The whispers in the hall began to grow louder as the guests murmured in confusion—where was the king? He was nowhere to be seen at his own wedding.
Wasn't the king supposed to be at the altar with the priest, watching his wife walk down the aisle?
All heads turned when they noticed a lady approaching the altar.
Ariana.
She walked steadily toward the priest, her hands tightening around the bouquet. She clutched her dress so hard, she was sure if she let go, the fabric would be deeply wrinkled.
Her heartbeat grew erratic, and her legs wobbled slightly as her head spun, but she forced herself forward. Every pair of eyes bore into her, making it worse—much worse. And the whispers… they were getting louder by the second.
"Isn't she human?"
"She killed her husband."
"She can't speak."
"Do you think he is being bewitched by her beauty?"
"Do you think he abandoned her here? After all, she is taboo."
