A Royal Fate

Henriette looked at her husband-to-be. Everything had happened so fast.

I must be dreaming, she told herself, pinching her arm hard. The sharp sting didn’t lie.

Nope, definitely not dreaming, she thought as her eyes welled with tears.

She looked around, desperate. Her eyes darted across the room, searching for a way out, for something familiar.

The priest cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the noise in her head as he spoke her name. Her gaze snapped forward, landing on the ancient altar in front of her.

Her groom stood beside her, dressed in full royal attire from a time she didn’t even recognize. She glanced up at the crown on his head.

The old clothing I found in that trunk, she thought. It’s the same crown I saw in the castle I inherited, just shinier.

“There’s no turning back now. Say ‘I do,’” the man whispered in her ear.

This must be a dream, she thought again, staring into his crystal-grey eyes. He looks just like one of the paintings on the castle wall.

His eyes were unreal, clear, sharp, almost glowing. Against his dark hair and sun-kissed skin, they looked like twin orbs of silver, too perfect to be natural. Like they held something… ancient.

“I’m going to wake up now,” she said aloud, shaking her head. “You might be hot as hell, but this feels way too real.”

She gave herself a quick shake, sharp and awkward, like a snake trying to shed its skin. A few people laughed around her.

She heard the whispers.

“What a lunatic,” someone muttered.

“What are you doing?” the groom asked, his face turning red with embarrassment.

“Waking up,” Henriette mumbled, her eyes still scanning the crowd nervously.

“I do,” the priest repeated, his voice louder this time.

“Actually… I don’t,” Henriette whispered.

“Yes, you do,” the priest insisted.

“Do you want me to execute your family?” the groom hissed against her ear, his grip biting into her arm. His breath made the veil flutter against her neck.

Okay, play along. Any second now, I’ll wake up, Henriette told herself.

“I do,” she said, a bit too loudly.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest announced, clear relief in his voice.

Before she could even flinch, her new husband dragged her down the aisle, past rows of guests. She caught glimpses of extravagant dresses, velvet coats, and satin tunics, clothes from some forgotten age, but not from any history book she had ever read.

Any moment now, she reminded herself, swallowing back the tight knot in her throat. Any moment I’ll wake up.

“You’re hurting me,” she snapped when his fingers dug deeper into her skin.

“I have plenty more pain waiting for you,” he spat back as they stepped into the reception hall.

The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread hit her first, and her stomach clenched with sudden hunger. Tables groaned under piles of food and glittering plates. Rich fabrics draped the walls, gold and candlelight everywhere she looked.

Henriette yanked herself free and planted her feet. She clenched her fists at her sides. “I expect my husband to treat me like a queen!” she said, her voice trembling but loud enough to echo over the band.

“Queen?” He threw his head back and barked out a laugh.

“Yes!” She didn’t move, didn’t lower her chin.

His face darkened in an instant. He grabbed her by both arms so hard she winced. “After everything your family did to mine?” His words cut through the music and chatter. “Let’s get one thing straight. The kingdom, all of them, might believe you’re a princess. But to me, you’re a slave. You’ll do what I say, when I say it. I am your king. You will never be a queen. Not mine. Not ever.”

Henriette’s breath caught in her throat. Hot tears blurred the grand hall around her.

“I really want to wake up now,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks.

The king glanced around the hall. “You. Go clean her face,” he ordered a nearby servant. His eyes flicked to one of the guards. “And you, don’t let her out of your sight.”

Henriette let the servant take her arm and lead her away, ignoring the curious stares of guests drifting into the reception hall behind them.

“Your Royal Highness,” the servant murmured, keeping her head low as she handed Henriette a delicate handkerchief.

“How do I wake up?” Henriette asked, her voice cracking.

“I don’t understand, Your Royal Highness,” the servant said softly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Henriette dabbed at the tears on her cheeks, each swipe only making her eyes burn more. She drifted toward the tall windows, framed by wooden shutters but no glass to keep out the wind. She looked out and her breath caught, rolling hills, distant farm houses, a world that belonged in an old storybook, not real life.

“Time to return,” the guard said behind her, shifting uneasily as he watched her stand so close to the open window.

Henriette drew in a slow breath, tasting the cold air, then turned to face him. Unlike the servant, the guard didn’t drop his gaze. His eyes stayed steady on hers.

She followed when he gestured for her to move. A small group of women fell in behind her, dipping into quiet curtsies before trailing her steps back toward the hall she no longer wanted to enter.