The Bound Princess (Dark Romance)

Chapter 14

Dawood

I was standing in the ballroom of the Palace in Azmaayir, which was the permanent residence of Taimur Al Jahaan, now my father-in-law. Our wedding had been arranged in the palace, everything from the decorations to the catering was as expected, from the best the world could offer.

My whole family had flown from Turkey to attend my wedding celebration. Speculations were being made by everyone for the past one month about how I had let a girl conquer me?

Countless times I was on the verge of an explosion, to scream at them that I was being blackmailed into this union. I don't know what Dad had told them about the marriage but no one had discussed or mentioned those pictures or videos to me.

I had spent the past one month thinking about the ways that I could make my wife pay for coming in between my father and me. The expression on her face at the time of our Nikah was enough to portray how much she resented this union and I was going to make sure that it only increased every second of our married life.

"I can't wait to meet your bride," Emel, my Uncle's daughter exclaimed in an enthusiastic voice.

"I am wondering how come she just didn't barge inside of the palace, demanding she wants to meet the bride," Mesich, her twin teased her.

I was just displaying my professional smile to everyone, trying to fake my happiness. If not for Dad I would have told everyone to fuck themselves. I couldn't remember the count of how many important figures of the world I had met in the past hour since I had been here.

"Dawood, are you getting what they call the cold feet?" Ozan asked with a teasing glint in his eye.

He was Aunt Sefa's eldest son, my father's youngest sister. Ozan was a couple of years younger than me. I was getting weary of their teasing, since the day my wedding was announced.

"Why would Dee get cold feet?" Emel asked.

"Yeah, I thought this cold feet shit was reserved for girls," Nijaz sneered.

My cousins were the most annoying beings on this planet and at this moment, they were annoying the fuck out of me. I excused myself from them and joined a group where my Uncles were debating about the new sanctions of the US on China.

The grand oak doors carved with intricate floral patterns of the room opened and a buzz spread around the room. It was time for the Zaffe ceremony (The zaffe is the newlywed couple's grand entrance to their reception. It typically starts with the bride's father walking his daughter to her groom. It is then followed by a troupe of drummers that play traditional, upbeat Arabic music).

Taimur Al Jahaan entered the room in all his splendid glory. He was wearing a white thobe paired with a roped white headwear. My wife was holding his arm and walking alongside him. The resemblance between the father and daughter was striking. Same jade green eyes proud features and high held obstinate chins.

She was wearing a white gown, with a boat neck, the bodice of her dress was of the finest lace over the most expensive of the silks. The skirt consisted of the softest of the tulle spread over the silk in hundreds of layers. Her slender neck was adorned with a diamond choker. Chandelier earrings hung from her ears studded with diamonds. Her black hair was pulled up into a fancy hairdo, with a diamond and pearl tiara ornamenting around it. She looked as she had walked straight out of some Disney fairytale, a perfect picture of beauty and elegance.

I would have considered myself lucky if I didn't hate her guts. She held her chin high as she walked, her face a perfect mask of indifference. If I would not have witnessed the fire inside her I would have considered her an ice princess at the moment, untouchable and aloof to the world.