Elara's POV
Something is wrong.
I stand at the altar trying to smile, but my hands won't stop shaking. Three hundred people watch me from the pews—nobles in fancy clothes, Sanctum priests in white robes, and my mother in the front row dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. They're all waiting for me to say "I do" and become Lady Valdis. To finally be somebody important.
But my gut screams at me to run.
"Elara?" Theron squeezes my hand. His smile is perfect. Everything about him is perfect—his golden hair, his strong jaw, the way his Sanctum uniform fits without a single wrinkle. "You're trembling, darling. Are you cold?"
"I'm fine," I lie.
I'm not fine. I haven't been fine for weeks. Ever since Theron started spending long hours with the High Priestess. Ever since he stopped looking at me the way he used to. Ever since I heard him tell his friend Marcus, "Don't worry. After the wedding, everything changes."
What changes? I wanted to ask but never did. Good girls don't question. Good girls don't make trouble. Good girls marry the men their parents choose and smile through it all.
I'm so tired of being good.
The High Priestess raises her hands. "We gather today to witness the union of Theron Valdis and Elara Ashenmoor. A blessed match approved by the Sanctum itself."
My mother beams. My father nods proudly. They think this is the greatest day of my life. They don't know that Theron barely speaks to me anymore. That he flinches when I touch him. That last week, I found a letter in his study that said, "The sacrifice must be pure. No second thoughts."
Sacrifice. The word made my blood run cold.
"Do you, Theron Valdis, take this woman as your bonded mate?" the High Priestess asks.
"I do." Theron's voice rings out clear and confident.
The High Priestess turns to me, but before she can speak, Theron holds up his hand. "Wait. I have a tradition from my family. A toast before the vows are complete." He signals to a servant who brings forward two glasses of deep red wine.
My heart pounds. This isn't part of the ceremony. I've been to a dozen Sanctum weddings. Nobody toasts before the vows.
"Theron, this isn't—" I start.
"Trust me, darling." He hands me a glass. His fingers are ice cold. "Just this once, trust me."
The guests murmur excitedly. My mother clasps her hands together like this is romantic. The High Priestess watches with dark, unreadable eyes.
Theron raises his glass. "To my beautiful bride. To forever together."
"To forever," the guests echo.
I stare at the wine. It's too dark. Almost black. The smell is strange—sweet but with a bitter edge underneath.
"Drink, Elara," Theron says softly. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Everyone's watching."
And they are. Three hundred people waiting. My mother's proud face. My father's expectant expression. I can't embarrass them. Can't make a scene. Can't ruin this perfect moment they've planned for months.
I raise the glass to my lips.
"That's my girl," Theron whispers.
I drink.
The wine burns going down. Not the pleasant warmth of alcohol—this is fire in my throat. Acid in my stomach. I gasp and drop the glass. It shatters on the marble floor, red liquid spreading like blood.
"Elara?" My mother stands up.
I try to speak, but my tongue is numb. The room spins. My legs buckle.
Theron catches me before I fall. To everyone else, it must look like he's being a caring husband. But I feel his grip—hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to hold me up like a puppet.
"She's overwhelmed," he announces to the crowd. "The excitement—"
"No." I try to push him away, but my arms won't work. "You... poisoned..."
"Shhh." He leans close, his mouth next to my ear. His voice drops so low only I can hear. "You were always just a stepping stone, darling. A pretty sacrifice to prove my loyalty to the Sanctum. Did you really think someone like me would marry someone like you for love?"
The words hurt worse than the poison.
"You're nobody, Elara. A minor noble's daughter with no magic, no power, nothing special. But your death today? That makes me somebody. The man who made the ultimate sacrifice for the Sanctum's glory."
Tears burn my eyes. I can't breathe. The poison is spreading through my veins like ice.
"Help," I try to say, but it comes out as a whisper. "Someone... help..."
But nobody moves. The High Priestess watches calmly. The guests whisper among themselves. My mother's face goes pale as she realizes something is terribly wrong.
My father starts to rush forward, but two Sanctum guards block his way.
This was planned. All of it. The ceremony. The toast. The guards positioned to stop anyone from interfering.
Theron arranged my murder in front of three hundred witnesses, and nobody's going to stop him.
"Any last words?" he asks, almost gently.
I look into his eyes—the eyes I once thought were kind—and see nothing but cold ambition.
"I... hope... you burn..." I choke out.
He smiles. "Probably."
My vision goes dark at the edges. My heart slows. The poison is shutting down everything. I'm dying in my wedding dress, in front of everyone I know, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
I hear my mother screaming. My father fighting the guards. The High Priestess chanting something in an old language.
Then I hear nothing at all.
The darkness swallows me whole.
I'm dead.
Except...
Somewhere in the void, something stirs. A voice I don't recognize echoes through the emptiness.
"Not yet. You're mine now."
A burning sensation spreads across my wrist. Hot. Branding. Claiming.
And then—
I wake up screaming.