My Husband's Wedding Day Is My Execution

Victoria's POV

No sooner had the words left my lips than the two pursuing jailers lunged forward, seizing my shoulders from either side.

A length of broken chain, still shackled to my wrist, dragged across the red carpet. It left a trail of blood amidst the scattered wedding confetti on the ground.

My husband, Arthur Pemberton, strode up to me and gripped my wrist firmly. He growled, "What nonsense are you spouting? When did I ever ask you to die in Mabel's place?"

I looked up at him.

The effects of the potion meant to rob me of my voice had not yet fully taken hold, but every word I uttered felt as though a blade were scraping against my throat.

"The execution has been moved up. Can't you hear the drums?" I asked.

The death-knell drums from the execution ground echoed over the courtyard wall, each beat more urgent than the last.

Arthur's brows tightened, but they smoothed out just as quickly afterward. He said, "That's just Prince Ezra trying to force my hand. He wants me to hand Mabel over.

"But I am the Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, and no one would dare touch you without my official warrant."

He wiped a smear of blood from my temple, his tone almost tender as he continued, "It's only for three days, Victoria. Mabel has been afraid of the dark since she was a child. She can't endure the hardships of a prison cell.

"Just stay in her place for a few days. I promise I will bring you back once everything is over."

Seven years ago, when the Pemberton family fell into disgrace, I sold my family estate and kneeled at the palace gates to deliver evidence to the King, ultimately saving Arthur and his entire family.

After the 30 heavy blows of the whip lashed down onto my body, Arthur held my blood-soaked body, weeping and swearing that he would never fail me in this lifetime.

Yet even now, he assumed I could endure anything. He thought that just because I could withstand a flogging and survive a prison cell, I could surely face the executioner's blade on someone else's behalf.

Mabel Sinclair lifted her bridal veil, steadying the ornate pearl tiara upon her head. She approached, her eyes reddening as she said, "Victoria, perhaps… Perhaps I should just go back, Arthur. I was the one who did wrong. It shouldn't be Vicky who bears the consequences on my behalf."

Yet, despite saying that, she kept clutching Arthur's sleeve tightly. Arthur immediately pulled her behind him, shielding her.

"It has nothing to do with you, Mabel. She's just angry and saying these things on purpose to scare you."

I stared at the tiara. "Give it back."

Mabel instinctively shielded her head.

"But Vicky, I've only just come from the death row dungeon. Taking off the tiara now would be incredibly bad luck for me."

The taste of blood rose in my throat.

"So, you do know that the death row dungeon is bad luck."

Her face turned deathly pale.

Arthur's voice dropped just then, growing stern as he chided me.

"It's just a tiara, Vicky. Must you make things difficult for her today? I'll just get you a new one once all of this is over."

While Mother was on her deathbed, her hands had trembled so much that she could barely hold a comb in her hands. Yet, despite her failing health, she had insisted on counting every single pearl on this tiara herself.

She said that I had to wear the most precious jewels on my wedding day so that nobody would ever look down on me. But now, Arthur spoke of it as if it could simply be replaced.

I lowered my head and snapped the cord around my neck. Half of a jade locket fell onto the stone-paved floor and shattered on impact.

The locket had been a symbol of our love. When my half and his half came together, they formed a full, perfect circle, signifying our love for each other. But now, my half was broken.

One shard rolled to the edge of Arthur's boot, and his expression finally shifted.

"Victoria Montgomery!" he yelled.

"It's just broken," I said, looking up at him. "Isn't replacing things one of your biggest talents? You could probably even replace it with a better one soon."

Arthur bent down to pick up the pieces, but I had already turned away, letting the jailers lock my hands back into place.

His voice drifted from behind me.

"I've had a charcoal brazier and bedding brought into your cell. Be good and behave yourself. I'll come to see you as soon as the wedding ceremony is over."

No sooner had the prison cart emerged from the execution grounds' compound than the rapid clatter of hooves echoed down the long street.

Guards from Prince Ezra's palace, Cornelius Palace, blocked the intersection. Just moments later, an imperial carriage pulled up before the gates.

An attendant stepped out, bearing an imperial edict wrapped in purple silk. The Court of Judicial Review's official on duty verified the imperial seal and immediately dropped to his knees.

"This is an imperial decree from Cornelius Palace.

"The condemned prisoner, Mabel Sinclair, shall have her identity verified at the break of dawn and be executed immediately thereafter.

"An envoy from the Inner Court shall oversee the execution. No one is permitted to grant a stay."

The jailer's hands trembled as he opened the register of those condemned to death. Affixed to the page were my identification papers and my family tree, marked with my own thumbprint. Yet, the prisoner's tag upon my wrist bore the name "Mabel Sinclair" instead.

Finally, I understood what was going on.

When Arthur forced that potion down my throat to mute me, it was never merely to prevent me from crying out for help. He had intended for me to reach the execution grounds without ever being able to verify my identity and declare who I truly was.

The imperial attendant cast his gaze toward me.

"Keep her in the death row cell. Her identity shall be verified once more at the break of dawn."