Chapter 3 Wedding in Shadows
869 Words
“Why is she dressed in ash" a noblewoman whispered behind her fan.
“Because she's already dead," came the reply.
Xiluo stood motionless at the center of the moonlit chapel, skin marked in silver ink, thin ceremonial gown clinging like smoke to her frame. Around her, priests chanted in low harmony. The air hung heavy with incense and quiet dread.
Torches along the black stone walls twisted every movement into shadows.
At the far end, Prince Ethan waited beneath a silver arch, his expression unreadable. He wore a half-mask of obsidian trimmed with thorns—symbol of the cursed line. His posture was still, but his eyes tracked her every step as she was led forward.
“Begin the rite," intoned High Priest Vexan.
Two acolytes stepped forward with chalices. One held Ethan's black ichor. The other, Xiluo's shimmering silver-red.
Xiluo did not flinch as her wrists were reopened. The same thorned ribbon from the betrothal ceremony was used to draw blood—now soaked in prophecy.
“Let their bloods mingle, and their fates bind."
The priest poured both offerings into a bowl engraved with ancient lunar runes. Smoke hissed from the mix. Several nobles turned away, coughing.
“She won't survive this," someone muttered.
“She shouldn't have made it this far."
Xiluo heard it all. Didn't respond.
The priest dipped a blade into the mixed blood and approached Ethan.
“Drink," Vexan said.
Ethan hesitated, his jaw clenched.
“I said—"
“I heard you." Ethan grabbed the chalice, ignoring the ceremonial spoon. He drank deep.
The reaction was immediate.
He staggered. His hands flexed as claws burst through skin. For a heartbeat, his entire body tensed like a struck wire.
Then—quiet.
His spine straightened. His breathing evened. Gold bled back into his pupils.
A hush fell over the room.
“He… stabilized"
“Impossible."
“No screaming"
Ethan exhaled sharply. “She works."
A ripple of disbelief passed through the watchers. Some murmured in awe. Others in fear.
Vexan didn't hide his scowl. “Continue."
Two guards bound Ethan and Xiluo's wrists together with the thorned ribbon—now soaked in both their bloods.
“With pain, unity. With silence, survival," the priest declared.
The ribbon dug into their skin, each thorn leaving a perfect crimson bead. Xiluo did not wince. Ethan watched her closely, as if waiting for her to flinch.
She didn't.
“Do you accept the bond, cursed prince"
“I accept," Ethan said.
“Do you accept the bond, silent bride"
Xiluo inclined her head.
The priest paused. “She must answer."
“She cannot," Ethan snapped.
“Then—"
“She nodded. That's enough."
Vexan's mouth twisted, but he relented.
“It is done."
The final words echoed through the high-vaulted chapel.
No bells rang. No cheers followed.
Instead, silence fell again.
---
Back in the antechamber, Ethan sat on the edge of a divan, fingers stained with dried blood. He flexed his hand once. Twice.
“She didn't collapse," he muttered.
Behind him, Xiluo stood perfectly still.
“You're not what I expected."
She tilted her head slightly.
“You should've died three times by now."
She didn't move.
“Most would cry. Or faint. Or beg."
Stillness.
“Say something," he said under his breath, then scoffed. “Right. You can't."
He turned to face her. “Why aren't you afraid of me"
Her gaze was direct. Not defiant. Just… honest.
“You've seen what I become under the blood moon."
Xiluo stepped forward. Slowly. She raised one hand and touched the side of his face, just below the mask.
Ethan stilled.
Her fingers brushed the edge of a healing scar. Then moved away.
He blinked.
“You're either brave or broken," he murmured. “Either way, you're mine now."
A knock broke the moment.
A servant entered, bowing low. “Your Highness. The nobles await word of your condition."
“Tell them I'm still cursed," Ethan said coldly. “Just calmer."
The servant hesitated. “And the bride"
Ethan's voice sharpened. “Alive. Is that not enough"
The door closed.
Xiluo exhaled slowly through her nose. A tremor passed through her legs, but she didn't fall.
Ethan noticed. “You're exhausted."
She didn't nod, didn't confirm—but her hand drifted toward the fresh bandage on her wrist.
He stood. Walked over. Then, gently—so gently it surprised even himself—he took her hand and rewrapped it with a strip of clean linen.
“No more blood tonight," he muttered. “You did enough."
Their eyes met again. The air between them hummed.
“You're not just my remedy," he said softly. “But that's the only thing I'm allowed to call you."
Xiluo stepped back, nodded once.
He didn't stop her.
As she turned to leave, his voice followed “If you stop breathing in your sleep—"
She paused.
“—they'll bury you quietly. Don't."
She didn't look back.
But when she reached her chamber, she pressed her fingers to her throat. Then to the thorned mark on her wrist. Then to the ration card in her sleeve.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still her own.
- Writer
