My groom, General Griffin Quenell, stepped forward and said, “Your Grace, do you really have to make such an ugly scene on our wedding day?”His hands, calloused from years of gripping a sword, clamped down on the carriage’s carved door frame. His grip was so fierce that the veins bulged across the backs of his hands. He nearly crushed its ebony wood.I firmly sat inside the carriage and stared coldly at him.He was the man the people of Cathor called the unshakable general of the northern frontier. Though he was the groom, there was no trace of joy on his face. All I saw was the seething fury of a man humiliated in public.“Ugly?” I said indifferently as I toyed with my ruby ring. “General Quenell, would you really call letting your mistress block the door and confront your bride on your wedding day a dignified deed?”Griffin’s expression stiffened as embarrassment flashed in his eyes, but he quickly replaced it with a look of pained righteousness.“Your Grace, you were pampered
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