The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 23

Hot tears raced down his cheeks and he could only stare at the floor. This was not how his life was meant to go. This was not how any of this was meant to go. Hannibal was meant to come home. He was going to rule this kingdom by Will's side. It was going to be the four of them changing everything for the better and it was gone. In a single puff of smoke, it had gone out like the flame of a candle.

The door to the wedding hall opened just far enough for a head to pop around the corner. Some maid or other, Will couldn't see enough to tell who it was.

"Your Majesty, the bride is ready whenever you are," they said before the door was closed politely again.

Will sucked in a deep breath that shook horribly. He wiped at the tears on his cheeks with his sleeves before he pushed himself to his feet. His knees wobbled beneath him, and he took the wall for support. He had to do this. If this marriage did not take place, he would be as good as dead. His father might run him through right then and there and Will doubted anyone would bat an eye.

Despite how frightfully Will despised his father in this moment, his little games and tests to prove his worth, his father was correct. This was where he needed to show who he was. Show that he was strength. That he always had been and now there was not going to be a single person to step in his way. Hannibal wouldn't want him to just stutter and die. He would keep going, keep pushing, keep working. Hannibal would not give up and neither would Will.

He cleared his throat and pushed his curls from his face. His fingers worked on adjusting his cloak about him and with one more pass of his hands over his cheeks, he turned towards the doors. He pushed them open and stepped back into the hall that was no longer colorful. The choir sang his heart and he wondered who else could hear how it was breaking.

Will made his way through the crowd and to the altar where the bishop was looking over him with concern. Mason stood beside him with a curious look on his face, lips tipped into the slightest smile. Will didn't pause in his steps, though he knew what was coming. Something else was about to fall apart and he wasn't about to let that happen without a fight.

He came to a stop when a hand took his arm and he glanced down at Beverly before his gaze returned to Mason. Concern was deeply etched into her person and her grip was unyielding.

"You do not have to do this," she whispered to him. "I do not care what your father said to you or what you feel like you are required to do at this moment. I care about you and you do not need to go through with this."

"He would not want-"

"He is not here," Beverly hissed, pulling Will back when he tried to walk away. "We can talk to Margot. She will understand."

"The Kings won't." Will inhaled deeply, eyes only on how Mason's smile slowly grew. "Without this, I have nothing. I am nothing. We both know it."

"No one else has to."

"Let go of me, Beverly." Will tried to step away again but was stopped. "I do not want to be unkind to you, but this is not the moment to be trying my patience. Release me, this moment." Beverly's grip loosened immediately, and she stepped back with a small bow to save face before stepping away. Will straightened his sleeve and began the, what felt like, fathoms long walk to the altar. "Your Majesty." Will bowed his head. "Forgive me for the delay. I am-"

"This wedding will not be proceeding," Mason informed, hands clasping behind his back loudly.

Will's brows pulled together. "I do not understand."

"We have been informed of issues with you performing your husbandly duties," the bishop replied as if he had room to speak.

Will heart sank lower. His hands grew clammy and sweaty at his sides, and he clenched them into fists to keep them from shaking. He shook his head and licked his lips. He couldn't do this. Not now. He just needed one thing to go as they had planned.