The grand wedding

The palace was alive with celebration.

Silks of red and gold draped the grand halls. Chandeliers burned bright with a thousand flames. Nobles, dukes, and foreign royals filled the courtyard, their voices a blend of excitement and whispered curiosity.

Because today—

Today, the powerful and most feared king was marrying a servant girl.

And no one understood exactly why.

Lylie stood before the grand mirror in her bridal chambers, staring at the woman reflected back at her.

She barely recognized herself.

The dress was heavy, laced with gold embroidery, the fabric pooling around her like liquid fire. Her hair was woven into an intricate braid, adorned with gems fit for a queen. They had scrubbed her clean, painted her lips, dusted her skin with a glow that made her look like she belonged here.

Like she owned the palace.

Like she was meant to be his.

The thought made her stomach twist.

"Ayanna," Lylie murmured, her voice unusually quiet.

Ayanna stood behind her, adjusting the veil. "Yes?"

Lylie exhaled. "I don't... I don't know how to do this."

Ayanna's hands paused. "Do what?"

Lylie swallowed hard. "Walk down that aisle. Say those vows. Marry him."

Because this wasn't a wedding of love.

This was a war disguised as a union.

And she was about to step into the lion's den with no armor but her own sharp tongue.

Ayanna gave her a small, knowing smile. "Then don't think of it as marrying him."

Lylie frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Think of it as your coronation," Ayanna whispered. " I know my brother is a handful. So act like you're not walking to him, Lylie. You're walking towards power."

Lylie blinked.

And slowly—

A smirk curled at the edges of her lips.

"Sister in law," she mused, turning from the mirror. "You might just be a genius. Guess I taught you well."

******

The ceremony was held in the grand cathedral, a place of gilded ceilings and towering marble columns. Every seat was filled. Every eye was on her.

Lylie stood at the entrance, gripping her bouquet just a little too tightly.

And then, the doors swung open.

Music swelled. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

And she—

She walked.

She walked like a queen. Like a woman untouchable, unshaken. Like someone who wasn't being forced into marriage,though not technically being forced but choosing her destiny.

She could feel the eyes of every noblewoman burning with envy. Could hear the hushed murmurs of disbelief. Could sense the tension in the air as she drew closer—

To him. To her king.

Michael stood at the altar, dressed in black and gold, his crown gleaming beneath the candlelight.

And his expression?

Unreadable.

But his eyes—

Oh, his eyes burned with something sharp. Something dangerous.

Something almost like... amusement.

As if he knew what she was doing.

As if he was enjoying the game just as much as she was.

Lylie reached the altar, staring up at him with that same defiant smirk she always wore.

Michael looked down at her, tilting his head slightly.

Then—

He offered his hand.

A silent command.

A challenge.

Lylie hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, feeling the cold weight of his fingers curling around hers.

The priest cleared his throat and began the ceremony.

But Lylie barely heard a word of it.

Because at that moment—

It was just them.

Locked in a battle neither of them wanted to lose.

"Speak Your Vows."

Michael was the first to speak.

His voice was smooth, calm. Deceptively soft.

"I, Michael Blackthorne, King of Erithia, take you, Lylie Foster, as my wife and queen. To stand beside me in power. To rule by my side."

A pause.

Then, his lips curled into something dark.

"To challenge me, if you dare."

A few nobles gasped. The priest hesitated.

Lylie?

She smirked.

Because of course he would turn this into a warning. A reminder that she was stepping into a world where he ruled.

But if he thought she would be intimidated—

He was so wrong.

Lylie took a breath, lifting her chin.

"I, Lylie Foster, take you, Michael Blackthorne, as my husband and king."

Michael raised an eyebrow.

Lylie smiled sweetly.

"To stand beside you in power. To rule by your side."

Then—

She leaned in, just slightly.

"To outwit you, if I can."

This time, it was the king's turn to still.

Silence stretched. The nobles held their breath.

And then—

Michael laughed.

A low, amused chuckle, shaking his head just slightly.

"You," he murmured, gripping her hand a little tighter, "are going to be trouble."

Lylie grinned. "Obviously."

*********

The ceremony ended with tradition.

A binding of hands. A final prayer.

And then—

The kiss.

Michael turned to her, his expression unreadable once again. But there was something different in his eyes now.

Something sharper.

Darker.

Possessive.

Lylie barely had time to take a breath before his hand was at her waist, pulling her in.

And then—

His lips met hers.

The court erupted in cheers.

But Lylie?

She barely heard them.

Because the moment his lips touched hers, the world around them melted away.

His kiss was not gentle.

It was not sweet.

It was a warning.

A battle of wills.

A silent promise that he would never make this easy for her.

Lylie smirked against his lips before pulling away, just slightly, just enough to whisper—

"You should know something, Your Majesty."

Michael's grip on her waist tightened. "Oh?"

Lylie leaned in, voice like honey and poison.

"I don't do easy."

Michael chuckled lowly.

"Good."