The Wedding Night

[AMAL POV]

As the evening progressed, I found myself relaxing into the role. The nobles accepted me more readily than I'd expected, drawn in by what they saw as a genuine love story. Several of the ladies commented on how attentive Idris was, how he never left my side, how he seemed to anticipate my every need.

"It's so refreshing," Lady Yasmin confided during a quiet moment. "Royal marriages are usually such cold affairs, but anyone can see how much he adores you."

"I'm very fortunate," I replied, meaning it completely. My heart swelled with such gratitude I thought it might burst.

"We all are. A happy prince makes for a stable kingdom." She squeezed my hand. "Hold onto this, dear. True love like yours is rarer than diamonds."

Near midnight, as the celebration was winding down, Idris leaned close to my ear. His breath was warm against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"Are you tired, my princess?"

The title sent a thrill through me that I felt in my very bones. "A little."

"Then shall we retire? We have a lifetime to spend with these people." His fingers traced along my wrist, and I nearly melted at the tenderness in the simple gesture.

I nodded, suddenly shy. The wedding night. I'd been trying not to think about it, but now it was here, and I felt a flutter of nervous excitement mixed with pure joy. This beautiful, gentle man loved me. Me. The marked woman who'd had nothing, who'd been nothing, was loved by a prince.

He stood and offered me his hand, and the remaining guests rose as well, raising their cups in a final toast.

"To Prince Idris and Princess Amal!" Lord Hakim called out. "May your love be eternal and your happiness complete!"

The cheers followed us as we left the Great Hall, and I felt tears of joy threatening to spill over. This was everything I'd never dared to dream of. Not just safety, not just survival, but genuine happiness. A husband who looked at me like I was precious, a court that had welcomed me, a future that stretched out bright and promising.

As we climbed the stairs to the royal chambers, Idris's hand warm in mine, I sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. Whatever forces had brought us together, whatever circumstances had led to this moment, I was exactly where I belonged.

"Are you nervous?" Idris asked, pausing outside the ornate doors to our private suite.

"A little," I admitted. "But happy. So incredibly happy I feel like I might float away."

He smiled, and in the soft light of the corridor torches, he looked almost ethereal. Like something from a dream I was afraid to wake from. "I'm glad. I want you to be happy, Amal. Always."

"I am. I love you, Idris."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I held my breath, waiting for his response. For a moment, something flickered across his features—too quick for me to read. Then he smiled, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

"Go on in," he said softly. "I'll be along in a moment. I just need to speak with the captain of the guard about tomorrow's schedule."

I nodded, still glowing from the perfection of the evening. As I entered our chambers, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and hardly recognized the radiant woman staring back. This was what happiness looked like. This was what love could do.

I sat on the edge of our marriage bed, my hands folded in my lap, listening to the distant sounds of celebration still echoing through the palace halls. The wedding gown had been replaced with a silk nightgown that felt like whispered promises against my skin. Candles flickered throughout the chamber, casting dancing shadows on the rich tapestries that adorned the walls.

My heart fluttered with nervous anticipation. This was it—the beginning of my new life. The beginning of what I hoped would become a love story worthy of the songs the court poets would write about us.

I thought about the way Idris had looked at me during the ceremony, the warmth in his eyes when he'd called me beautiful, the gentle way he'd held my hand throughout the evening. The nobles had seen it too—the love between us, the way he'd never left my side, the unconscious tenderness in his every gesture.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to contain the overwhelming gratitude that threatened to spill over. After so many years of being nothing, of being marked and unwanted, I was loved. Cherished. Protected. The fairy tale was real.

The door opened, and I looked up with a smile that died on my lips.

Idris entered the chamber, but this wasn't the man who'd gazed at me with such adoration just hours before. His ceremonial robes had been replaced with simple clothes, and his entire demeanor had shifted. The warmth was gone from his eyes, replaced by something cold and distant. He looked... bored. Exhausted. As if the very sight of me was a chore he had to endure.

My stomach clenched with the first whisper of dread.

"Your Highness?" I stood, uncertain. "Are you well?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the window and stared out at the gardens, his hands clasped behind his back. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. This wasn't the comfortable silence we'd shared before—this was something else entirely.

"Idris?" I tried again, my voice smaller now. "Did something happen? Is there trouble?"

"Sit down, Amal." His tone was flat, businesslike. There was no warmth in it, no trace of the man who'd whispered sweet words in my ear just hours before.

I sat, my stomach beginning to twist with dread. "What's wrong? You're scaring me."

He turned then, and the look in his eyes made my blood run cold. This was the face of a stranger—calculating, indifferent, almost cruel in its complete lack of emotion.

"Nothing's wrong," he said, his voice carrying a note of irritation. "Everything has gone exactly according to plan."

"I don't understand." The words came out as a whisper.

"Don't you?" He moved closer, and I instinctively shrank back. The man who'd spent weeks teaching me I was safe, that I never had to fear again, was making me afraid. "The desperate woman fleeing through the forest, the wounded merchant who saved her, the gradual building of trust and affection. The proposal, the wedding, the fairy tale ending." He smiled, but it was sharp and cold. "It was all very well executed, don't you think?"

My heart began to pound so hard I could hear it in my ears. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying the performance is over, Amal. The courtship, the romance, the loving gazes—all of it. You've served your purpose."

"My purpose?" My voice cracked.

"Did you really think I married you out of love?" He laughed, a sound devoid of any warmth. "You, a marked woman with nothing to offer except your desperation? How charmingly naive."

I felt the room tilt around me. The candlelight seemed to dim, the very air growing thin. "But you said... you told me you cared for me. You said your feelings were real."

"I said whatever I needed to say to keep you compliant." He sat down in the chair across from me, crossing his legs with casual indifference. "You were so eager to believe it, too. So grateful for any scrap of affection. It made the whole thing remarkably easy."

"No." I shook my head, trying to process what he was saying. "No, this isn't real. You're tired, you're stressed from the wedding—"

"I'm tired of pretending," he cut me off harshly. "Do you have any idea how exhausting it's been, playing the devoted suitor? Constantly having to touch you, to smile at you, to act as if I felt anything beyond mild tolerance?"

Each word was like a physical blow. I pressed my hands to my chest, trying to contain the pain that was radiating through me. "But at the ceremony... the way you looked at me..."

"Acting, Amal. All of it. Every tender glance, every gentle touch, every word of affection—it was all performance. And I'm very good at performing when my future depends on it."

"Your future?"

His smile turned predatory. "Did you think it was coincidence that I found you in the forest? That I happened to be there at exactly the right moment to save you from Faisal's men?"

"You said you were traveling—"

"I was hunting. For exactly what I found—a desperate woman with nowhere else to turn. Someone who would be so grateful for rescue that she'd accept any proposal without question." He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with cold satisfaction. "You were perfect, Amal. Absolutely perfect."

I couldn't breathe. The room was spinning, and I felt like I was falling through empty space. "I don't understand. Why would you do this? Why would you need to hunt for a wife?"

"Because I had twelve days." His voice was matter-of-fact, clinical. "Twelve days before my thirtieth birthday, at which point I would have been stripped of my title as crown prince. Royal law is quite clear—the heir must be married before thirty, or forfeit his claim."

"Twelve days..."

"I spent months looking for suitable candidates among the nobility, but they were all too clever, too ambitious. They would have wanted real power, real influence. They would have been problems."He stood and began pacing, his movements sharp and self-satisfied. "But a marked woman? A woman society has already discarded? Someone who would be so grateful for elevation that she'd never question her place or demand more than I was willing to give?"He paused, looking almost pleased with himself. "It was really quite brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"You planned this." The words came out hollow, empty. "All of it."

"Of course I planned it. The wounded merchant persona, the gradual revelation of my true identity, the proposal—every step was calculated to make you feel special, chosen, loved." He stopped pacing and looked at me with something that might have been pity. "And it worked beautifully. You fell for every moment of it. It was almost too easy."

Too easy...

I thought of all the times he'd held me, all the gentle words, all the moments when I'd felt so cherished, so precious. "The things you said in the forest... about wanting to know who I was when I wasn't afraid..."

"Manipulation. All of it. I needed you to trust me, to open up to me, so I could present you to the court as something other than a desperate refugee. I needed you to believe in the fairy tale so completely that you'd sell it to everyone else."

"And tonight? At the wedding? The way you looked at me, the way you never left my side?"

"Politics, Amal. I needed the court to believe in our love story. I needed them to see a prince so besotted with his bride that they'd overlook her origins." He shrugged. "Apparently, I was quite convincing. Even you believed it."

I was shaking now, my entire body trembling as the full scope of his deception crashed over me. "So what happens now? Now that you've gotten what you wanted?"

"Now we live our separate lives. You'll perform your duties as princess—attend functions, smile prettily, produce an heir when I require it. In return, you'll have safety, luxury, status. It's more than you ever could have hoped for."

"And love?"

He looked at me as if I'd asked about flying to the moon. "Love? Amal, I don't even like you. You're a necessary inconvenience, nothing more. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us."

The words hit me like physical blows. I doubled over, gasping for breath, the pain in my chest so intense I thought I might die from it. "You're lying. You have to be lying."

"Why would I lie now? I have what I needed. The crown is secure, the succession is safe, and I have a wife who will never be a threat to my power. There's no reason to continue the charade."

"But the way you touch me, the way you look at me—"

"Muscle memory from weeks of pretending. It will fade soon enough." He moved toward the connecting door to his private chambers. "I'll sleep in my own room tonight. And every night. This marriage is political, Amal. Nothing more."

"Please." I stood on shaking legs, reaching toward him. "Please don't do this. I know there's something real between us. I felt it—"

"You felt what I wanted you to feel." He turned back to me, and the cold indifference in his eyes was more devastating than any cruelty. "You were a job, Amal. A problem to be solved. And now you're solved."

"I love you." The words tore from my throat, desperate and broken. "I love you so much, this hurts."

"I know you do. That was the point." He paused at the door, his hand on the handle. "It will be easier if you forget about love, about romance, about any of the pretty lies I told you. You're a princess now. Be content with that."

"Idris, please—"

"It's Your Highness now. Even in private. We're not friends, Amal. We never were."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like the end of the world.

I stood alone in the candlelit chamber, still wearing the silk nightgown that had felt like promises just minutes before. The bed that should have been the beginning of our life together loomed behind me, empty and cold.

I thought of the joy on the nobles' faces, the way they'd celebrated our love story. I thought of Lady Yasmin's words about how refreshing it was to see a genuine love match. I thought of the way my heart had soared when Idris had called me beautiful, when he'd said I was the most beautiful bride the kingdom had ever seen.

All lies. Every moment of happiness, every flutter of hope, every second of feeling cherished and wanted and loved—all of it had been a performance. A job. A problem to be solved.

I sank to the floor, my silk nightgown pooling around me like spilled water, and finally let the tears come. They poured out of me in great, wrenching sobs that shook my entire body. I cried for the love I'd thought I'd found, for the man I'd thought I'd married, for the future I'd imagined stretching out bright and promising ahead of us.

But most of all, I cried for the woman I'd been just hours before—the woman who'd sat on this same bed, glowing with happiness, certain that she was beloved, certain that she'd found her fairytale ending.

That woman was gone forever, destroyed as thoroughly as if she'd never existed at all.

And in her place was only me—a princess in name only, married to a man who saw her as nothing more than a political necessity, trapped in a golden cage of her own making.

The marked woman had thought she was being saved.

Instead, she'd been destroyed in the most elegant way possible.