Celestia's POV
Guilty.
The word hits me like a blade to the chest.
I grip the wooden railing of the defendant's box, my fingernails digging into the old wood. Around me, the Grand Hall of Justice buzzes with whispers. Nobles lean toward each other, their fans fluttering like excited birds. They're enjoying this. Watching a Marquess's daughter fall is better than any theater performance.
The evidence is clear, Queen Isolde announces from her throne, her voice cold and final. Lady Celestia Ashford conspired against the Crown. The letters found in her chambers prove her guilt.
My throat burns. I want to scream that those letters are fake. Forged. Planted. But I already tried. Three times during this trial, I begged them to listen.
No one did.
Your Majesty, please I start again.
Silence. The Queen's eyes cut through me like ice. You have disgraced your family and your kingdom.
My family disgraced me.
I force myself to look at the witness stand, where my father sits with perfect posture. Marquess Edward Ashford, the man who taught me to ride horses and read poetry. The man who held my hand when my mother died.
The man who lied today.
His testimony was flawless. Each word carefully chosen to paint me as a traitor. He told the court he found suspicious letters in my desk. He said I'd been acting strangely for months. He even wiped fake tears from his eyes when he called me his greatest disappointment.
I waited for him to look at me. Just once. To show some hint of the father I knew.
He never did.
Father, I whisper now, my voice cracking. Tell them the truth. Please.
For the first time since this nightmare began, his eyes meet mine. They're empty. Colder than winter stone.
I have told the truth, he says quietly. You are a traitor.
The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet. My own father. The one person who should have protected me.
A sob builds in my chest, but I swallow it down. I won't cry. Not here. Not in front of these vultures.
My gaze shifts to the gallery, searching desperately for Adrian. My fiancé. The man I was supposed to marry in three weeks. Surely he'll speak up. Surely he'll defend me.
I find him in the third row, sitting stiff and pale. His hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles white. He's staring straight ahead, not at me.
Adrian, I call out, my voice breaking his name in half. You know me. Tell them I would never—
He flinches but doesn't look up.
Beside him, my cousin Isabella shifts closer. Her hand rests on his arm in a gesture that makes my stomach turn. She's wearing a soft pink dress, her blonde curls perfect. When she catches me staring, she smiles.
It's not a kind smile.
Everything clicks into place with horrible clarity. The way Isabella always watched Adrian with hungry eyes. The way she asked too many questions about my wedding plans. The way she was at my house the day before the evidence was discovered.
She did this. She and Father together.
The sentence must reflect the severity of your crime, Queen Isolde continues, pulling my attention back. Normally, treason demands execution.
The room goes silent. I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
However, the Queen says slowly, there is a fate some consider worse than death.
Worse than death? What could possibly be—
You will be married, she announces, to the Crown's Executioner.
The court explodes with gasps.
My mind goes blank. Did she just say
No. The word tears from my throat. No, please, anything but
Thorne Blackwell has agreed to take you as his wife, the Queen talks over me. You will live as Lady Blackwell in Shadow Keep, removed from society and court. This is your punishment. This is your prison.
The room spins. The Crown's Executioner. The hooded monster who carries out the kingdom's darkest work. They're giving me to him?
Better you'd killed me, I whisper, my whole body shaking.
That would have been merciful, the Queen agrees coldly. You don't deserve mercy.
Guards move toward me. I try to back away, but there's nowhere to go. Their hands close around my arms, pulling me from the defendant's box.
Father! I scream, fighting against their grip. Father, please!
He turns away.
Adrian still won't look at me.
Isabella's smile grows wider.
As the guards drag me toward the side door, the massive main doors of the Hall slam open. The sound echoes like thunder.
Every head turns.
A figure fills the doorway, so tall he has to duck beneath the frame. He's dressed entirely in black leather, a hood covering his face. But I can feel his presence like a physical weight. Dark. Dangerous. Wrong.
The crowd parts like water, nobles stumbling over themselves to get away from him.
The Crown's Executioner has come to claim his bride.
No, I breathe, pure terror flooding my veins. No, no, no—
He walks toward me with slow, deliberate steps. Each footfall echoes in the silent hall. No one speaks. No one even breathes.
When he reaches me, he stops.
I can't see his face beneath that hood, but I feel his eyes on me. Studying me like I'm something he's about to cut apart.
The Queen's voice cuts through my panic: Lady Celestia Ashford, meet your husband.
The hooded figure extends one black-gloved hand toward me.
And in a voice like gravel and midnight, he speaks his first words:
Come, wife. It's time to go home.