Wedding..

The palace buzzed with activity as the day of the wedding dawned. Everywhere Aurora turned, servants rushed about, hanging garlands of white roses and gold ribbons, their faces tense with the knowledge of what this day meant. It wasn't just a union of two people; it was the cementing of power, the solidification of a future Aurora had never asked for.

From her window, she could see the grand courtyard below, where musicians tuned their instruments and the royal guards stood in pristine rows, awaiting the guests that would flood the palace that evening. The sun hung heavy in the sky, almost mocking her with its brilliance. Tonight, by the time it set, her life as she knew it would be over.

There was a soft knock on her chamber door, and before Aurora could respond, her father, the King of Dysheria, entered the room. His cold, imposing figure filled the space, and for a moment, Aurora forgot how to breathe.

He stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning her with a gaze that held no warmth, only expectation. "Aurora," he began, his voice sharp and without affection. "The preparations are almost complete. You will not embarrass this family today."

Her stomach twisted. The weight of his words settled on her chest, but she straightened her spine. "I won't cause any problems."

The king stepped closer, his expression hardening. "This marriage is what you were born for. You are the future queen of Dysheria, and tonight you will fulfill your duty. I do not care about your feelings, your hesitations, or your childish fears. You will walk down that aisle, you will say your vows, and you will behave with the dignity expected of a princess."

His words were like daggers, piercing her with every syllable. He had always been cold, always more concerned with power and image than his own daughter's happiness. But now, seeing the finality of it all, the absolute lack of care for her as a person, was almost too much to bear.

He turned to leave, pausing only once at the door to look back at her. "There will be no commotion. Do you understand?"

Aurora's throat tightened, but she managed a small nod. "I understand."

The king left without another word, and as the door clicked shut, the room felt even colder. Aurora's hands trembled as she sat at the edge of the bed, her thoughts spiraling. There would be no escape. Not now.

Moments later, the maids arrived, their faces expressionless as they carried in the elaborate gown she was to wear. It was a masterpiece of gold and ivory, with intricate lacework and pearls that glimmered like stars against the fabric. It was beautiful, there was no denying that. But it felt like a shroud, a death sentence wrapped in finery.

Without a word, they began dressing her, tightening the corset until Aurora could barely breathe. Her fingers twitched as they worked, but she didn't resist. There was no point. Her mind was elsewhere—on the altar, on Vincent, on the life waiting for her at the end of that aisle.

As the maids adjusted her veil, the door creaked open again. This time, it wasn't a maid or her father. It was Vincent.

Aurora froze, her heart leaping into her throat as he stepped into the room with that familiar, oily smile. He looked at her with a gleam in his eyes that made her skin crawl, as though she were a prize he'd already won.

"Look at you," Vincent purred, moving closer. "You'll make a beautiful bride."

His words were poison in her ears. Aurora's entire body tensed as he reached out, cupping her chin with his hand. The maids, sensing the shift in the room, bowed quickly and scurried out, leaving her alone with him.

Before she could react, Vincent's lips were on hers, harsh and forceful. The kiss was nothing short of a violation, stealing the last slivers of autonomy she had left. She recoiled, but his grip on her tightened, fingers digging into her skin.

"You should be grateful," he whispered against her mouth. "You're about to be queen."

Aurora wanted to scream, wanted to shove him away, but her body was frozen in place. When he finally pulled back, his smirk was wider, more triumphant. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, satisfied.

"I'll see you at the altar," he sneered, turning and walking out as casually as he had come in, leaving her to stand there, shaking in the oppressive silence.

Aurora didn't know how long she stood there after he left, her fingers trembling as she touched her lips where his had been. It felt like a mark, a stain she couldn't wash away. But as the hours passed, the maids returned to fix her dress, to adjust her veil, to prepare her for what was to come.

Soon, it was time.

The grand doors to the palace's ceremonial hall creaked open, and Aurora found herself standing at the entrance. The music swelled, filling the hall with the sound of a thousand strings. Rows of nobles, diplomats, and royals from neighboring kingdoms filled the pews, their eyes all trained on her.

Her feet felt like lead as she stepped forward, the weight of the gown pulling her down with every step. The aisle stretched out before her like a path to her own execution, and at the end of it, Vincent stood waiting.

He was dressed in opulent black and gold, his suit tailored to perfection, a vision of the groom every kingdom would dream of for their daughter. But to Aurora, he looked like the devil himself, his smirk visible even from this distance.

Her heart plummeted at the sight of him, the reality of what was happening crushing her chest. Each step was heavier than the last, the faces of the guests blurring around her as her focus narrowed to Vincent and the altar.

There was no escape.

When she finally reached the altar, Vincent reached out for her hand. His grip was tight, possessive, as he pulled her closer. The priest began to speak, his voice a dull hum in the background as Aurora's vision tunneled. The room seemed to close in around her, the weight of the moment suffocating her.

Vincent leaned in, whispering under his breath, "Smile, Princess. This is what you were born for."

Aurora's stomach twisted, her pulse racing in her ears. Her eyes flicked to the doors at the back of the hall. No one was coming to save her.

The future queen of Dysheria had never felt more powerless.