Page 119 of Captive Bride

“Oh you silly, silly creature. Your home is wherever I say it is.”

He leans towards me, his rancid breath caressing my face.

“Did you really think you could resist me?”

That laugh again, my skin breaks out in chills.

“I won’t do it. Nothing you could say would ever make me marry you!”

His smile has nothing at all to do with happiness.

“You don’t have a choice! You’re my bride, and very shortly you will be my wife. I’ll admit, your antics were a bit amusing at first, but I’ve had it with this game. You and I are going to be married because it’s my wish. I don’t care if you have to be drugged every day of the rest of your life—you’ll be mine! From this day forward, you belong to me.”

I stare up at him in dismay, wishing that I could go back. Wishing that I had plunged that dagger into my chest before Father Lawrence could stop me.

Tears sting my eyes, and I struggle to hold them back.

I feel hopeless. Trapped.

My future reduces to a single image, the face grinning evilly down at me. I wish for death more than I ever have before, praying for an end to this misery.

The sound of knuckles rapping against wood pulls me from my thoughts.

“Come in!” the Governor chimes.

Father Lawrence appears at the edge of my vision, his face splitting into an oversized grin when he notices my eyes on him.

“Good, you’re up,” he says.

There’s a look of pure malevolence on his face, a lunacy I’m amazed he managed to hide.

“I wasn’t sure I gave you the proper dose,” he goes on. “Tricky drug, that. Glad the timing’s worked.”

“How could you?” I demand, my sense of betrayal burning hotter than ever now that he’s in my sight.

He snickers.

“How could you?” he parrots, his voice a piercing falsetto.

The Governor laughs deeply, as if this impression is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“Oh, Lawrence,” he says. “Very good.”

He turns his attention back to me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dear, I must get ready for the ceremony. How would it look to be late to ones own wedding?”

He turns before I can answer, quickly leaving the room with a slam of the door.

I try again to lift my head, meeting with the same impenetrable barrier.

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t be able to move for some time yet,” the priest offers. “Like I said, tricky drug. Really though, quite perfect for our needs. I’ll need you pliable for a while.”

“Why?” I ask, fearful.

Lawrence acts as if I haven’t spoken, instead racing down to grab me in his talon like hands.

“Up we go!” he singsongs, pulling me from the bed to drape me across his shoulder.

His hand finds my thigh, rubbing experimentally at it in a very un-priestly way.

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