My Royal Bride Was Forced to Wear a Locked Barrel on Our Wedding Day

The Locked Bride of Cathedral Rock

The air inside the grand cathedral of Saint Jude was thick with the scent of burning myrrh and cold stone. I, Prince Sebastian, stood at the altar, my hands trembling beneath my silver-trimmed cuffs. This was supposed to be a day of triumph, a political alliance cemented in holy matrimony. But as the heavy oak doors swung open, a collective gasp echoed through the pews. Walking down the aisle was not the radiant Princess Evelyn I had glimpsed from afar, but a tragic figure escorted by two armored guards.

Her magnificent white silk gown dragged along the marble floor, but her head was completely encased in a heavy, locked wooden barrel. Heavy iron bands wrapped around the wood, and a brass padlock gleamed under the stained-glass windows. Beside her walked her father, King Charles, his dark red velvet robe trailing behind him like a river of blood. He held her hand with a grip so tight her knuckles were white.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked at my father, then at the archbishop, but everyone remained frozen, paralyzed by the sheer authority of the tyrant king. When they reached the altar, King Charles stared directly into my eyes, his face a mask of cold, unyielding stone.

"My daughter is now your wife," Charles declared, his voice booming through the cathedral. "Take her, and remember your vows."

He pressed a small iron key into my palm. The weight of it felt like lead. Slowly, nervously, I stepped forward. The princess trembled, a soft, muffled whimper escaping from within the dark wood. My hand shook as I reached out to the metal latch door on the front of the barrel. I unlocked the padlock and slowly pulled the hatch open, peering into the shadows. My eyes adjusted, and the horror of what lay inside made my blood run cold. "Oh my God," I gasped, stumbling backward.