Prologue
She walked down the makeshift aisle, her hands at her sides, her face covered in dried blood and dirt. Her torn and dirty clothes clung to her, and her hair was a tangle of knots. The metallic tang of blood lingered in her mouth, a reminder of the morning's abuse. Her jaw throbbed from the impact of a blow, yet her eyes held a defiant gleam. Each step she took echoed with the bearing of royalty, just as she was expected to do as a princess.
The air was thick with smoke, and the crackling of flames filled her ears, a symphony of destruction that had consumed her kingdom mere hours ago. Trembling, she willed herself to appear composed, though her heart raced beneath her chest.
As she moved down the aisle, the gaze of the onlookers weighed heavily upon her. Gasps and whispers swirled in the air, a mix of admiration and disdain. Unfazed, she focused on the man awaiting her at the end, dressed impeccably, a gentle smile gracing his lips. Dexter, the King of Madonia, stood as the harbinger of her kingdom's fall. She wasn't coerced into this marriage – she walked this path of her own choice.
Reaching the end, she clasped his outstretched hand, allowing him to guide her to the raised platform. The priest cleared his throat, his words trembling as he recited the ceremony.
In that moment, her attention was fixed on the man before her. He loomed large, a figure of dominance. His hair, dark and curly, framed a face with eyes that held a silver hue when the sun touched them. His hands, toughened by labor, enveloped her own delicate ones. Scars on his eyebrow and lip gave him an air of intimidation. The title of 'Tyrant King' suited him perfectly. A fearsome man, indeed.
Despite the imposing exterior, his eyes held a glimmer of warmth. She mustered a smile in return, though it felt forced.
"You look beautiful today," his voice rumbled, sending shivers across her skin. She swallowed, her heart quickening, her eyes misting.
"Thank you for the kind words, your majesty. I apologize for not presenting myself more immaculately," she murmured.
"Rest assured, after this ceremony, you shall be adorned in finest attire and perfumes," he assured. After a brief contemplation, she nodded.
The priest's voice boomed as he posed the pivotal question, the words hanging in the air. Her breath quivered as she replied, "Yes, I do." Doubts plagued her thoughts – what was she stepping into?
King Dexter's response came promptly, interjecting before the priest could finish, "I do."
And thus, man and wife were proclaimed. The priest's words were hardly heard over the rush of emotions. They kissed, his lips at first gentle, brushing against hers, but as desire rose, he pulled her in, kissing her more possessively, not minding the crowd watching them. He only stopped when Maya pulled away, gasping for air. Gasping, she broke away, meeting his eyes with a mixture of astonishment and anticipation.
"We shall continue this later," he whispered, a playful grin curving his lips.
Maya held the hand of her new husband, her heart racing. She stared into his eyes, wondering what offense she must have committed to have crossed his path. Her head drew a blank. She couldn't remember anything. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't feel sadness for her fallen kingdom.
Nobody clapped; they could only stare in indignation as the king led his new bride away from the burning kingdom he had just conquered. Yet, they missed the truth: He didn't conquer the kingdom because he wanted to. It was a means to reach Maya, the forgotten princess of Gegoria.
But every villain has an origin story. Dexter's is exceptional, born from a single act of kindness from the woman now known as his Queen...
