Page 16 of Crown of Hate

Even the white-hot hatred constricting my chest doesn’t help soothe the inferno between my legs. Goddamn. How could I be so attracted to such a monster? He’s a murderer, a tyrant, the man who tore my family apart.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, my voice shaky and breathless. “Fuck you.”

His gaze falls on my heaving chest, and a wicked smile creeps onto his face. Then, he releases me. It happens so abruptly that I nearly stagger from the sudden loss of contact.

“Get dressed. I don’t like to be kept waiting. And trust me, you don’t want to see what happens when I’m displeased.”

I collapse onto the bed as he turns around and leaves. I’m still struggling to fill my lungs with air when Louisa and her girls slink back in, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Fists shaking, I stare them down. But they just stare back until there’s no more resistance left in me. Their fear of Mikhail clearly outweighs any fear or concern they have for me.

“Fine,” I finally spit out, jabbing a finger at one of the dresses on the rack. I pick at random, not even bothering to look closely. “I’ll wear that one. Happy now?”

Without a word, they descend on me like a flock of well-trained vultures, stripping me down and stuffing me into the monstrosity I’ve chosen.

By the time they’ve laced me into the corset, I’m so lightheaded I can barely string two thoughts together. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Two days ago, I was living a normal life. Now, I’m being trussed up like a sacrificial lamb for the devil himself.

My devil.

Fucking hell.

The makeup and hair take an eternity, but when we’re finally done, I look up from my self-pity and see my reflection in the full-length mirror.

“Holy shit.”

The sight catches me so off guard that, for a moment, I forget to breathe. I don’t just look good. I look amazing. Better than I ever have before, if I’m being honest.

The wedding dress is a vision of white satin, adorned with delicate lace and beadwork. Its neckline and sleeves are embellished with a constellation of shimmering diamond stones, adding a touch of otherworldly elegance to the gown.

It’s beautiful. Breathtaking. And completely, utterly wrong.

“You chose well,” Louisa murmurs, breaking the spell.

Reality slams back into focus, and I want to scream. “No,” I snap, my voice brittle. “If I had decided to jump out of the window instead, that would have been a good choice. This? This is just dressing up a disaster.”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she nods to the other two ladies and motions for me to follow them.

I cast one last longing look at the nearest window. It’s too late now. I couldn’t outrun anyone in this gown. Not even Louisa.

With a resigned sigh, I accept the imminence of my fate. If I’m going to escape this nightmare, it’s going to have to be another time. Right now, I’m well and truly cornered.

We make our way through winding halls and down a grand staircase that would make royalty envious. Finally, we’re outside, where I’m assaulted by a wall of scents and sensations.

The night air carries a hint of jasmine, which I inhale deeply to try and calm the swarm of butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach.

Then I step onto a patio that looks like it was transplanted directly from a fairytale, all trailing vines and blooming flowers.The soft glow of what must be thousands of fairy lights dances among the foliage, casting the whole scene in an ethereal, dreamlike radiance.

As I pause at the threshold, a gentle breeze rustles the petals, and I take another deep breath. By now my heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t burst right out of my chest.

My gown whispers against the stone pathway as I walk, each step bringing me closer to the moment I’ve been dreading since this afternoon. The moment I’ll exchange vows and rings with Mikhail, binding myself to a man I should, by all rights, want dead.

That’s what this is, after all.

Unless he’s just fucking with me…

No. I’ve seen the look in his eyes. A man like Mikhail Zhirkov doesn’t joke about things like this. He is dead serious.

Panic flares in my chest as everything finally, truly begins to sink in. I’m really getting married to my papa’s murderer. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

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