Page 61 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

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, it’s 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 out of the finest tule, nothing but the best for the bride, after all.

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

The King of Darkness and Deceit.

Santiago 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.

Remi and Jimena stand by our sides, acting as witnesses to this charade, while Octavius only watches us intently from the pews, drinking from a bottle of whiskey with no respect for the place he’s in.

Then again, is there anything they truly respect?

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 in its web of deceit and pain that follow you wherever you go.

Santiago’s madness though?

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

He proved this much with his last statement to me, stripping me of all the hopes and stupid dreams plaguing my mind.

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 with its expensive, colorful glass filling 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 the church’s 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.

The 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 Santiago, along with a few colorful word choices.

It would have been an offense to his parents, who trusted him with a family heirloom.

For a second, I catch Father Paul’s stare on me; conflicting 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 soothe 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 Santiago can stomp all over it.

Literally this time, since he’s 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 while 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 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 will choke on his words, because calling me his bride is an insult to all the married couples all over the world.

---