Jackline stood outside the church, the grand oak doors a solid wall between her and her fate. The corset, a cage of whalebone and silk, squeezed the breath from her lungs. But it was not the fabric that stole her air. It was the icy grip of sadness, the sharp pinprick of nervousness, and the suffocating blanket of fear.
They called him the devil himself. A man who knew no mercy. A man who killed his entire family just to claim the throne. He was the monster in storybooks, the one mothers used to frighten their children into obedience. And yet, here she was, the sacrificial lamb, being offered to the beast. King Christopher Martinez, the man who was hours away from becoming her husband. The ruler of the most feared kingdom.
Only a handful of people had ever seen him and lived to tell the tale. Jackline was not one of them. She could only conjure an image from her cousin Sophia's spiteful whispers. "He has scars all over his face, an eye patch from all the wars," Sophia had said, her voice dripping with cruel glee. "And people say he looks old, with grey hair and missing front teeth." Jackline had told herself it was just a fairytale, a prince charming existed only in books. But the trembling in her legs and the clammy sweat on her hands told a different story.
"Please welcome the Princess of Asadavi, Princess Jackline."
The words, a cruel fanfare, tore through her thoughts. The doors between her and the church finally groaned open, revealing a cavernous hall filled with the murmur of a thousand voices. Jackline's fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms until she felt the sting of a half-moon shape. Breathe, she commanded herself, a mantra against the rising panic. Breathe.
As she started her walk down the aisle, the whispers from the guests were like tiny arrows, each one finding its mark. "She's the sacrificial lamb, her parents sold her to the demon himself," they hissed, their pity and judgment a suffocating weight. She kept her eyes on the ground, a futile attempt to ignore the chorus of condemnation, and reminded herself that it would all be worth it in the end. A small voice in the back of her mind, however, asked, Was it too late to turn back now?
"My princess."
A hand stretched out to her, and Jackline's head slowly lifted, her gaze traveling up the expanse of a finely tailored tunic, past a broad chest, and finally to the face of the man who stood before her. In that instant, the whispers faded into a distant hum. The room, the people, her own fear—everything vanished. All that remained was him.
His hair was a turbulent sea of silver and gold, catching the light like sun on glacial ice. And his eyes—they held the piercing, impossible blue of a high-altitude sky just before dawn. His lips were a vibrant red, and his skin was flawless, a canvas every woman would envy. He was not the devil of whispered rumors but a breathtaking vision, a god carved from impossible beauty. Was this truly the man they feared?
Jackline stood frozen, her legs rooted to the ground. She couldn't move, could only stare, a helpless moth caught in the captivating glare of a candle. She was in a trance, captivated by the impossible beauty of the man she was to marry.
"Princess," the priest called out again, his voice laced with impatience. "Princess!"
The repetition finally managed to pierce the fog in her mind, and Jackline came back to reality with a shudder. She placed her trembling hand in his, and the vows began.
Her mind, however, remained captivated, lost in the turbulent sea of his eyes, wondering what secrets lay beneath the surface of his breathtaking beauty. The only thing she was certain of was that nothing was as it seemed.