Wild thoughts chased each other through Rhiannon's mind as Ailla nudged her to walk down the Great Hall towards her future husband.

Baudwin knows the face of Son of Deva.

It wasn't something he was even aware of. He would have thought he was fighting a random member of the Dark Disciple's forces. But if they crossed paths again, he'd remember. The face would surely be etched in Baudwin's memory just like it was in hers, as he had seen it in the moments before the tower toppled and crushed his leg. It was how Son of Deva had escaped.

She'd been there. In Messina. She'd seen it all unfold before her very eyes. Then she'd escaped the city with the Son of Deva. Leaving Baudwin trapped under that rubble.

Every step across the stone floor of the hall brought her closer to the man whose leg she might have been able to save. Now she must save his life. But how? She was his would-be executioner. If Son of Deva and the other followers of the Dark God were planning something soon, there was no way they would want someone out there who could identify him. Very few knew his face, many didn't even know that the Dark Disciple had a son. Rumours of his existence had only begun recently. He had always preferred to hide in plain sight, and someone knowing what he looked like might jeopardise whatever he had planned.

Baudwin was in more danger than she had ever realised. And it was all her fault.

It was as if a stone had lodged itself in her stomach, weighing her down, slowing her movements. As she came to stand before her soon-to-be husband, she looked up at his handsome face. He looked younger without the beard and with his hair neatly cropped. Part of her missed the more unkempt version. She definitely missed not having realised she knew him. With his beard gone, the other features of his face seemed more apparent. The high cheekbones, the angular jaw and straight nose. The soft curvature of his mouth as he smiled at her, making her remember the fervent kisses he'd bestowed upon her during their night together.

How could the Gods be so cruel?

She had tried to leave her past behind. Hiding in the swamps of Lyndor, sticking to herself other than helping the locals with minor ailments. And yet here she was, about to marry a man whose life her past choices had affected. She had made so many mistakes. Brought so much pain on so many people. Maybe she deserved this torment. But he did not. He deserved better than her. She'd known it all along. It was another reason she had never wanted this marriage. It wasn't all about not wanting them to find her. No one should have to suffer her as their wife.

With her mind occupied by tormented thoughts and memories of past misdeeds, she struggled to focus on the ceremony. Dazed, she noticed when Baudwin took her hands in his, the warmth of them comforting. She didn't deserve to feel comforted. Definitely not by him. The priest talked, but she didn't listen, her eyes on Baudwin's face as he paid attention to the words. Her entire being ached with the knowledge of what she had cost him. The daily pain. The need of a cane.

When he had first mentioned the toppling tower, she had wondered briefly, but decided the odds were so small. And yet, it was him. The man who had fought Son of Deva. She had stood at the base of that tower, watching them fight. Son of Deva and two knights. They had been so close to overpowering him when the tower fell. She would never forget the look on the knight's—no, Baudwin's—face as he pushed the other man out of the way, only to stare helplessly as the debris and rubble fell on him. Horrified, she had wanted to help, but Son of Deva had taken her arm and pulled her along.

Son of Deva. She shook her head slightly, pushing the images of him away. Baudwin noticed the movement and frowned, so she gave him a brief, dispassionate smile. Why was she playing into their fear of using his actual name? Those who even knew it were few. She was one. Devin.

"Rhiannon?"

Her name on Baudwin's lips brought her back from her rioting thoughts, and she realised that everyone in the hall was staring expectantly at her. Looking down at their joined hands, she swallowed before looking back up to meet Baudwin's hazel eyes. The caring, understanding look in them only made her feel worse.

"I... I will."

She hoped that was the part they were at and breathed a sigh of relief as the priest nodded and turned to Baudwin. His question to the king was lost in her misery, but she heard the clear reply.

"I will."

The priest put his hands on theirs for a moment. "You are now husband and wife. May the Gods bless this union."

A cheer erupted from the guests as the priest raised their hands before letting go. Rhiannon would have dropped hers, but Baudwin held on, smiling at the joyous crowd. Catching sight of Ailla's disapproving looks from where she was standing by a wall, Rhiannon plastered a fake smile on her face. She had a role to play.

Gazing out over the gathered guests, she caught sight of her parents. Her mother was smiling, wiping a tear from the corner of an eye, while her stepfather looked smug. Like a crocodile after savouring its juicy prey. One day she would wipe that smug look off his face, but today was not that day. Other than her parents and Baudwin's family she hardly recognised anyone, and why would she? Even before leaving a decade ago, she had only ever had a few interactions with other noble families.

She only barely registered when Baudwin placed her hand on his arm and led her down the hall between the benches and out onto the large balcony overlooking the castle gardens. Between the bare rose bushes and empty flower beds, citizens had gathered to celebrate their king getting married. They cheered as they saw them, and the seemingly honest joy they exuded surprised Rhiannon. It would seem her husband was a popular ruler, if not with her family and some other nobles. Rebellion was far from the minds of these guests.

Longingly, she looked at the large hedge maze further down in the garden, wishing she could escape into its lush, green depths. It appeared to be evergreens, its dark leaves showing no sign of the changing seasons. She made a mental note to check it out when she got a chance, curious of which plants they were using.

The remainder of the day passed in a daze. They partook in a large feast, with many toasts made in their honour, but she found that she had no appetite and only pushed food around on her plate with her fork. If Baudwin noticed, he made no remark, but he gave her a few unreadable looks. Whenever Ailla came near, she made a show of plastering a smile on her face, but it faded the moment the lady's maid moved on.

She was pushing a pea across her plate towards a small mash potato mountain when a hand covered hers, stilling her movement. Looking up, she met Baudwin's concerned gaze.

"Are you all right?"

No, and neither are you. She didn't know what to say. Nothing would ever be all right again. How could she protect him from Devin? From herself?

"I'm fine," she muttered, looking back down at her plate.

"Your frown says otherwise." He nodded towards her food. "And I don't know what that pea has ever done to you, but I think it's time to let it rest."

Despite her mood, a smile tugged at her lips. How did he always do that? He cheered her up even when she didn't want to be. It wasn't fair.

"I'm fine," she repeated, allowing the smile to blossom, hoping to ease his worries. "Just been a long day."

"Maybe you should retire for the evening? The main festivities are over, and I think you can reasonably be excused."

It was a welcome suggestion, so she nodded. "Thank you, I appreciate that."

His hazel eyes met hers, and it surprised her how somber he looked. "I'm sorry you had to marry me, Rhiannon. I know you didn't want to."

"I'm sure I could have done worse, as far as husband's go." She wasn't sure why she tried to comfort him, but he looked so forlorn she felt she had to.

"Perhaps." He didn't look particularly comforted. As she stood to leave, he pressed his lips together in a grim smile. "I will see you later."

The wedding night. She'd almost forgotten.

"I'll wait up," she murmured before hurrying away, watching as Ailla left her seat to follow. A tall form by the doors blocked her path, and she looked up to see her stepfather smirking down at her.

"Well done going through with it," he said smugly. "This union will serve me well."

"I didn't do it for you." Straightening, she met his cold eyes. "And after today, you had better not get in my way."

The threat made him laugh. "Or what?" He raised a black eyebrow. "Will you do to me what you did to Lord Odgar?"

Rhiannon took an involuntary step backwards at the mention of the man who had defiled her as a young woman. The man her stepfather had promised her to, and she had run from. The man she had defended herself against and possibly killed.

"He sends his regards." Lord Delen gave her a shrewd look. "He's never quite been the same since that day. What did you do to him? He doesn't even remember."

So the bastard was still alive. She felt neither relief nor regret over not having killed him. The person who truly deserved retribution was her stepfather. He was the man who had ordered everyone to chase after her in a hunting party. He was the man who had punished her for escaping.

"How did you do it?" he pressed on. "Odgar is twice your size. There is no way you should have been able to overpower him."

Stepping closer, Rhiannon stared him straight in the face, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sneer. "You will know. On the day I come for you."

Her stepfather blanched considerably at the malevolence in her voice.

"Queen Rhiannon," Ailla's sharp voice rang out before she could say anything further. "It is time for your bath."

Giving Lord Delen another derisive look, Rhiannon walked past him out of the Great Hall. She made it all the way to her bedchamber before her body broke into shivers and she had to sit down on the floor, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Ailla—ever so caring—ignored her as she readied a bath and put out some nightclothes on the bed.

"Come," she said once finished. "We must get you ready for your wedding night."

The wedding night. She'd forgotten again. Rhiannon looked up from the floor to see the darkly amused smile on the lady's maid's face.

"It's important that you keep him satisfied," Ailla said as she helped Rhiannon undress for the bath. "A satisfied man is a talkative man."

"Really? In my experience, a satisfied man is a sleeping man," Rhiannon muttered.

Ailla snorted. "I meant in general, not immediately after. Don't be crass."

While Rhiannon got into the bath, the lady's maid carefully put the wedding dress away. If her nerves hadn't been frayed beyond recognition, she might have been able to enjoy the bath. But as it was, she spent the entire time watching Ailla flit about the room, lighting candles and pulling the bedcovers down. Preparing for the wedding night. When she finished, she brushed Rhiannon's hair and helped her into the sheer nightgown and dressing gown that had been prepared for her wedding chest.

Leaving Rhiannon sitting on the edge of the bed, she walked to the door, then stopped and gave her a final glance.

"Don't disappoint us, Queen Rhiannon."

~~~~~~