Page 124 of Captive Bride

Isobel

Bang!

I hear my own shallow breath.

Bang!

Gunshots ring in my ears, the fuzzy world coming into focus with each blast.

Tristan! Is he coming for me?

I barely open my eyes, but I can see the shadowy room I’m being held in, my coffin close around me, holding my drugged body before the wedding, the consummation.

My heart beats faster; I can hear Father Lawrence humming the wedding march.

Through my lashes, I catch a glimpse of the traitorous priest; he is fussing with his robes and admiring himself in a mirror.

Reflected, I can see myself—perfect corpse bride, a sleep-like death clinging to me as far as he and the Governor are concerned.

I hear more shots. Tristan.

My heart picks up. He will come for me.

With my eyes still nearly closed, I search for a sign of where my love is and where our enemies might be. A half-open door to the side of the vain priest reveals the architect of my capture.

So sure his mercenary guards will protect him, the Governor fiddles with an expensive white bow tie around his fleshy throat. My fingers itch to wrap the silk tighter around his piggy neck, but I’m not in a position to do that.

I feign sleep.

Tristan is coming. I know he is, and I will wait for him.

Through my half-closed eyes, I see the men unfazed by the sounds of fighting coming closer and closer to the rooms we’re in.

They underestimate my love. Hope burns in my heart.

I can hear him coming closer. I imagine him fighting his way to me. I must be prepared to run when he gets here.

Carefully watching Father Lawrence for any sign he has noticed I have woken, I twitch my leaden muscles. I rehearse in my head leaping from my satin prison and into Tristan’s arms.

I can feel something heavy on my thigh. The priest steps away from the mirror for a moment, rummaging in a drawer for hair gel. I shift my hand to the weight on my thigh, my fingers grazing the hilt of Tristan’s dagger.

I stop myself from smiling as the priest shifts back to the mirror. I know Tristan’s close, but having his dagger makes it seem like he’s right next to me.

I know he’ll save me. I am his forever after all.

I hear wood breaking, and my eyes fly open. I catch sight of Tristan before Father Lawrence slams the door shut.

“So, the slut is awake, huh?” Father Lawrence turns and leers at me.

I struggle to sit up. I’m not ready for him to know I’m fully awake. My heart is pounding in my chest.

He is here; he will rescue me. I need to get to him.

“Tristan?” I call blurrily, getting my feet settled on the ground, a strong stance just like Tristan taught me.

“As good as dead. He won’t leave this building alive,” Father Lawrence says as he stalks towards me.

He closes the distance between us in a moment. I’m frozen in place; his hands close around my arms.

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