The wedding had been a torturous, obligatory bore. Had he wanted to marry the queen of Sultaria? Not a chance in hell — had the choice been his. His hand had been forced by his parents and the royal cabinet of their advisors. The queen had walked down the aisle in draping fabric that hid every part of her body; her face was buried behind an impenetrable veil. Her hands were even covered by gloves. 

He had done what was required, but now he sat sulking in his study away from the marriage festivities. He would stay there all night if it meant not having to bed whatever thing Sultaria was hiding behind their “traditional” wedding attire. He scoffed and took another deep sip of his scotch. 

A knock sounded on the ornate study door. He ignored it, but it didn’t stop. 

“Elias,” a voice called into the room. It was Matthias, his advisor and trusted friend. Elias opened the door, hoping for someone to commiserate with.  

“Did you see that thing they had me marry?” Elias complained as he slumped back down onto the sofa and picked up his glass. 

“Nobody has yet to see her, Elias.” 

“Because they’re hiding something. I’m telling you Matthias.” 

“You make assumptions,” Matthias responded. 

“Were she beautiful, she would not have been so utterly smothered. They’re tricking us into taking their wretched queen for this alliance, and who has to suffer for it? Me!” 

“Perhaps, it is true. But you are royalty, and there are associated responsibilities.” 

“I’m not even first born. I should be exempt. I will not do it, Matthias” 

“If you do not go to her, your mother will be down here with an escort of royal guards,” Mattias said.

Elias let out a dissatisfied grunt and downed the rest of his glass. He knew Matthias was right. The only question now was whether he would be dragged to the queen’s chambers or walk willingly. 

“Fuck,” he said as he poured himself one more tall drink of the dark liquid.  He wouldn’t give his nagging mother the satisfaction. 

“Wait for me here, Matthias,” he said before he downed the glass. 

“As soon as I fulfill my nuptial duties, we’re going to Madam Sophies’ establishment to wash the queen’s maladies off of me.” Elias stood, swayed slightly and walked out the door leaving it wide behind him. 

Torches lit the way to the queen’s royal bed chambers. Four guards stood watch at the entrance, their gold tipped spears crossing in front of the door.

“I am here to bed whatever it is that lies beneath the hundred yards of fabric I married today,” Elias said, the alcohol going to his head making the “haughty arrogance” his mother always complained of come out stronger than usual. 

He surmised that his mother, that wretched crone, had done this, selected this mummy bride to teach him humility, that elusive trait she was always forcing on him. The guards said nothing, but Elias noted as one, a young muscular man, smirked to himself. 

They opened the door and the unmistakable scent of mountain rose mingled with coastal jasmine caressed his senses as he stepped through the door. It closed firmly behind him, sealing him in.