I reached the castle where seven women had died screaming.
Three days to figure out how to survive a husband who wouldn't even look at me.
The duke kicked his horse into a gallop, riding ahead into the dark forest like he was running from something.
Or maybe he just couldn't stand being near me.
Either way, one truth was clear:
I'd just married a man who hated me.
And I had no idea if I'd live long enough to find out why.