Page 113 of Of Masks and Fury

“I knew you’d see things my way.” My father tightened his grip on my arm and essentially dragged me toward the altar.

The sight of Lord Alfred waiting there made my stomach turn.

He looked smug, even pleased. His eyes tracked my approach with an expression that showed hunger, possessiveness, and knowing. He was confident he’d won. I was the prize he’d claim.

I studied the set up in a strategic way.

The lord wore a ceremonial sword strapped to his side, and I’d bet it was sharp. Flower pots lining the aisle could serve as weapons or obstacles. The eastern hedge had a gap wide enough to slip through. Then I could escape into the woods beyond.

Mae’s blade waited in my left pocket, a secret promise. The tiny one I’d retrieved from beneath my floor sat heavy in the right.

I wasn’t helpless. I’d never been. Father had just convinced me I couldn’t fight back. He’d done it so well, keeping me in line all my life, that it was hard to break free of the box he’d stuffed me into.

It was time to rip my way out.

I flexed my fingers at my sides and kept my muscles poised to act. I’d trained for this. Not a wedding, but a fight. And if this wedding became a battle, I’d bring it to them.

The music swelled, announcing my arrival at the altar.

Before releasing me, Father squeezed my arm one final time, a warning and a promise wrapped in a single gesture.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, bringing out his snarl and Lord Alfred’s momentarily shocked expression that he smoothed it back into gloating.

When the lord latched onto my arm, my father eased back to join those witnessing this farce.

The elder stood between the flower arrangements in front of me and Lord Alfred, his weathered face solemn as he prepared to bind me to a man I despised.

“Beloved friends and neighbors,” he said, his voice carrying across the garden. “We gather here on this blessed morning to witness the union of Princess Amarissa and Lord Alfred, a joining of two great houses?—”

Alfred tightened his grip on my arm, and my skin crawled at the contact. His grip was a claiming; he was already treating me like property.

His palm was damp with sweat, and I could smell the wine he’d consumed, perhaps to steady his nerves. When he stroked my skin in what he must think was a reassuring gesture, my stomach lurched.

“You’re trembling,” he said, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. “How sweet.”

But it wasn’t fear making me shake. It was rage. Pure, crystalline fury at being handled like a prize horse being transferred to a new stable. I met his eyes and let him see exactly what I thought of him. His confident smile wavered as he read the promise of violence in my gaze.

“Is there something wrong, my dear?” he asked, still performing for the crowd.

“Not yet,” I said quietly. “But there will be.”

The elder continued, droning through the traditional words. “This union represents not only the joining of two souls, but the strengthening of our kingdom, the continuation of noble bloodlines?—”

I tensed, my muscles coiling like a hunting cat’s. This was it. I needed to act before words were spoken that would legally bind me to this monster.

The elder’s voice seemed to slow, each word stretching like honey. “If there be any person who objects to this blessed union, let them speak now or?—”

My fingers closed around the knife’s handle in my right pocket. I would paint this altar with blood and consequences be damned.

A roar split the air, a sound that belonged in both nightmares and ancient legends.

Every head turned toward the edge of the garden, and gasps rang out.

The perfectly orchestrated wedding dissolved into pandemonium in seconds. In the chaos, I pulled the blade from my pocket and swiped it toward Lord Alfred’s throat, but he reeled away, croaking.

“Beasts,” someone shrieked. “They’re enormous!”

“Where are the guards?” Lord Alfred cried out.