Once Upon an Us

3. Cillian

Cillian's POV

She looks at me with vexation in her gaze. Those honey-brown eyes gleam with anger that she's too proper to voice aloud. Her plump lip is caught between her teeth, her defined jaw trembling with a rage that my father, the King, chooses to ignore. He doesn't care if she lives or dies, let alone if she's enraged by any untoward behavior of mine or anyone else's in the castle. 

That is why I must treat her coldly, why I must make her hate me. 

It was either this or some other sadistic, albeit deathly, treatment my father could dream up. He never intended to honor the peace treaty, on an authentic, happy marriage between us, not after what Maria's family did. 

It took everything in me to convince him to let me torture the girl with a heartless marriage. A ruthless, cold Prince that would never warm her bed the way she wished, that wouldn't provide her an heir but would eventually father a bastard child that he would give all inheritance. I went to extreme lengths to convince the King that I could make Maria's life miserable and, as a result, punish her for her family's crimes more than a quick death ever could, more than a few days of physical torture could. 

This would be a lifetime of misery. 

Even for myself. 

This will be just as much torture for me. Wanting someone as badly as I've come to want her, even just from our brief encounter in her chambers, and knowing I will never have her the way I wish, kills me inside. 

To my wife, I will always be cold, heartless Cillian. It must stay that way until my father dies, but by then, she will hate me forever. 

It is my duty. 

My beauty, My Princess, finally releases her lip from the slow torture of her teeth. It's red and swollen. Begging for the gentle assault of my own upon hers, but I suppress my desire. 

Instead, I swallow half a cup of scalding coffee, wincing at the burn but thankful for the distraction from my fiance. 

Her beauty is abundant. Her skin is smooth and sun-kissed. Her body a voluptuous torture for any male gaze who cannot have the pleasure of bedding her. Her voice is a soft cadence with a slight rasp, like an angel with a strong-willed side. Her brunette curls belong on the pillow amid my bed, fanned out and unruly after a passionate night of making her mind, body, and soul in my wife. 

That can never be. 

I hiss as pain shoots into my nailbeds, realizing I am gripping the wooden table with every bit of strength in me. I yank my hands away, grit my teeth and glance around to see if anyone has noticed my odd behavior. 

Maria is too busy scrutinizing my father, who has gone on a tangent about how annoyed he is with the peasants of the country who defile the streets. The King claims they make Prua look filthy and unimportant, yet he never devises a plan to better the situation. Something I will change when I am in power. 

I count the days down before this man before me is dead. 

It will not be by my hand. I would never commit such heresy, but if fate is merciful, it will be soon before he ruins anymore lives. 

After my mother, the Queen, died a year ago, he has been insufferable. Evil. Something was planted inside him, something wrong and twisted, and he hasn't been the same ever since. I long for the days when my father was kind, just, and thoughtful. He didn't cast off real issues. He studied them, analyzed solutions, and applied them for the better of the country. 

I am not sure we can go back to how it used to be. 

He is too stubborn. Too far gone. 

Now we all must endure instead and try to remain living in the process.