Page 1 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Prologue

Briseis

A raspy breath of distress slips past my lips when my hold on the bouquet in my hands tightens, the roses’ thorns digging into my skin and probably drawing blood.

The priest’s booming voice echoes through the space of the church, his smile so bright I wonder if it hurts his face.

Or do despicable creatures have no idea about the devastating emotions of mere mortals?

“Do you, Briseis Dawson, take this man…” With each word, I zone out farther and farther from this situation while the ringing in my ears replaces his rusty voice. I barely hold myself back from spitting on him for what he’s allowing to happen inside these walls that should have been my sanctuary.

Instead, this place fed me to the wolves so they could shred my flesh to pieces, their sharp teeth sinking into me so harshly they won’t rest until I bleed out on the floor… with God as my witness.

Monsters, hideous monsters led by the devil who….

A single tear slides down my cheek, hidden behind my veil made of the finest tule. Nothing but the best for the bride of this groom, after all.

The groom, who I promised to hate till my last breath for what he has done to my family, stays oblivious to my begging, only a small smirk on his face while pleasure at his deeds radiates from him.

The King of Darkness and Deceit.

He chuckles, and I can almost imagine how his sapphire-blue eyes glisten with something wicked—the only expression that fills those orbs whenever his gaze lands on me—and I have to run far away from him… well, as much as I can in the current circumstances, in order to avoid it.

Not that he lets me do it for long; the freaking sadist enjoys my discomfort in his company, if his constant grins are anything to go by.

Madness has many forms and faces on this earth, covered in the masks of beauty and power, sneaking up on you when you least expect it, snatching you into its web of deceit and pain that follow you wherever you go.

His madness though?

Has no boundaries or control. Instead, it soaks up all the chaos around him.

The corset of my wedding dress is impossibly tight on my waist, and each gulp of air becomes a struggle, the pressure reminding me of the invisible chains the man has placed on me with no way of breaking them.

Shifting my focus from the priest, I stare at this unusual church they brought me to with its expensive colorful glass in the windows and the ceiling carved in an oval shape that almost gives a fairy-tale-like experience.

Except I’m trapped in a nightmare, which—no matter how much I pinch myself—doesn’t transform into the fairy tale I’ve pleaded for my entire life.

Despite its beauty that has the power to make one gasp in awe, the place reeks of doom and hopelessness that no amount of expensive artwork or luxurious design can hide.

A princess-cut diamond and sapphire engagement ring on my finger bumps against one of the thorns, the stone glistening in the shimmering light from above me, and I resist the urge to snatch it off and throw it at the groom, along with a few colorful word choices.

I catch Father Paul’s stare on me; conflicted emotions cross his face along with distress that he soothes with his gentle smile, as if it can reassure me.

Nothing on this earth has the power to reassure the inferno burning in my chest or the monster claiming me as his because he wishes to.

The priest’s lips stop moving, and he looks at me expectantly while my brows furrow, since I’ve no clue what he wants.

Panic shadows his face, and his lips move once again. I shake my head, hoping the ringing will go away so I can listen to him.

Still nothing though, and instead, my heartbeat speeds up in my chest, beating so fast I’m afraid it might jump out and land on the floor where the monster can stomp all over it.

Literally this time, since he has done it figuratively already.

A strong hand wraps around my waist and spins me so fast my head gets dizzy. I bump into the hard-as-brick muscles of his chest as his other hand captures my chin between his fingers, raising it so our gazes clash. “He asked you a question, mi novia.”

Rage flashes through me so violently that for a second the air gets stuck in my lungs while I want to shout in despair from not being able to unleash it on him with full force.

Maybe then he would have choked on his words, because calling me his bride is an insult to all the married couples all over the world.

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