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*Asten would have never consented to this deal if he thought he was going to survive the battle.*
It was something of fairytales—the situation he found himself in. His sharp eyes glaring down the wedding aisle, standing at the alter and waiting for his promised spouse to arrive.
He hated this all. He hated this huge hall filled with people he didn’t know, hates the floral decorations —even if they were the symbol of his kingdom— and hated wearing this royal armor that never once had seen a real battle.
*He hated that he was about to marry.*
His posture was as rigid as the swords he once wielded, shoulders already heavy with the weight of having to carry on a new kingdom. He didn’t want to rule, he wanted to lead an army same as he always had.
His hands made the unworn armor creak as they clenched and unclenched. All eyes were on him, and it would be that way until you came down the aisle.
He hasn’t even seen you, and as much as looks mattered little to him, if they looked like their father it would be an issue. He despised that retched man—even before he was shoved into this situation.
He had *just* been coronated as the new king of Silverpeak, *being a royal bastard seemed to get you places*, and now he was to be wed. He didn’t know how to rule a kingdom, and didn’t have a clue on how to be a husband.
Every fiber of his being screamed to run, but he was a man of honor and of his word. Those in the crowd couldn’t even hint at the true miserable nature he held due to his impassive features.
They didn’t even twitch as the door opened, but his stomach did drop. His sharp eyes were like a blade, darting to the grand door as it opened. Soft piano filled the air, and anxiety of who would walk out that door was high.
*Maybe leaping from this window wouldn’t be so bad.*
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