The Bride
1463 Words
They took her below first.
Not through corridors she knew. Not the ones prisoners used. Not the ones the cameras ever showed.
These were different.
The walls darkened with every step, polished black stone reflecting warped versions of her as she passed. Runes pulsed beneath the surface, slow and steady, like something breathing under the rock.
The air changed too.
Cooler. Cleaner.
Full of expensive magic.
The plaque on the door read:
PREPARATION CHAMBER
Liora stopped in the doorway.
Inside, attendants waited with brushes, powders, pins, ribbons, and hands already reaching.
Her gaze caught on the glass case at the center of the room.
The gown hung inside it.
Cream-white. Perfect. Ceremonial.
Not wedding white.
Sacrifice white.
Her stomach turned.
“No.”
An attendant glanced up. “No?”
“I’m not wearing that.”
“You’ll wear what the prison requires.”
“The prison can choke.”
Pain snapped through her shackles.
Liora hissed, doubling slightly as the magic bit into her wrists.
“I hate this place,” she muttered.
“No,” one attendant said behind her, already pulling pins from a tray. “You hate being poor in this place.”
That hit harder than the shock.
Liora didn’t answer.
They stripped her quickly.
Not cruelly. Not gently.
Efficiently.
Cold air slid over her skin. Rough cloth dragged across bruises she hadn’t noticed until they burned. Water ran down her back, too clean and too cold, dripping along her spine while hands scrubbed away prison grime like it offended them.
They braided and curled her hair.
Pulled it tight.
Laced her into the gown until her ribs had to fight for breath.
It fit perfectly.
That was the worst part.
Like it had been waiting for her.
When they turned her toward the mirror, Liora stared.
A girl in white stared back.
Too clean. Too still. Too pretty to be real.
She looked like the kind of heroine who died beautifully at the end of someone else’s story.
A ring was pressed into her palm.
Simple. Silver. Cold.
Liora curled her fingers around it.
“What is this?” she asked.
No one answered fast enough.
Her pulse kicked harder.
“A bond ring?”
She hated how afraid she sounded.
“No,” an attendant said, adjusting her sleeve without looking at her. “Just a wedding band.”
“Don’t worry,” another added. “He won’t have one.”
Relief flickered.
Weak. Useless.
“What exactly is this show?”
This time, they answered.
“The Newlyweds,” one attendant said, pinning another curl into place. “Seven days. Smile pretty. Stay alive.”
Liora swallowed. “And then?”
“You walk away free.”
Her lungs loosened for half a breath.
“Both of us?”
The room went quiet.
Just for a second.
Enough.
The attendant behind her met her eyes in the mirror.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If he decides to keep you alive.”
The air left her chest.
Liora stared at her reflection, at the dress, at the ring, at the hands still fixing her like any of this mattered.
“How do I make sure he does?”
A look passed between the attendants.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Tired.
“You make a connection.”
Liora’s fingers tightened around the ring. “Connection?”
One attendant lifted her hand.
A small, crude gesture.
Clear enough.
Liora flinched.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” the first said flatly. “That kind.”
“If you fall in love,” another said, voice dry enough to make the word sound rotten, “you both get out.”
“And if I don’t?”
No one answered right away.
Then one attendant shrugged.
“He goes back to death row.”
“And me?”
Another pin slid into her hair.
“Depends how angry he is.”
Liora looked back at the mirror.
White dress. Perfect hair. Cold sweat prickling beneath expensive fabric.
Bride.
Sacrifice.
Same thing, apparently.
The attendants stepped back.
“Good luck,” one said.
“I hope you get a good one.”
Another gathered the brushes from the counter. “Try not to die the first night.”
The guards took her again.
Down another corridor.
Long. Narrow. Warmer with every step.
Then louder.
At first, it was only a hum.
Then a roar.
Then voices.
Thousands of them.
Screaming. Cheering. Waiting.
Her heart began to pound so hard she could feel it in her throat.
At the end of the tunnel stood massive gilded doors, shaking under the force of the crowd beyond.
A voice boomed overhead.
“WELCOME TO THE NEWLYWEDS!”
The sound slammed into her bones.
Liora stopped.
Her lungs refused to work.
A guard leaned close, his hot breath brushing her ear as his hand gripped her waist.
“Smile,” he murmured. “Your life depends on being wanted.”
Her stomach twisted.
The doors opened.
Light hit her first.
Blinding.
Then sound.
Deafening.
Then the arena.
Endless black stone balconies rose around her, packed with nobles in silk, mages glowing with power, creatures draped in jewels and shadow.
All watching.
All waiting.
For blood. For romance. For both.
The guard shoved her onto a narrow stone platform.
No railing.
No barrier.
Nothing between her and the drop.
Liora looked down.
Lava.
Boiling. Churning. Spitting heat so close the air warped in front of her face.
Floating stones drifted across it, uneven and unstable, leading toward another platform on the far side.
That platform was crowded with men.
Some looked human.
Others did not.
All wore chains.
All were already looking at her.
Already choosing.
Metal slammed against stone as their chains dropped.
The announcer’s voice rang bright and delighted.
“You all know and love the game…”
A pause.
“IT’S THE FLOOR IS HOT LAVA!”
The crowd screamed.
“Cross the field, claim the bride, and earn your chance at freedom!”
Liora swayed, heat licking her skin, nausea rising fast.
“IF NO ONE MAKES IT…”
A dramatic pause.
“SHE DOESN’T MARRY TODAY.”
The crowd laughed.
Today?
Her stomach dropped.
What did that mean? They would bring her back tomorrow? Again and again until one of them reached her?
A glowing orb shot toward her face.
Too close.
“Liora is thirty-two,” the announcer crooned. “A lovely vixen who has never found love.”
The orb circled her slowly.
“But today… she just might.”
Cheers exploded.
The orb vanished.
“On the other side, our hopeful grooms! Each one a magical creature wanting love.”
Another pause.
“Murderers! Terrorists! Even an embezzler tonight!”
The crowd booed with delighted cruelty.
“LET THE GAMES BEGIN!”
A grinding sound echoed.
Stone shifting.
Liora watched in horror as the men’s platform began to move.
Not forward.
Back.
Sliding slowly into the wall behind them.
Men stumbled. Cursed. One slipped.
Fell.
His scream cut short when he hit the lava.
The smell reached her next.
Liora gagged and turned away, bile burning the back of her throat.
She couldn’t watch.
She didn’t want them to reach her.
She didn’t want them to die trying.
The announcer laughed.
“Better hurry, gentlemen!”
More screams.
More heat.
More bodies hitting stone or missing it completely.
Liora squeezed her eyes shut.
THUD.
Close.
She turned.
One man had made it.
He dragged himself onto her platform, fingers gripping the edge hard enough to leave streaks of blood behind.
Not feeding blood.
Survival blood.
Burned. Torn. Shredded from stone and heat.
Recognition hit before thought could catch up.
The same eyes.
The man from the prison yard.
The one who had looked at her like he already knew.
Like he had already chosen.
Now he stood in front of her.
Closer.
Real.
Pale eyes locked onto hers.
Not scared.
Not confused.
Certain.
Dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, loose strands clinging damply to his skin. His chest rose slowly, steadily, like crossing a field of lava had barely been worth his attention.
“WE HAVE A GROOM!”
The crowd erupted.
“IT’S A VAMPIRE!”
Liora stumbled back until her spine hit cold stone.
Of all of them.
A vampire.
The one who had already seen her.
Already marked her.
Already decided.
And she had never even been asked.
He stepped closer.
Not fast.
Not threatening.
Which somehow made it worse.
His gaze dropped briefly to the ring in her hand, then back to her face.
A slow smile touched his mouth.
“Bride,” he said softly,
like he was testing how it sounded.
Liora’s blood ran cold.
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