A pair of strong hands reach out and lift the veil. The smile on my face falters as I see the man standing at the altar with me. It wasn’t Baron Smolt, who I’d met a few times but didn’t like all that much.

It was a different man.

A man I saw frequently at a distance. He was always beside my sister with a charming smile and princely demeanor. They would walk through the garden, followed by a trail of maids and footmen.

I would ensure it was just the two of us if I walked with him, but Selena always liked to make a scene. She wasn’t happy if she wasn’t the center of attention.

Where is she?

She should be the one marrying the prince, not me. The thought that she is at the altar with Baron Smolt is thrilling. Our fates exchanged in a sense.

The prince smiles at me. It’s just as charming as I dreamed. My heart races as his hands fall to his side. Fist balled, unable to control his excitement.

The sun shines through the stain-glass window, bathing us in holy rays that make us look ethereal.

My smile brightens, and I clutch the bouquet in my hands. There is a murmur in the temple.

This shouldn’t have happened, but we had already said our vows. Our marriage was valid, and no one could separate us. I glance at the crowd, a frown forming as I notice the pew where my family was sitting is now empty.

I didn’t need them here anyway. A sweet smell rises from the bouquet in my arms, distracting me. It’s heady and makes my head spin. I lift my arm, keeping my wrist soft, waiting.

He pauses.

I giggle.

The prince must be as stunned and happy as me.

I realize I don’t know his name. He’d always been the crown prince to me. The unattainable happiness that should be mine, but I was denied because of petty jealousy.

Things drag on, and it’s hard to keep the smile on my face.

He won’t leave, will he?

Left at the altar.

I can’t stand the thought.

It’s not right to speak, but I have to do something.

This is my chance!

I move my hand closer.

His eyes flutter and close for a moment before they open. His gaze is fierce as he stares at me. Something uneasy unfurls in a familiar place. I know that look. I try to pull back my hand, but he holds it. I push the feeling away.

Nothing that feels this good can be wrong.

“The rings,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. His actions are rough as he slides the band onto my finger.

No doubt he is as nervous as I am. That has to be it.

I reach for his ring, but he beats me to it. It slides into place, and my heart drops.

That’s it.

I’m married, and I get to start my life over in a place where people will respect me. It was more than I’d ever dreamed of.

One day, I will be the Empress. Above a thousand and below only one. I glance at him, a blush stains my cheeks, and a shy smile curls my lips.

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He is looking away, a muscle in his cheeks pulsing.

*

I look at my reflection in the mirror.

Three hours ago, I stood here and saw the image of a blushing bride who had some reluctance but was still excited. She had bright eyes, full lips, and hair the color of midnight framed by a glowing white veil.

Now, I see a fool.

The bruise on my cheek is darkening. Taking on that mottled red, black, and blue color I am familiar with. If I don’t ice it, I won't be able to move my mouth tomorrow.

The sparkle leaves my eyes, and I don’t have the energy to feel uncertain. Our vows bound us together. There is no escaping my marriage.

I turn away.

He won’t give me ice. He’d be happy if my jaw swelled shut, and I could never say another word. He’d be happier still if I died.

I must have been drunk on the atmosphere to think the crown prince would want to marry me.

I could put two and two together to get four. My family’s absence from the wedding and my new husband's shock let everyone know who was responsible for switching the brides on our wedding days.

It also became clear the second I stepped into the bridal chamber and was backhanded who would be responsible for relieving the monarch's anger.

I take a seat and watch the door for his return.

*

“You bitch.”

I recoil, shoulders hunched to make myself as small as possible.

He throws things at the ground and me, but I don’t dare to move.

I’m not the smartest, but listening to his cursing, I realize my father has done more than insult the royal family.

He barrels at me, arm raised. I want to duck, but I know it’s better if he just hits me.

“The fucking north is closed. The military is at the border.” He grabs my throat. I choke, scratching at his arms. “It’s a coup. How dare they try to steal my throne!” His eyes are red and wild. Something is wrong with him. Something deeper and more terrible than I can imagine.

He throws me to the ground, and I land on my back, glass shredding through the dress and digging into my skin. His boot appears on my chest. I open my mouth to beg, but it turns into a scream as he presses down.

“You dressed up as your sister and married me. Are you satisfied? Am I everything you wanted in a husband?”

“That is enough, Marcus.”

I don’t think. When the prince’s foot is gone, I turn and crawl away. I put as much distance between us, scrambling through the glass and broken things.

“Marcus, be a dear. Bring that thing hanging around that mongrel's neck.”

The old woman says something, and I try to focus on her words, but everything is blurry. The last thing I see is the prince yanking my mother’s gift off my neck. I hear the steady sound of a cane tapping as she comes closer.

*

The duke’s foot tapped impatiently at the floor. I shook my head, the memories receding, but the emotions and sensations lingered. I could hear the ringing chorus of the choir as I walked down the aisle and the symphony of screams I made on my wedding night.

I learned that night that no matter how bad you thought things were, they could always be worse.

He pointed to the chair when he’d had enough of my cowering. “Have a seat.” He was satisfied with his handy work of using reward and punishment.

I got up slowly, one hand cupping my cheek. The other clenched my dress. The tears streaming down my face were real, and I hated it. They didn’t get to see my pain or suffering.

Everything I showed from this point forward should be a carefully crafted act. A bitch waiting for scraps of affection from her master.

I didn’t think I would be perfect at it right away. I didn’t have any experience or allies, and I was inferior to the rest of my family members, but if I didn’t want to go to the capital as the crown princess. I had to do something.

Okay. It was time to make a choice.

Becoming a commoner would save me from one fate, but I’d lived as one for years, and they weren’t kind to bastards of nobles. I also didn’t have any skills I could use to work and protect myself.

Baron Smolt it was. He was a tad stupid, and the baron didn’t have long to live because of a birth defect, but it was better than nothing. A widow with or without children would be the next thing I needed to consider. I didn’t want to have any more children, but it might not be my choice.

I needed to make sure I was his bride.

It wasn’t a perfect plan. There was still the hidden threat of the coup the duke planned and the larger war lurking behind it, but it was the best I could do for now.

I can’t drink poison and expect others to die. I’d make sure they drank a glass for every sip I took.

Selena and the Duke’s grand plans could go to hell.

“It has been weeks since I last saw you, and your manners are no better than the last. I know you’re inferior, but try and learn something from your etiquette teacher.”

I bit off a laugh, turning it into a wail or a hiccup. Something terrible and guttural. “But, she’s terrible-”

“Enough with your excuses

I listened to him patiently teaching and I can’t help wondering.

Why do they all like to slap so much?