There were screams in the ballroom, some people cried. I cried too, heavily, heaving. The soldier who was holding me dragged me from the platform, out the door and into the corridor. As much as I wanted to lash out and avenge my family, I felt weak. King Thomas had betrayed me.

If I had just gone willingly back to the palace when Fana's men came looking then no one would be hurt. If I had just come home earlier then I could've stopped the Kents, stopped the invasion.

The soldier picked me up like a ragdoll and threw me over his shoulder. I screamed again as the wound in my chest reopened, red blood seeping through my suit, trying to stain the soldier's armour. The corridors we crossed felt unfamiliar, like I was dreaming, like this wasn't indeed my home, that wasn't the door to my study - no, this was a palace I had just helped my king to conquer.

Too much blood had gone either to my head, or out my chest by the time the soldier threw open a door. It was the Prince's rooms. My rooms. Still littered with accounts from the war, trying to persuade Definis to sit tight. The soldier grunted incoherent words at me, having thrown me down onto the sofa. Then he left.

Mother was gone. Afanasy was gone. He was only sixteen.

As much as I wanted to cry more, my head throbbed and all my tears were dry.

If I had just come home when they told me to.

If I hadn't been so focussed on getting my crown, I would've seen that they wanted me to have it too. God, if I had just given Fana a chance to explain himself.

A man I didn't recognise came in. He pulled my coat, my jacket, my shirt off of me. He bandaged my bleeding chest too tight.

Then he left me like that, the door clicked shut behind him.

That was how my days went for the next two weeks, the doctor coming in occasionally, with sterile bandages, pills, medicines. Sometimes a note would be slipped through the door, written pedantically in Baracosian with an Ilragese translation beneath. I ripped every last one up. They sent no one to dress me, only overly fancy meals a few times a day. I tried to avoid eating any of it, only swallowing something when I got too close to death. So I stayed in my nightclothes for the full two weeks.

I considered smashing things to express my anger, but the things in my room were too precious to me. The window seemed like an easy route out, but it was ground level, so the best I could do was run away, and I was far too scared to run.

Instead, I found myself often on the carpet, stilling my shaking hands enough to read what I'd written about my days in the war. The memories brought me back to better days, before scheming kings and cowardice, before enchanting girls who refused rings, before blackmail and deceit. Simple times up in trees and tents, getting unfathomably drunk and happy.

A few days after I had finished reading all of my accounts, a team of men swooped into my rooms. Not soldiers, men. Valets.

Wordlessly, they forced me into a new suit, a military dress suit. They brushed my hair and cleaned my face, then they left as wordlessly as they had come. As soon as the door had shut behind them, it opened again, this time revealing a snide face with black hair and even blacker eyes.

"Howard Kent." I muttered, my lip twitching in the moment before I lunged for him.

He pushed me back easily, making me aware of just how weak I was. Perhaps I should've been eating something. I flopped back onto the sofa, he sat down on my feet.

"Good to see you too, Ganechka."

"Why...why did you do this? Why did you kill my mother?"

"Oh no," he corrected me, smiling sympathetically, "I killed Fana. Fenester killed dear Anya. There's really no time for chit-chat though I'm afraid, we're expected at the abbey." His dark eyes scanned my face for a moment, seemingly relishing the ignorance in them. "It's your wedding day, Gavrila! I'm your best man."

The breath left my lungs, bile rose in my throat. I thought about spitting at him, but what good would it do? I'd made my bed, now I had to lie in it.

"Do stop looking so gloomy, Gav." Kent chided, "Now come on, we'll be late."

He hauled me up and practically marched me through all of the servant's corridors, bundling me into a carriage which left promptly towards the abbey.

"Now, my darling prince," Kent began again. I wanted to strangle him but I knew that if I did, Thomas would have me killed too. I didn't want to die. "I'll be behind you the whole time," From out his sleeve slipped a rather imposing knife. "should I need to use this. I know you'll be a good little prince though, and play along." Kent smirked, "Not that you're really able to fight anyone anyway. You really have been neglecting your dinner haven't you? You look like a corpse." He grabbed my cheek and I slapped his arm away, though it was my hand which hurt more as a result. "Ah, here we are! Brave face, Gav." Howard smiled, prompting me with the knife to get out of the carriage.

There were a lot of people there, outside the abbey. Every one of them was silent as I passed. I mounted the steps with a deep ache in my shoulders. Howard walked very close beside me in such a way that no one saw the massive knife he had pressed to my side.

Inside the abbey, various Baracosian nobility were seated. There were a few people who I could've sworn were Ilragese though, was that Annabelle Crawley? There was no mistaking that Amber Greive and Holly Reichen sat next to Angel, who smiled a white grin at her brother and I as we passed them, stepping up to the altar.

Queen Adrienne was in the front row, just behind me, she was hard faced, unlike her husband, who was grinning like a madman, clearly pleased to be conducting the ceremony himself.

Insanely loud music played and Bridesmaids started working their way down the aisle, each of them alone, holding white wildflowers, their acid green dresses matching their bride's poisonous green eyes.

Then there she was, her nose upturned haughtily. Henrietta blinded almost all of us as the sunlight through the glass roof illuminated the crystals on her white dress.

"Remember," Howard muttered into my ear, somehow audible over the deafening music, "one wrong move and I will kill you."

I knew he would. It was the threat of death, they nothingness forced in by death, which lifted my tongue to say the vows. It was the fear that my fingers would never move again which allowed a ring to be pushed onto my fourth. It was knowledge that these legs were mine, not a corpses, which walked me down the aisle, my wife on my arm.