I step on the ruined veil as Santiago closes his hand around my arm and walks me to the chapel door.

I watch his back as I stumble along behind him. I smell him still, his cologne of wood and leather and money. I will forever associate this scent with him. It will forever make my stomach feel like the bottom has dropped out.

He had been there, sitting silent in the confessional as if he were my confessor. And if he didn’t hate me before, he surely does after hearing what I asked.

Don’t let him be a monster.

I hadn’t meant physically, but how do I explain that to him?

Santiago chooses that moment to glance back at me, and I shudder. Maybe I’m a hypocrite after all. It’s the skull side of his face. The tattoo that makes my breath catch, that makes me unable to look away. It’s grotesque and captivating at once.

I see the scars beneath if I look closely. I wish I could take my time and study them, but he doesn’t allow for that. They’re on the other side of his face too, the beautiful side, but not nearly as bad as what I see hints of beneath that ink.

Did he do it to hide them? The scars?

Why a skull? It’s like he’s already dead.

Or did he do it out of shame?

We reach the door, and he grins as he reaches for the doorknob, and I think no, not out of shame. It’s a dare. A challenge. Look at me if you can stand it.

Or a big fuck you to anyone who would otherwise stare at the damage.

The oddest thing is that although I know it’s meant to terrify, that he means to terrify me, I don’t feel that. Not only that, at least. Because I know if I wake in the middle of the night to be greeted by the inked side of his face, he will succeed. I will be terrified.

But there’s more there. I glimpse it in his eyes, too, when it edges out the rage. The hate.

I see pain.

“Keep up,” he commands as he pulls the door open, and I wonder why he married me. Why he chose me when it’s apparent he hates me. So why choose to tie yourself to someone you hate?

Or does he think no one else would have him with his deformity? He’s a Sovereign Son. No matter what he looks like, any father would hand over his daughter should he demand it.

Demand.

That is what he’s done with me. Demanded me. And here I am. Married to the beast.

We step into the dark corridor, and I stumble as I try to keep up. The air grows cooler as we head toward the courtyard.