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

The King's Trap

Inside the dark, suffocating wooden cage, Princess Adelaide’s face was pale and streaked with tears. A thick leather gag was buckled tightly behind her head, preventing her from speaking. But it was her eyes that terrified Christian the most—they were wide with sheer, unadulterated panic. Around her neck, a heavy iron collar was bolted to the back of the wooden barrel, holding her head completely rigid.

As Christian stared in disbelief, he noticed a folded piece of parchment pinned to her collar. Written in dark, hastily smeared blood was a desperate warning: "Run. He has poisoned the wine. My father wants your crown."

Before Christian could react, the heavy oak doors of the cathedral slammed shut with a deafening boom. The sound of heavy iron bolts sliding into place echoed through the sanctuary. King Stephen’s personal guards drew their broadswords, their armor clanking as they formed a solid wall of steel blocking every exit. The silent guests suddenly stood up, revealing themselves not as wedding attendees, but as armed conspirators loyal to the southern king.

King Stephen stepped forward, a wicked, triumphant smile playing on his lips. He picked up a heavy golden chalice from the altar, the crimson liquid inside swirling ominously. He held it out to Christian, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.

"Drink to your new bride, Prince Christian," Stephen boomed, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Seal our alliance, and let us toast to the future of our united kingdoms."

Christian looked from the poisoned goblet to Adelaide, whose eyes begged him not to drink. He realized the terrifying truth: King Stephen had never intended for this to be a peaceful alliance. He wanted Christian dead, his northern lands annexed, and his own daughter used as a silent scapegoat, locked away in her wooden prison so she could never speak the truth.