The Duke's Masked Bride Summary Novels & Stories

The dress was red, Not a gentle red, Not a blush or a rose or a polite suggestion of color. This red was a declaration of war deep, rich, the color of expensive wine and spilled blood and a woman who was done apologizing for existing.Sophia stood in front of the full-length mirror in the penthouse dressing room and barely recognized herself. The dress was fitted, floor length, with a slit that ended mid thigh and a neckline that dipped low enough to stop a conversation. Diamond earrings caught the light at her jaw. Her hair was swept back, exposing the line of her neck and the faint scar on her collarbone from a childhood fall she couldn’t remember.Two weeks ago, she’d been sitting in a rest

“I haven’t seen anything or anyone kids, now you 7 need to leave because you aren’t allowed back here." “-The Masked Queen is a brand built by the Slim-Jim agency and from my sources, the image alone costs twenty million dollars, and with L.K being the representative it’s ten million dollars on the twenty million. That’s a lot of money to lose people!” Her loud exclamation can be heard through the speakers so I cover it in panic. “Hearing that you were able to get rights over your brand makes me curious how you did it, Slim-Jim isn’t an agency that would like to lose that much money without putting up a damn hard fight. The world is curious L.K, how the hell did you do it?”

My family was the most famous line of witches at the royal court. My sister, Lilith Seyler, was famous for her lofty principles. I was the only one who knew she was a complete fraud. When the royal marriage decree arrived at House Seyler, she shut herself in her prayer room out in the woods and refused to come out. "Duke Edmund, your wealth and your power are dust to me. A proposal from a duke is no different than a proposal from a farmhand." Then she laid out three conditions for Duke Edmund. The Duke was to build a prayer room on his estate, since she needed quiet meditation and practice with the elements to keep her magic stable. Before the wedding, the Duke was to wash in mountain spring

“Whoa! Isn't he crazy? How could he frame the bride on her first wedding night?! Oh Lord! Even her husband is crazier! How could he trust someone he just met more than his wife? Crazy, they're all crazy!” Sena remembered one of the soap opera scenes she had watched with her mother. The scene where someone deliberately hires a foreign man to enter the bridal chamber and traps the bride as if she is having an affair right on her first wedding night. Unfortunately, in that soap opera, the woman's husband takes her for granted and thinks his wife is having an affair and then divorces the poor woman. Since that day, everyone labeled the bride as an unfaithful woman, making her shunned by many peo

At the bottom, the butler materialized to guide them to the dining room, where the Duke and the duchess awaited. The duchess, a ravishing woman in her early forties, rose from her seat to welcome them. "I've heard the fascinating story about your connection to my husband's long-lost brother. What an incredible stroke of luck! The two of you are a real godsend!" "Your Grace, you are far too kind," Marguerite replied, attempting a curtsy despite the duchess' attempt to stop her.

My hair was also a simple bun at the back of my head, with a jewelled clip to hold my veil in place. The bridal gown was pure white and simple. The skirt was flowing with a slight train and the sleeves were lace. Although my father had objected to the ‘unconventional dress’ at first…but he had changed his mind at the last minute when my groom’s father, and by father’s good friend, Mr. Davis, had reminded him that this was the twenty first century and women dressing in lace sleeves was appropriate enough. And yet…Mr. Davis hadn’t thought that arranged marriages should’ve been left behind in the nineteenth century either.

“The Duke says that it's not a good idea for me to be around right now.” He stared at me for a moment. “You're leaving Paradisa?” I swallowed hard. I searched his face, looking for some hint that he wanted me to stay. “The Duke says I should. That it's for the best.” He thought for a moment, and for a brief second, I thought he was going to tell me to stay. But he didn't. “Then we should listen to the Duke. He's been right about everything.” His voice was flat and his expression unreadable. It was the Prince mask. “He's always been right about you. Everything you've done, he predicted. I should have listened to him in the first place.”

I waved and smiled at our people and tourists who had waited long enough for the ceremony to finish, to get a glimpse of the wedding of the century, as they called it. He assisted me in climbing up the black and gold carriage, joining me after. It took about twenty minutes ride by the carriage to the wedding reception. I looked at Mad, looking handsome as always, waving as we passed by. “Duke of Guillaume, look at you, adjusting so well.” “They’re here for you, baby, not for me.” He chuckled, taking my hand to his lips. “You’re gorgeous.” “You’re not bad yourself.” I touched the glittering flower pinned to his suit, which I remembered was the flower from my masquerade mask. “Nice touch. I th

Kaelen’s gaze flickered to hers briefly, a silent warning that tonight would test them both. A Hidden Agenda At the heart of the masquerade, Duke Thalric Veynor basked in attention. His mask gleamed with obsidian feathers, his laughter carrying over the music. Every gesture of his hand commanded those around him, and Serenya knew he craved not entertainment but power—power over the throne, over her, should her identity be unmasked. She slipped closer, feigning the humility of a servant. From this distance, she caught fragments of conversation.

They're neither too small nor too big but enough to grab onto while… I'm getting distracted again. I put the dress on her and leave a hole where her wound is. Once I'm satisfied, I rip open her pants and cover her with the coat. I carry her bridal style to the nearest village. She is light, barely noticeable in my arms. Her head leans against my chest, and a limp arm around my neck. “Lipovsky.” I call out to keep her conscious. “Call me June,” she groans. “Tell me something about your husband.” I murmured. “And I'll tell you about my wife.”