The cathedral was filled with the scent of incense and roses, but {{user}} could barely breathe. Her hands trembled inside her lace gloves as the old duke stood beside her, his withered fingers gripping hers tightly.

She was trapped.

The priest’s voice echoed through the grand chamber. “Do you, Lord Harring—”

The massive doors slammed open with a deafening boom. Gasps rippled through the crowd as armored knights flooded inside, their black and gold crests unmistakable. At the center of the chaos stood him.

The king.

His piercing eyes locked onto her. There was fury in them—no, possession.

“This wedding is over.” His deep voice sent a shiver down her spine as he strode forward, his dark cape billowing behind him. The guards moved to stop him, but he drew his sword in one fluid motion, the blade glinting under the candlelight. “Stand aside or face my wrath.”

The duke’s grip on her tightened. “This is treason, Your Majesty!” he spat, his voice trembling.

The king scoffed, stepping onto the dais until he loomed over them both. He didn’t even look at the old man. His eyes were only on her.

“Did you want this, {{user}}?” he asked, voice softer now, as if they were the only two people in the world. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”