Chapter 1
On my wedding day, the Duke, Alistair Thomas, held a sword to his own throat.
He demanded that I allow a concubine to marry him with me.
"If she cannot be recognized as my consort, I'd rather this hall run red with blood!" he shouted.
All the guests were waiting for my humiliation, betting I would swallow my pride for the princess's dignity.
I lifted my veil and kicked over the wedding brazier.
I said, "Since you value loyalty and love so much, I'll honor your deep feelings."
With a wave of my hand, all one hundred wedding gifts were carried away.
Seeing the empty hall, the Duke finally panicked.
*****
Wedding ribbons ran from the gates of the Duke's mansion all the way to the grand hall.
Drums and music thundered, guests filled every seat.
I was Elsie Williamson, the Chancellor's only daughter.
Today, I was marrying the Duke, Alistair Thomas.
I sat upright at the foot of the grand hall, the heavy crown and ceremonial robe weighing me down, hearing all the congratulations and flattery through the red veil covering my face.
Everything was just as dignified and proper as I'd pictured, until Alistair broke it all apart with his own hands.
"Elsie," Alistair spoke.
His words slipped past the veil—cool, but with a hint of determination.
I stayed silent.
By tradition, I shouldn't speak now.
The wedding matron tried to smooth things over with a smile. "Your Highness, it's time. Let's get on with the ceremony."
Alistair didn't even spare her a glance.
He stepped forward, his voice coming from right in front of me.
"Elsie, I have something to say to you." Alistair's tone was unyielding.
The chatter in the hall gradually died down.
Everyone in the room could feel the tension in the air.
I stayed perfectly still, hands folded in my lap, steady as a rock.
"Miss, His Grace can say whatever he wants after the ceremony," my maid Sia Patel whispered softly to me.
"No need," Alistair said, his tone already showing his impatience.
The next moment, I heard the crisp sound of metal sliding from its sheath.
A collective gasp rippled through the guests, quickly turning into a panicked uproar.
"Your Grace!" someone cried out.
I heard my brother, Jayden Williamson, shout in shock and anger, "Alistair, have you lost your mind?"
All of a sudden, I clenched my hands tightly, hidden in my sleeves.
"I'm not crazy." Alistair's voice was cold as ice. "Elsie, today, you have to promise me one thing."
I could almost feel the chill of the blade pressed against his neck.
He was using his own life to threaten me.
"Go ahead, Your Grace," I finally said, my voice steady and unreadable.
"Let Alana walk through the door with you, as your equal," Alistair declared.
Alana Morgan was his mistress, kept outside the estate. She was a fragile, helpless beauty, a dancer who always looked like she might break into tears.
She was the one he loved most, the one he kept closest to his heart.
The hall fell into a deathly silence.
Everyone's eyes felt like needles, stabbing right through the thin veil and into me.
They were all waiting to see me make a fool of myself.
They wanted to watch me get strong-armed by her own husband, right on her wedding day, into accepting a dancer as his equal.
No, he was not asking for a concubine.
He wanted her to stand on equal footing with me.
This kind of madness had never happened in the Aurelia Kingdom.
"Your Grace, do you even understand what you're saying?" I asked.
"I know exactly what I'm saying!" Alistair's voice grew heated. "I owe Alana an official title! If I can't give it to her today, I'd rather spill my blood right here!"
How touching. Truly devoted.
I almost laughed out loud.
"Elsie, if you still want to be the Duchess, just say yes!" Alistair shouted. "Otherwise, you can just wait to pick up my corpse!"
He roared with all his might, like a trapped beast cornered and desperate.
Sia was so angry that she was shaking next to me.
But in the suffocating silence, I slowly raised my hand.
With everyone staring in shock, I tore the red veil from my head.
The beaded curtain on my crown chimed, clear and pleasant to the ear.
The veil fluttered to the ground, showing my face—calm and completely unfazed.
I met his eyes, staring straight at the man in front of me.
He wore a wedding robe, his handsome features wild with desperation and obsession. The sword in his hand flashed cold in the candlelight, its sharp edge already leaving a thin line of blood on his neck.
Just behind him stood a woman dressed all in white, her cheeks wet with tears, looking fragile.
It was Alana.
She looked at me with fear in her eyes and a hint of triumph.
I smiled.
"Fine," I said.
Alistair's eyes went from stunned to ecstatic in a heartbeat.
He thought I was caving.