Ivy’s POV
“The Lycan King’s wrath knows no bounds and once again, he has proven that he is the most feared being in the kingdom!” A pale-faced anchor reports on the television screen behind me.
“The King’s betrothed was confirmed to be tragically killed during a robbery at a bridal shop last week,” the anchor continues.
At those words, my fingers stumble over the bottle of foundation I am trying to pick up. A sharp pain slices through my chest as I whip my head towards the screen.
The robbery.
Scenes of people screaming, men in masks and chaos everywhere flash in front of eyes in a panicked haze.
It was one of the worst days of my life.
Tears form in my eyes as I look at the picture of the golden-haired woman on the screen. The Lycan King’s betrothed wears a kind smile much like what she was wearing when I last saw her in the robbery.
Ever since the day of the robbery, I have been compulsively checking news about her, hoping and praying that she survives.
Now, the confirmation of her death hits me like a brutal blow.
This world isn’t fair.
How could I miraculously survive that night and she couldn’t?
The thought brings a wave of sadness through me, and tears prick my eyes.
Suddenly, the image on the screen changes, and I freeze.
Now, the camera is zooming in on the face of the king.
Jet black hair falls in thick waves to his shoulders, framing a short rough beard that accentuates his chiseled jaw. But it’s his eyes that send a shudder through me - glacial blue, like ice piercing into your soul, devoid of warmth or mercy. Rumor has it that he stole the throne from his father and imprisoned his mother. His very presence radiates danger, and even through the screen, I can feel the menace he exudes.
The anchor’s shaky voice plays in the back.
“Rogues were said to be responsible for the attack, and King Alexander has vowed not to spare anyone involved in her death.”
The screen shifts to show graphic images - blood splattered walls, bodies torn apart with savage force. The brutality is unimaginable. The anchor’s voice quivers as she describes the scene. I stare at the screen, unable to tear my eyes away from the horror displayed.
“Reports indicate that he has already dealt with most of the rogues responsible … except one. There is one culprit whose identity is unknown. All we know is that the Lycan king is coming for him.”
Once again, the camera pans towards the king standing in the middle of the carnage. He casually takes out a handkerchief and wipes away the blood on his hands. Then, slowly, he lifts his face and stares straight into the camera.
A shiver runs through my spine. The king’s predatory accusing stare seems to penetrate through the television screen. It’s like he wants the culprit to fear his retribution.
A strange sort of alarm races through me as I look at his face.
His stare is so nerve-wracking that it almost feels like he is coming … for me.
Suddenly, the door slams open behind me, and I whip around to see who is here.
My step-mother stomps inside with a frown on her face, effectively bringing me out of all my thoughts.
"What are you still doing in the bridal room?" she snarls, her eyes narrowing at me. "The guests are out, and the wedding is about to start. You are wasting my time, you pathetic girl."
My shoulders hunch down like they always do under the weight of her verbal assault.
"I don't even want to be here," she continues, her voice dripping with disdain. "If it wasn't for the fact that a woman of my stature needs to keep up appearances, I would throw you out on the streets to get married."
She stalks towards me, her eyes burning with anger, and grabs my wrist painfully, twisting it. I gasp in pain, trying to pull away, but her grip is too strong.
"And what are those tears?" she spits, her face inches from mine. "You ungrateful witch, isn't it enough that I am letting you marry who you want to? Why are you crying now?"
I wince, biting my lip to keep from screaming out as her grip tightens. I can already feel the bruise forming under her fingers.
"I’m sorry," I whisper, instead. "I’ll be right out."
"You’d better," she hisses, releasing my wrist with a shove. "Get ready and come out quickly, or this wedding won't happen."
With that, she stomps back out, leaving me trembling and alone.
“Just a few more hours, Ivy,” I whisper to myself. “Just a few more hours, and life will be better. James will always keep you safe, then.”
James.
The thought of him brings a small, genuine smile to my lips. He’s the only person who’s ever made me feel valued. Today, I’m marrying him, and that thought alone is enough to push back any more tears that are threatening to spill over.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
I can do this.