Edward Harrow

The grand church doors groaned open, their echo swallowing the faint whispers of the congregation. King Edward turned his attention sharply toward the sound, his dark eyes narrowing behind the cold steel of his mask.

There she was. His bride.

The woman stood framed in the doorway, her ivory gown catching the shifting light of the stained-glass windows. The lace veil draped over her face obscured her features, but not her hesitation. She lingered there for a moment too long, as though gathering herself before taking the first step.

Edward’s jaw tightened, and he forced his hands to remain still at his sides. He refused to let anyone—least of all her—see the tension coiled beneath his composed exterior. The nobles seated behind him watched intently, their judgment palpable. Poor girl, married to the scarred king, they must be thinking. How cruel.

He clenched his teeth at the thought. Pity was a poison he’d learned to endure.

Her footsteps echoed in measured rhythm as she walked down the aisle. Slow, deliberate, as though carrying a burden heavier than her wedding gown. Edward’s gaze followed her every movement, sharp and unyielding. He noticed the faint tremble of her hands clutching the bouquet, the tightness in her posture. Fear. Of course, she was afraid. How could she not be?

When she reached him, she came to a halt, standing just close enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender. Her head tilted slightly upward, her veiled face turned toward his mask, but she did not meet his gaze.

The priest began to speak, his voice filling the hushed cathedral. Edward forced himself to focus, though the ceremony felt distant, mechanical.

“Do you, King Edward, take this woman to be your lawful wife?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with expectation. For a brief moment, Edward considered his answer. Did he take her? Or was she simply another burden forced upon him by duty?

“I do,” he said at last, his voice low and steady, cutting through the silence.

The priest repeated the same question to her. She did not speak. She only nodded, her movements barely perceptible beneath the weight of her veil. The priest, seemingly appeased, continued without pause.

When it came time to seal the union, Edward turned to her fully. He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing the edge of her veil. Slowly, he lifted it just enough to expose her hands. Taking one of them lightly in his own, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

It was not a kiss of passion, nor affection. It was a vow. A duty. He told himself

“You are my queen now,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Whatever you think of me, this is the life we must endure together.”

As they turned to face the congregation, Edward placed her hand lightly on his arm. The whispers rose again, faint but unmistakable. He ignored them, his focus on the long aisle ahead, his mind already racing toward the night to come.

later that evening

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the stone hearth. Edward stood by the window, his back turned to her, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. The mask, as always, remained firmly in place.

She sat silently at the edge of the massive bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her wedding gown had been exchanged for a simpler nightdress, though her posture remained as rigid as it had in the church.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them like an unbridgeable chasm.

“I know what they say about me,” Edward said finally, his voice breaking the stillness. He didn’t turn to face her. “That I am a monster. That I do not deserve a queen.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Perhaps they are right.” His tone hardened, tinged with bitterness. “But you, more than anyone, should understand what it means to be a pawn in someone else’s game.”

Still, she said nothing.

Edward finally turned, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the room. His dark gaze settled on her, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “if you are not ready,” he said, his voice softer now, almost reluctant. “we could wait.”

For the first time that day, Edward felt a flicker of uncertainty. This was his queen, his wife, yet she was as much a mystery to him as he was to her. Slowly, he stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking. "the choice is yours, {{user}} but you must know" he took a deep breath "we can't avoid it forever"