Bride For The Feral Alpha

#4: A Morning of Weddings

My withered old Lord would have to settle for a paralyzed bride today.

Pins stabbed my scalp. Behind me, someone tightened my corset so hard that I doubted I would be able to make it to my own wedding in one piece. To my right, another maid pulled my arm. The ceremonial gown I was forced to wear scratched my skin. And through it all, I just stayed in place, my body refusing to react.

Mother’s voice rang hot and angry every other minute. Father was probably in some corner of the household taking a smoke, and all I could think of was Ophelia.

I should never have left her. I should never have ignored all those signs she gave me. She clearly didn't want this union, and now she was out there with no money, no housing, and hardly anything that could help a feeble young lady survive in a town like Evenmoor.

My eyes began to glisten.

One of the handmaids rushed forward, leaving my dress, and now stood before me. Her face fell. “You don't have to be sad, Miss. You're making your family proud, and I'm sure you'd make a good wife. You have large hips, perfect for bearing children. That's all you need.”

Her lips formed a slight smile after her comment, and she did not doubt in her mind that somehow she had convinced herself that she had done some much-needed good.

This was how most of the women in Evenmoor thought.

A creaking sound interrupted my train of thought, and I turned towards the door.

“Why isn’t she ready? Lord Aubrey is ready, and over my dead body will I allow any more mishaps!” The shrill voice echoed through my room, and suddenly, the maid who had been so kind to provide me with advice was now standing three feet away from me.

Only Mother could have that effect on someone.

Taking in a deep breath, I turned towards Mother, and I forced a smile. If this were the only way I could help Ophelia, I would take it. My only prayer was that she was far away, and the Lord granted her some happiness elsewhere.

As Mother approached me, the floorboards echoed, and all the maids that were around me shifted and formed a clear path for her.

Reaching where I stood, she smiled back at me and cupped my cheek with palms so soft that they contrasted sharply with her personality. Unsure as to whether this was another threat or a last act of kindness, I leaned into her touch, either way.

Those dark grey eyes everyone claimed I inherited from her, stared at me with a glossy finish. Was she so happy that one of her daughters would be marrying the mysterious and all-powerful Lord Aubrey? Or was she just sad that Ophelia had gone, and this was the only way that she could show it?

“You’re finally making us proud, Quinn, and I have no doubt in mind that you will make the perfect bride.”

I swallowed. Where words failed me, my body acted on its own, and I nodded.

“Come now. It is time.” She stepped back and held out her hand.

And just like last night, I took it, the only difference being that I knew my fate, and there would be no running away for me come the next morning.

I had spent one perfect night with a stranger, and now, I could never see him again, even if I tried.

Every step I took reminded me of last night. The pleasant ache between my thighs. The bruises his fingers had left on my hips. Physical proof that, for one night, I’d been free.

Just like last night, I got into a carriage, and while I felt this excitement that refused to die down yesterday, today, I felt nothing. There was no fear. No sadness. No anxiety. Just the clear realization that the future had happened a lot sooner than expected, and that I was the sacrificial lamb of the family. I was saving Ophelia. I was saving Mother and Father from disgrace. I was saving everyone but myself.

The ride to the cathedral was short.

Its doors opened as though they were serving me a silent sentence, and my gown felt a lot heavier than usual as I walked into its halls. A dreaded tune filled the halls. The seats by both my left and right were filled with people I was sure I had never seen in my life, and down the hall was the withered Lord standing beside the town priest.

I would have loved to get a closer look at my new prisoner, but my veil obscured my vision. Fortunately, I could still make out shapes and colors through the sheer fabric.

Father escorted me down the aisle, and the closer I got to the altar, the more I noticed about my withered old Lord, and my heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. His back was straight—straighter than mine. No man in his sixties could have a posture that good, as far as I knew. To prove my point, I turned to look at my father and his curved spine. Also, there was no grey hair in sight. Instead, his hair was darker than the bottom of Mother’s favorite kettle pot.

My heartbeats began to sync with my steps, and I turned to face my father mid-walk. “Father, are you sure that that is Lord Aubrey?”

With his eyes trained forward, he replied. “We weren’t the only family who had to make a swap. Lord Aubrey… experienced some issues and had his son take his place instead, now keep walking and don’t bring upon any more disgrace to this family.”

Father’s sharp retort should have given me some form of comfort or should have provided a silver lining in this chaos I was currently swimming in, yet, there was this air of dread I felt dancing around me, and no matter how much I rubbed my palms against my dress, the sweat did not cease.

Somehow, I began to wish that I was marrying a withered old Lord.

It was easier to blame all of my problems on a withered old Lord.

My feet came to a halt, and I was now at the altar, and nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Lord Aubrey turned to meet my gaze, and I was met with the same dark brown eyes that stared into my soul as he ruined me last night.

“So, this is the Feywin bride,” he muttered, the expression on his face unreadable.

Everything stopped. The music. My breathing. My heart.