Tied to the Throne

chapter seventeen

Nikolai P.O.V

I stand in awe at the front of the old church, gazing up at the towering ceilings that seem to reach up to the heavens. The vast expanse of the interior is truly breathtaking, with a sense of grandeur that is befitting of a royal occasion.

As my eyes wander across the walls, I am struck by the intricate art pieces that adorn them, each one a masterpiece of its own. The stained-glass windows are particularly striking, casting a warm, multicolored glow across the entire space.

The pews are arranged in perfect rows, stretching out in every direction, leaving a wide, open aisle down the center of the church. The wood is polished to a gleaming shine, and each seat looks inviting, as if beckoning guests to come and sit.

Despite the grandeur of the church, there is a certain intimacy to the space, as if each guest is welcomed with open arms into its warm embrace.

Yet I feel none of it.

I'm terrified.

The rows of hard, wooden seats are full by now, and the officiant stands before me, awaiting her.

My parents and Cammile sit in one of the front rows, and he mother next to them. Benedict and Matteo are in the row behind, giving me occasional looks of reassurance, and silently cheering me on.

As beads of sweat trickle down my forehead, I reach up to adjust my tie, trying to regain a sense of composure. The doors loom ahead, wide open and inviting, yet I can't help but feel a sense of apprehension creeping up my spine. My palms are slick with nervous perspiration, and my face burns with a feverish heat. Until this moment, I had never given much thought to what was about to happen. But now that it's here, I realize that I am committed, bound by a sense of duty that won't allow me to back down now. Despite my anxiety, I know that I must go through with this.

I have to marry Arabella.

The worst part is I'm not mad about it anymore.

Maybe I'm willing to let her in?

Only time can tell...

Arabella P.O.V

Me and father are standing outside the door, him in a suit and me in my dress. All we can do is wait. Wait for those doors to open, and wait for my fate to be sealed.

"You better not run out like you did at that ball," my father says out of nowhere. I look at him in shock. Does he really think I would do that? Flee from the alter?

Just then a memory arises. The ball. William.

"Dad. I know you and Mum know Will's alive."

As I speak, I notice a sudden change in his demeanor. His once composed and collected expression falls into one of defeat, disappointment, and possibly even anger. His face drops, and he seems to be struggling to find the right words to say in response. Meanwhile, I stand there motionless, staring blankly into his cold, dark eyes, feeling an uncomfortable tension in the air. It's as if his eyes are a void, a deep and impenetrable darkness that seems to be consuming me whole, leaving me feeling uneasy and vulnerable. His frantic search for words only adds to the tension, making me wonder what he's truly thinking and feeling at this moment.

The doors open.

The sound of clapping surrounds me as I look into the large church. I grab my fathers arm and force a smile onto my face.

This was actually happening.

As I take each step down the aisle, I feel like I'm walking towards my own doom. My body is stiff and unyielding, as if it's resisting the path I'm taking. The guests are staring at me, their eyes filled with expectation and hope, but I can't meet their gaze. My heart is pounding in my chest, threatening to burst out of my ribcage.