Prologue: Her Stolen Innocence
The dress was ivory.
Aelia never liked something so contrasting to her skin tone. But her aunts said it looked pretty on her and that she was the prettiest little bride. She looked at her mother for confirmation. Her mother did not meet her eyes.
“But he is so old,” Aelia said, trying to touch her bun only to have her hand slapped away by Aunt Marilyn.
“Don’t mess with it, Lia.” Her aunt’s voice was sharp and quick as always. “And he is not old. The Marquis is mature.”
“He is old, though. He is like… 40?”
“53,” Aiden said helpfully.
“53?” Aelia turned to her 10-year-old brother as if it were his fault. Then she turned back to her aunt’s face, almost ruining her bun. “53?” she repeated. “You didn’t tell me he was this old! He is even older than Father!"
“It does not matter, Lia. What matters is that he is very wealthy and asked specifically for you.” This time, her aunt did not scold her and only tucked some stray strands into the bun.
Aelia stared at her own reflection in the mirror. She looked awfully small in that heavy dress.
She ought to be smiling. It was her wedding day after all.
But all she could do was try her best not to cry.
Her mother’s dark eyes met hers for just a moment before she looked away hastily.
Aelia did not cry that day, regardless of how much she wanted to. She walked down the aisle with her father, who told her to be good.
When she saw her to-be husband at the end of the aisle, so big and intimidating with his gray beard and cold gray eyes, Aelia had let out a whimper, only for her father to tighten his grip on her arm.
“Be a good girl. That is the man who will be your husband,” he had hissed into her ear while projecting a smile for all.
“Yes, Father,” she had said. Because she was a good girl. It was her duty.
And she became Richard Vane’s wife.
