Chapter 3: The Wedding in Blood
1245 Words
The carriage wheels rattled against the cobbled streets as they cut through the silent city. The heavy curtains were drawn, shielding Eleanor from the outside world, but she could still feel the night air seeping in through the small gaps.
She did not speak.
Neither did Alexander.
His presence filled the space, powerful and suffocating. He sat across from her, his sharp gaze never leaving her. The dim lantern inside the carriage flickered, casting shadows across his chiseled, unreadable features.
She had expected him to demand answers.
To ask her why she had not waited at the chapel.
To ask why she had been sold at an auction like property.
But he remained silent.
Not cold.
Not distant.
But something else entirely.
She shifted slightly, feeling the weight of his attention settle over her. The fine silk of her dress clung to her skin, still tainted with the scent of the auction house—cigar smoke and cheap perfume.
She wanted to wash it away.
But before she could say anything, the carriage slowed.
Her breath caught.
Not at an estate.
Not at a safe house.
But before the towering, arched entrance of the Kingdom’s Grand Cathedral.
A place of sanctity. Of finality.
Her throat tightened as realization sank in.
He hadn’t taken her away to negotiate terms.
He hadn’t taken her back to his estate.
He was going to marry her. Right now.
The cathedral was dark save for the glow of candlelight flickering along the vaulted ceilings. Stained glass windows cast faint colors across the polished marble floors, and the scent of incense and melted wax filled the air.
A priest stood waiting near the altar, his expression unreadable as Alexander led her inside. His fingers curled around her wrist—not forcefully, but with quiet, unshakable certainty.
He did not ask if she would follow.
He already knew she would.
The moment they stopped before the priest, Eleanor felt Alexander shift closer. His presence loomed beside her, a fortress of heat and strength.
The priest hesitated.
"My Lord Duke," he said cautiously, glancing at Alexander’s blood-streaked gloves, then at Eleanor’s veil-covered face. "Is this… appropriate?"
Alexander’s voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
"Would you rather it be a funeral?"
The priest paled.
Eleanor stood perfectly still, her fingers clenching at the fabric of her gown.
She had never been to a wedding before.
She had never imagined her own.
But there was no music. No guests. No flowers.
Only a contract.
A vow.
A deal.
And a man who had killed to put a ring on her finger.
The priest cleared his throat, his hands trembling slightly as he opened the ceremonial book.
"In the presence of the heavens," he began, his voice careful, "we stand before God to witness the binding of two souls in holy matrimony. A sacred union, one not to be taken lightly—"
Alexander cut him off.
"Skip to the vows."
The priest swallowed hard, flipping through the pages.
"As you wish, Your Grace."
Eleanor’s breath was steady, but her pulse was not.
This was happening.
Here. Now.
And she did not know if she should feel relief or terror.
She had expected him to take her in three days. To meet her at the chapel and sign a contract like civilized people.
But civilized men did not kill in a fit of rage.
Civilized men did not claim what they wanted with bloodstained hands.
Alexander Collinwood was not a civilized man.
And she was about to become his wife.
The priest cleared his throat again.
"Do you, Alexander Collinwood, Duke of Collinwood, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife? To cherish, honor, and protect for all the days of your life?"
Alexander’s voice was like steel wrapped in silk.
"I do."
The priest turned to her.
"And do you, Eleanor Sinclair, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband? To honor, stand beside, and—"
"I do," she said, before he could finish.
Alexander’s head tilted slightly, his sharp eyes flickering toward her.
She had answered quickly.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
The priest blinked, startled.
But Eleanor knew what she was doing.
She had already made her choice the moment she walked into that garden three nights ago.
And there was no turning back now.
The priest nodded slowly, collecting himself.
"The rings—"
"There are none," Alexander said smoothly.
Eleanor barely had time to process that before she felt his fingers reach into his coat.
A moment later, something rough brushed against her skin.
She looked down.
A simple string.
Frayed. Uneven. Unworthy of nobility.
But Alexander lifted her hand, tying the string around her finger with careful, deliberate movements.
His voice was low as he murmured, "You will have a proper ring tomorrow."
Eleanor swallowed.
She did not know why, but her chest tightened at his words.
The priest looked faintly horrified but managed to compose himself.
"Then by the laws of the kingdom and the eyes of the divine, I pronounce you husband and wife. May this union be—"
Alexander was already turning.
Already guiding Eleanor toward the door, his hand warm against the small of her back.
There was no celebration.
No applause.
Only the quiet sound of Eleanor’s heartbeat in her ears.
The moment they stepped out into the cold night air, she exhaled.
She was married.
To the Duke.
To Alexander.
And she did not regret it.
Not once.
---
The carriage ride back to his estate was silent.
Alexander did not speak.
He simply sat across from her, his gloved hands resting on his thighs, his sharp gaze watching her every move.
She could still feel the rough string around her finger.
It was not the ring of a Duchess.
But it was a promise.
A vow.
One that he had already sealed in blood.
The estate loomed in the distance, its tall iron gates opening as they arrived. The moment the carriage stopped, Alexander stepped out first, his movements fluid and controlled.
Eleanor did not wait for him to offer his hand.
She stepped out on her own.
A flicker of amusement crossed his features.
He liked that.
The butler was waiting at the entrance, his expression calm as he took in the sight of Eleanor standing beside the Duke.
"My Lord."
Alexander barely glanced at him.
"She sleeps in my room."
Eleanor stilled.
The butler did not react.
"As you wish."
Alexander led her inside, his strides long and confident. He moved through the corridors as if he had already decided everything for her.
But she did not protest.
She simply followed.
The bedroom was large, the massive bed covered in dark silks. A fire flickered in the hearth, casting shadows along the walls.
Alexander stepped inside first.
Then, he turned to her.
She held his gaze.
He reached up, fingers brushing against the edge of her veil.
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
Then—he stepped back.
"You will sleep here," he said, his voice low. "I will take the guest room tonight."
Eleanor blinked.
She had expected—
She wasn’t sure what she had expected.
But not that.
He moved toward the door, pausing just before he left.
"Tomorrow," he murmured, "you will wake as the Duchess of Collinwood."
Then, without another word, he was gone.
And Eleanor was left standing in her husband’s room.
In her new life.
---
End of Chapter 3
- Writer
