Chapter 4 The King’s Woman

“What are you doing out here, Miss?”

A manly, smooth voice interrupted my escape.

I blinked and quickly turned my back on him. He might not see my face—better safe than sorry.

“Nothing. I’m fine. You might want to go back to the people gawking about the occasion.”

Silence.

Did the stranger leave?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said firmly. His voice sounded strangely familiar.

“A distressed lady is not obligated to answer a stranger’s question.” My words came out stern and demanding.

“Are you distressed? Why don’t you turn around so we can speak normally?”

I stomped my feet in annoyance. This man clearly needed to learn how to mind his own business.

Oh, maybe he came at the right time—to help me.

I smiled. “Come, why don’t you put your hands on my waist and gently lift me? In that way, I might thank you for helping a distressed lady.”

“Okay—but you still didn’t answer my question.”

A stranger with a persistent spirit.

“Can you not see that I’m trying to escape by climbing this garden wall?” I said, still facing the wall.

“Yes, I can see that. But why? Are you in trouble?”

Why are men so little-brained and too dumb anyway?

And why am I wasting my precious time?

“Because I do not desire to marry a king! He might be an ogre or a demon! So, kind sir, are you going to help me or not?” I yelled.

Then he laughed—and the sound was like smooth music to my ears.

I turned to face him. His dazzling eyes met mine. His hair was soft, light brown under the sun, and his nose was sharp and aristocratic. His whole face—his entire being—was too much to take. Gorgeous was not enough of a word.

“You…” My voice came out as a whisper.

“Forgive me, for I refuse to help you.”

He wore a robe lined in blue and gold, and he was more tempting than any dream.

“That’s alright, I can manage—but please, learn to mind your business this instant.” I snapped, forcing myself to focus.

“I’m sure I’m not an ogre or a demon,” he teased, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

I froze. Could it be?

“Are you him?” I asked quietly.

“The one and only.” His full, luscious lips curved into a smirk.

I was done for. I had failed. I’d been caught red-handed by the very man I was trying to escape.

He caught me in the act of fleeing our wedding. I knew trouble when I saw it—it was like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Escape, you mean?”

I bowed my head, keeping silent in my defense.

He reached for my hand, urging me gently to stand. His touch sent an electric shiver down my spine.

“Thank you,” I murmured shyly, my cheeks burning like fire.

“I understand your hesitation,” he said softly. “I’m nobody, if I’m not the crowned king.”

His forest-green eyes glimmered with sadness.

“No, no, please don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t escaping because I find you spiteful—”

“You did.”

“Not personally. I don’t hate you as a person. I hate that my freedom to choose who to love or marry isn’t in my hands.”

“Love?” He let out a low, mocking laugh.

My face fell. “Is there something funny?”

“We are to be married, bound to each other—but I will never love you. Because I’m incapable of love.”

My jaw dropped. My heart shattered into pieces.

I was left alone to deal with my agony—my fate sealed and set in stone.

I wished I could be transported to a different galaxy, where I could be anything but a mere wife to an emotionless, detached king.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror—my pale face beneath the heavy white dress. The more I tried to breathe, the less it worked.

Every fiber of my being screamed no.

The servants came, and I shut my eyes, holding back tears. I would not lose myself in front of anyone.

“My lady, the time has come,” Lydia said softly.

I wanted to freeze time.

Why couldn’t I?

Why was I born for this purpose?

Why not someone more willing to take my place?

“My Lady?” Lydia’s voice grounded me back to reality.

I nodded. The servants followed behind, holding the train of my royal gown.

The palace was massive, yet time felt cruel—stealing every second away.

Flowers bloomed in vibrant colors, lights glittered, and the air smelled of wealth and false joy.

My parents stood at the side of the aisle, their worried eyes finding mine. They must not know I had tried to flee.

“Lady Rinoa Linnea,” the herald announced.

As I walked, every knee bent to the floor.

The trumpets blared, and the man I was to marry stepped forward.

“All bow to the presence of King Cillian Niveh the Great! Long live the king!”

“Long live the king!” the crowd echoed in unison.

My pulse raced as he drew near. The glint in his eyes was both mysterious and mischievous. The king was sculpted by the gods themselves.

“Today, we gather as one nation to witness and honor the palace’s foundation. This royal wedding of King Cillian and Lady Rinoa will be written in history.”

Applause filled the room. King Cillian’s gaze never left me. My heart soared painfully, burning with something I refused to name.

The Grand Queen handed him a paper and a knife. He wrote something, then sliced his finger.

I gasped.

“I, King Cillian Niveh, sign this contract by blood—to marry and honor my queen, Rinoa Linnea, and to build the royal court together till eternity.”

My mouth fell open as he lifted my hand, pressed his wounded finger to mine, and stamped the paper.

He didn’t let go. Instead, his hand cupped my face, tilting it up until his lips met mine.

The kiss was delicate and slow—dangerously gentle, as if we were meant for it.

The sensation lingered, twisting something deep inside me.

“Try closing your eyes next time,” he whispered. “It’s better that way.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I give you the king and queen!” the royal secretary declared.

My breath quickened; panic rose within me.

I was now a queen.

How very convenient.

He had stolen my freedom, my life—and my first kiss!

I fumed silently while he basked in the cheers, exchanging pleasantries with his court. I wanted to vanish—to believe this was all a nightmare.

“Are you escaping again, my queen?”

He followed me—of course he did. A sly fox, all charm and deception.

“How dare you uproot my life as if it’s yours?!” My voice trembled; my heart pounded so hard it might burst.

He stepped closer, his aura swallowing mine.

“There is one rule you should remember, my queen,” he warned, his voice low and commanding.

“Does it ever occur to you that I have no interest in remembering this?!” I cried out. My patience was at its limit—he didn’t deserve my pity.

He reached for me, pulling me into his arms. My breath hitched; it was impossible to hold his gaze.

“Every woman in the palace is the king’s woman,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “And you are mine.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the warmth of his hold.

This was a bad dream.

Somebody, please—wake me the hell up.