Page 4 of Captive of the Crime Queen

My father walks in, then looks me up and down critically. "You'll do." His hand clamps down on my arm in a painful grip. "Remember to thank all the guests for their gifts and blessings, girl. And you make sure you please your husband tonight, you hear me? I don't want to hear any complaints from him."

I've never been with a man. Never wanted to be. The only romantic stirrings I've ever felt were for my best friend Sophia in high school. We used to practice kissing in her bedroom after school, fumbling and giggling until Sophia's mother called her for dinner and sent me home.

Sophia dumped me without explanation when she got her first boyfriend.

And I never had the courage to pursue romance after that early heartbreak. What good was romance, anyway, when it meant my mother had ended up with someone like my father?

Now here I stand, about to be married off to a violent stranger. I feel nothing but cold fear at the thought of him touching me, possessing the virtue I never cared to protect. I've never thought much about my virginity before, but even if I had, my body is not mine to give.

It's only a bargaining chip for my father to trade.

I wish…oh, IwishI could have taken some pleasure for myself before being condemned to a life serving my father's greed. ButI'm hollow inside, an obedient daughter too timid to seize the joy that flickers at the edge of my vision. The only sparks of longing I've felt were in those stolen moments with Sophia.

And once more, when that ice-eyed woman looked at me—looked at me and reallysawme. The first time anyone had seen beyond my face and into my soul.

My father yanks me out of the room, down the hallway to the foyer, where I can hear the wedding guests beyond the grand closed doors, their laughter and chatter. I feel faint and put my free hand against the wall to steady myself. My father's nails dig into my arm.

"Smile, Aurora! Get that sour look off your face, girl. I won't have you embarrassing me." I force my lips to curve and blink back tears as we stop before the huge wooden doors leading into the chapel.

There are two attendants standing at the doors. One of them, a blonde woman with dark eyes, is looking hard at me. I hope she can't see that I've been crying.

I hope she doesn't see the marks on my throat.

I don't catch her eye. I don't want to see the look of pity—or worse, contempt. But when I give her a nervous glance, she's staring instead at my veil, the tiara on my head. She turns to the man standing with her, her fellow attendant, and nods. Together, they pull open the heavy doors that lead to the inner chapel.

Beyond those doors, a sea of unfamiliar faces turn to me, their eyes bright with anticipation for the show. My knees go weak but my father's grip keeps me upright as he pulls me into the aisle.

Then I see the flowers. Creamy roses and lilies arranged beautifully along the pews, their sweet perfume rising. Snowdrops, white hyacinth, baby's breath. I name each one in my mind like a mantra, using their beauty as a focal point to keep panic at bay.

My father's punishing hold urges me along faster than I can gracefully go in my heels. I stumble a little, but he wrenches me upright. "Smile," he hisses, though his own teeth are bared in a terrible rictus grin.

Roses. Lilies. Snowdrops. Hyacinth. Baby's breath.

I make my lips stretch wider, blinking back humiliated tears, as we proceed toward the altar where Nero waits. His coarse, heavy face is flushed with liquor and anticipation, and his best man leans in to say something that makes him grin lewdly at me.

Roses. Lilies. Snowdrops. Hyacinth. Baby's breath.

The guests are all strangers to me, watching this ritual with avid eyes. And I am a lamb led to slaughter. An innocent thrown into the arena with a lion.

There's only ever one way those stories end.

As we reach Nero, my father's grip loosens and he steps back, his task complete. I glance to the guests seated in the front pews, and find them all male, all cruel-eyed. These are Nero's men, here to bear witness that he receives what he paid for. Their eyes crawl over me like insects. I look to the altar and grip my bouquet tightly, determined not to shame myself by weeping. I stare at the flowers and breathe in their perfume, finding calm in their beauty as the priest begins the ceremony.

Just a little longer and this will be over.

Roses. Lilies. Snowdrops. Hya?—

With a crash like thunder, the doors to the church smash open, and a group of men and women march into the hall. They're all dressed in black, all masked—half-masks that cover only the top part of their faces?—

They're all bearing weapons. Knives, chains, guns.

And they're headed straight down the aisle toward me.

CHAPTER 3

Aurora

A gasp escapes my throat,but the front row of Nero's men have stood in turn, milling in front of me, barking out orders of protection.

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