The Royal Scapegoat

“Tighter! Use those slimy hands of yours and pull!” Duchess Katherine’s voice shrilled across the dressing room. Daley’s stomach constricted, her eyes squeezing shut as her personal maid yanked the corset strings with all her might. The twenty-year-old princess let out a jagged gasp, her ribs feeling as though they were folding inward. She fought back a wave of nausea, her eyes bulging and glistening with the sting of unshed tears. “Is it too much, Princess?” the maid whispered, her voice trembling. Daley’s face was flushed a deep, embarrassed red. “It’s fine,” Daley bit out through the pain. “My prince will surely adore this deathtrap of a gown. He can marry my corpse if I stop breathing altogether.” “Are you sure we shouldn't…” “Oh, for the love of heaven, loosen it!” Daley finally choked out, a raw sob escaping her. “I’d like to survive long enough to actually see the man. I can’t die a virgin.” “My apologies, my love,” Katherine cooed, her sudden shift to a motherly tone feeling as she smoothed the silk over Daley’s back. “This day must be flawless. The fate of the kingdom demands perfection.” As the tension was released, Daley felt a rush of oxygen return to her lungs. She slumped into a chair, watching her reflection. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes drifted to the stack of letters on her table—the only connection she had to her mysterious betrothed. A warm ache bloomed in her chest. Soon, the distance between them would be gone. Suddenly, a deadly chill swept through the room, turning the air brittle and thin. Daley’s heart hammered against her ribs. It was happening. The maid froze, and Katherine’s breath hitched into a ragged gasp. “Quickly! Finish the face and hair now!” the Duchess shrieked. The air grew heavy with the weight of the ancient curse—a tangible, freezing mist seeping through the stone walls. While few understood the origins of the curse, everyone knew its price: famine, decay, and the slow death of the realm. This marriage was the only seal strong enough to hold the darkness back. But who was he? Daley wondered. His letters had been filled with formal declarations of duty and vague, sweet promises of affection. They were both restricted in what they could write, yet she had sensed a kind, gentle soul beneath his ink. The King chose him, she reminded herself. Her father is never wrong. The maid lowered a heavy, opaque veil over Daley’s head, blinding her. “Do not lift that veil for any reason,” Katherine warned. Daley didn't need to be told. Custom dictated that the Prince would lift the shroud only after the vows were sealed. A nervous heat rose to her cheeks as she was led toward the door. *** The notes of the organ were soft and haunting as Daley descended the staircase. She scanned the crowd through the thin mesh of her veil. Queen Susan was there, alongside Katherine, but someone was missing. Where was Rachel? Before she could dwell on her sister’s absence, a violent wind rattled the stained-glass windows. With a deafening crack, the glass exploded, raining shards of color onto the floor. Screams erupted as the guests ran for cover. “Marry them now! There is no time!” the Queen’s advisor barked, his staff thudding against the marble. Daley was rushed toward the altar, her feet barely touching the ground. Her groom stood waiting, his own face hidden behind a thick ceremonial cloth. The priest began the rite, his voice shaking as the very foundation of the cathedral trembled. “Hold her hand,” the priest commanded. When the Prince took her hand, Daley felt an unexpected spark—a delicate, soft warmth that mirrored the tenderness in his letters. Her heart soared. She had never been held by a man before, and the gentleness of his touch made her imagine a face full of light and kindness. The rings were exchanged. The audience held its collective breath. “You may now reveal yourselves,” the priest announced. “The curse is delayed.” Their hands brushed as they both reached for their veils. A small, shy giggle escaped Daley’s lips. Together, they threw back the fabric. The world went silent. Not a breath was drawn in the entire hall. Daley’s eyes stretched wide in a silent scream. She tore the remaining lace from her head, her voice cracking as she shrieked, “You?!” Before she could process the shock, a brutal force slammed into her chest. Roy shoved her with such fury that she was sent sprawling across the cold marble floor. “Stay away from me!” he snarled, his voice a jagged blade of hatred. A horrified gasp rippled through the ruins of the hall. Roy stood over her, his face covered in loathing as he stepped toward her. Daley scrambled backward on her elbows, her wedding dress tearing against the stone. “You never stop, do you?” Roy spat, his eyes burning with a lifetime of resentment. “I would rather let the curse take us all than be bound to a pathetic, heartless bully like you!”