My movements are jerky and automated. I kiss the king, but I’m not really present. My skin crawls as his lips caress mine. When he pulls away he smiles, but I can see something like uncertainty there. I want to laugh that I can make someone like the king feel vulnerable, but I’m too consumed by my own personal pain.

The priest announces us to the chapel, and I feel a tear drip down my cheek. I just married the monster under the bed.

The king and I stand outside the palace, on the grassy lawn that overlooks the water. From the ice sculptures to the overabundance of flowers, it’s clear the king’s spared no expense on our reception. It had to cost a fortune of money better spent elsewhere.

A constant stream of people approaches us and congratulates the king and me on our union. I give most of them flinty looks. I know it’s not fair of me to be hostile to people I don’t know, but I’m insulted that anyone could assume I’m happy about what’s happening to me.

“Congratulations my friend. You deserve all the happiness in the world,” says the politician in front of us. He looks frighteningly similar to a walrus, and he eyes me like the object I’m supposed to be.

Montes nods and shakes his hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs.

When the man reaches for my hand, I level a glare at him. He gets it.

Bowing, he says, “Congratulations again,” and backs away.

The king watches him as he leaves. “I don’t like the way he looked at you,” he says quietly.

“That makes two of us.”

The king nods to himself. “Then I’ll take care of the situation.”

I blink a few times. “Are you psychotic?” I hiss at him under my breath. “You can’t just punish everyone who slights you.”

“Of course I can,” he says.

Before I can respond, the next guest approaches, this one a crusty old man who spews praise at the king. Once he moves along, I lean into the king. “Brownnoser, that one.”

The king snickers, and I cringe that, at the moment, we are coconspirators. For the king, this seems to elicit the opposite reaction. He wraps a hand around my waist and rubs my side affectionately. I think I’m going to be sick.

A couple approaches us, and thankfully King Lazuli has to drop his hand from my side in order to greet them.

“We are so happy for you,” the woman says, “and we hope that this union brings prosperity to your home—and lots of children,” she throws in, flashing me a sly smile. Like what every woman wants is a snotty baby.