Barkas effortlessly carried her across the grand nave, ignoring the whispers rippling through the massive cathedral.
Thalia chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.
*Are you really going to marry me?*
She desperately wanted to ask him.
*For real?
Are we actually doing this?*
She opened her mouth, but quickly clamped her lips shut.
*He is right.
It is far too late to back down now.*
Thalia looked down from the safety of his arms and scanned the hundreds of guests packing the pews.
Through her tear-blurred, drug-addled vision, dozens of familiar faces swam into focus.
She saw the Emperor's closest advisors, high-ranking imperial officials, and the patriarchs of the most influential aristocratic houses in the Empire.
Every single person she recognized was sitting in dead silence, watching them with a mixture of morbid fascination and naked pity.
Now she truly understood why Barkas couldn't simply turn around and walk out.
Even the direct heir to the Grand Dukedom of the East could not publicly disrupt an Imperial Wedding arranged by the Emperor himself in front of the entire political establishment of Roem.
"The ceremony will commence shortly," an elderly priest addressed them as they crossed the transept.
"I ask the bride and groom to proceed to the altar."
Without a word, Barkas lowered Thalia to her feet in front of the massive marble altar.
Thalia swayed unsteadily, her ruined knee trembling under her own weight.
Her terrified eyes darted restlessly around the massive hall.
Through the thick, narcotic haze clouding her vision, the hundreds of aristocratic faces looked exactly like a grotesque theatrical audience watching a particularly fascinating tragedy.
They sat there, cold and ashen, staring directly at her with polite, mocking smiles.
"Does it hurt to stand?"
Noticing her rigid, trembling posture, Barkas gently caught her chin with his gloved hand.
Thalia stared up at him in shock.
Barkas reached up with his thumb and very gently wiped a cold, damp tear from the corner of her eye.
The touch was so incredibly tender that, for a fraction of a second, Thalia genuinely believed everything happening right now was nothing more than an elaborate hallucination induced by the mandrake smoke.
Barkas looked directly into her dilated pupils and whispered in a low, resonant voice.
"Just be patient a little longer.
Once the vows are over, you can finally rest."
His voice was almost gentle, sounding exactly like a father coaxing an exhausted, frightened child.
Thalia’s throat tightened painfully.
*He is just terrified that I am going to have a hysterical meltdown in front of all these politicians,* Thalia thought bitterly.
*He is just soothing me like a feral dog so I do not do something stupid and embarrass him.*
Thalia forcefully repeated this cynical logic to herself, desperately trying to calm her wildly pounding heart.
But suddenly, a sickeningly familiar voice cut through the heavy silence—a voice she had never expected to hear today.
"It is absolutely disgusting to watch."
Thalia shuddered violently.
Her shoulders hitched up to her ears as she slowly turned around.
"Some fools might actually think this is a love match."
Crown Prince Gareth, dressed in a magnificent scarlet doublet, strolled casually down the center aisle, accompanied by a heavy escort of six imperial knights.
The blood in Thalia’s veins instantly froze solid.
"Why the sad face, dear sister?" Gareth sneered, stopping directly in front of the altar.
"Your beloved brother has come to congratulate you."
His lips curled into a cruel, mocking grin.
Thalia stared at him in absolute, paralyzing horror.
Gareth was clearly immensely pleased to see how his famously abrasive, prickly stepsister instantly turned bone-white with terror at the mere sight of him.
A sinister, predatory grin flashed across Gareth's handsome face.
He leaned directly into her personal space and whispered ominously.
"You paid for the title of Duchess with your own foot.
You should try to smile a little wider."
Thalia stared back at him, her face completely drained of blood.
On any other day, she would have instantly lunged forward and slapped him across the face, dragging her fingernails down his cheek to reopen his healing wounds.
But right now, standing in front of the entire imperial court, suffocating under the weight of the mandrake smoke, she couldn't even force her mouth to open.
The unexpected appearance of her sadistic abuser completely short-circuited her already clouded brain.
Trapped in a waking nightmare, Thalia could do nothing but violently tremble.
Suddenly, a massive hand grabbed the back of her head and forcefully turned her face away.
"Your Imperial Highness," Barkas said, his voice a low, restrained rumble.
He pulled Thalia flush against his chest, completely shielding her from Gareth’s view.
"If you are attending here as a guest, then behave accordingly."
Barkas stared the Crown Prince down.
"Do you really wish to cause a public scandal on your oldest friend's wedding day?"
A heavy, incredibly dangerous silence hung over the altar.
Thalia, pressing her forehead desperately against Barkas’s crisp white uniform, swallowed hard.
She didn't understand why Barkas was actively protecting her from Gareth.
Shouldn't it have been the exact opposite?
Wasn't Barkas supposed to be protecting Gareth and his precious Ayla from the wicked, illegitimate bastard?
"There is no need to overreact, Commander," Gareth’s icy voice replied from behind her.
"As long as you explicitly keep your word, I will keep mine."
Thalia desperately wanted to turn her head to see the expression on Gareth’s face, but Barkas’s heavy hand pressing against her skull did not allow her to move a single inch.
Barkas tightened his grip around her waist and spoke with absolute, freezing finality.
"If you intend to stay for the ceremony, take your seat."
There was a loud, audible gnashing of teeth.
Then, Gareth's heavy boots echoed against the marble floor as he turned and walked toward the front row reserved for the guests of honor.
Only then did Barkas’s crushing grip on her waist slightly loosen.
Thalia immediately turned her head, watching as Gareth aggressively threw himself into his seat.
As soon as Gareth sat down, an elderly aristocratic man sitting next to him leaned over and whispered something in his ear.
It was incredibly easy to recognize the old man.
Marquis Oristein.
*Did they actually agree to this in advance?*
Thalia narrowed her eyes, scanning the front rows.
Suddenly, it dawned on her.
The overwhelming majority of the aristocrats gathered in the cathedral were highly conservative nobles who aggressively supported the Crown Prince's faction.
Thalia's eyes widened in horrifying realization.
*What is actually happening here?*
Before Thalia could properly process the political implications, Barkas’s strong hand grabbed her arm and firmly pulled her back toward him.
"You do not need to think about any of this," Barkas commanded softly.
His icy blue eyes locked onto hers, holding her gaze captive.
"After today, you will never have to see any of these people ever again.
Do not waste your precious time looking at them."
He delivered the words with immense, deliberate emphasis, as if trying to physically hammer the promise into her skull.
Then, without a shadow of hesitation, Barkas turned and led her up the final steps toward the altar.
Thalia followed him blindly, exactly like a dog on a leash, biting her chapped lips until they bled.
Barkas hadn't seemed remotely surprised by Gareth's dramatic entrance.
His chilling calmness managed to temporarily clear the confused, narcotic fog in her head.
*Gareth deliberately came here to show the entire imperial court that this forced marriage has absolutely not damaged the ironclad political alliance between the Crown Prince and the Siekan Dukedom,* Thalia realized.
*And Barkas explicitly agreed to support this political illusion.*
From the very beginning, this entire wedding was nothing more than a massive, calculated theatrical performance.
Barkas was doing it out of a strict sense of duty to the Emperor...
and Thalia was doing it purely for the sake of her own spiteful revenge.
But at the end of the day, Barkas was still firmly on Ayla and Gareth's side.
"His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, and Her Imperial Majesty the Empress!"
A booming voice rang out from the grand staircase leading to the royal viewing balcony.
Thalia ripped her gaze away from Barkas and looked up.
Emperor Darian and Empress Seneviere walked majestically toward the towering golden thrones positioned on the second-floor balcony overlooking the altar.
They looked exactly like gods descending to judge the mortals below.
Thalia stared at the Emperor, completely enveloped in an aura of absolute, crushing imperial authority, before shifting her gaze to the woman standing next to him.
Empress Seneviere, as always, was radiating an absolutely blinding, flawless light.
Her hair was the exact color of molten gold.
Her facial features were impossibly refined, and her figure was perfectly, sensually curved, looking exactly as though she had been sculpted by the gods specifically for the purpose of temptation.
Once upon a time, a foolish, naive little girl named Thalia had desperately believed that if she just tried hard enough, she could one day possess such breathtaking beauty.
Now, looking at the monster who had intentionally orchestrated the wyvern attack to crush her own daughter's legs for political gain, Seneviere's flawless beauty physically pricked Thalia’s eyes like burning needles.
"We will now begin the holy ceremony."
As soon as the Emperor and Empress took their thrones, the High Priest stepped up to the massive marble altar and spoke in a booming, solemn voice.
Thalia, physically supported by Barkas’s arm around her waist, hobbled up to the priest.
Directly behind the priest's deeply wrinkled face was a massive stained-glass window, revealing a black, bruised sky heavy with torrential rain.
Standing with the stormy clouds at his back, the High Priest opened a massive, leather-bound tome and began to chant the sacred scriptures in the ancient tongue of Roem.
To Thalia, the entire thing felt like an incredibly absurd, deeply offensive farce.
Empress Seneviere sitting above them with a mysterious, victorious smile.
The Emperor looking profoundly awkward and bored.
A priest muttering hollow, formal blessings.
And hundreds of aristocratic guests watching their entirely false, loveless ceremony with cynical, mocking smiles.
"Barkas Raedgo Siekan," the High Priest finally concluded the long, agonizing reading of the sacred texts and asked the ultimate question.
"Do you swear before the Gods to take Thalia Roem Girtha as your lawfully wedded wife, and remain faithfully by her side until the absolute end of your days?"
Thalia lightly licked her dry lips, refusing to take her eyes off the marble floorboards.
Two agonizingly long seconds passed in total silence.
Then, Barkas answered.
"Yes."
The answer was completely dry, flat, and entirely indifferent.
The High Priest turned his heavy gaze.
"Thalia Roem Girtha.
Do you swear before the Gods to take Barkas Raedgo Siekan as your lawfully wedded husband, and remain faithfully by his side until the absolute end of your days?"
Thalia slowly raised her misty, drug-addled gaze to the priest's face.
She desperately wanted to answer as coldly and indifferently as Barkas had.
But instead of words, only a hoarse, ragged breath escaped her throat, as if invisible hands were violently strangling her.
The longer Thalia remained entirely silent, the tighter Barkas’s heavy hand clamped around her waist.
Thalia slowly turned her head and met his eyes.
Barkas’s icy blue gaze silently pushed her forward.
There was absolutely no patience or desire to delay this farce any longer.
Crushed under the sheer, immovable pressure of his determination, Thalia finally squeezed the word out of her throat.
"...Yes."
"Then, in the face of the Gods and His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, I officially pronounce you husband and wife."
In an entirely indifferent, bureaucratic tone, the High Priest concluded the holy ceremony.
"You may now seal your eternal union with a kiss."