The Prince Opened the Lock on My Wooden Helmet and Gasped in Horror

The Locked Bride

The air inside the grand gothic cathedral of St. Jude was thick with the scent of burning myrrh and damp stone. Prince Christian of the Northern Valleys adjusted the heavy emerald and gold collar of his wedding doublet. His hands were damp with sweat. He had agreed to this marriage to secure peace for his people, but he had never expected the horror that awaited him at the altar.

As the heavy oak doors of the cathedral groaned open, the crowd fell into a suffocating silence. There was no joyful music, no scattering of rose petals. Instead, King Stephen of the Southern Realms marched down the aisle, his bronze-trimmed robes dragging heavily on the stone floor. Beside him walked his daughter, Princess Adelaide. But her face was hidden. Her entire head was encased in a crude, heavy wooden barrel, bound with rusted iron bands and locked with a massive golden padlock.

Christian felt the blood drain from his face. He looked around the cathedral, but the guests stared straight ahead, their eyes glassy and vacant. King Stephen halted at the altar, holding Adelaide’s gloved hand with a grip so tight her knuckles must have been white. He looked directly at Christian, his expression devoid of any fatherly warmth.

"My daughter is now your wife," King Stephen declared, his voice echoing off the high stone arches. "Take her, and take the key."

He pressed a small, cold iron key into Christian’s trembling palm. Christian stepped closer to his new bride. He could hear her shallow, ragged breathing from the dark air slits carved into the oak barrel. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reached out and inserted the key into the heavy padlock. The metal latch clicked open with a sound like a cracking bone. Christian opened the small wooden door on the front of the barrel and peered inside.

"Oh my God," Christian gasped, stumbling backward in horror.