My Trash Husband Is the Grand Chancellor
By the time I hit twenty without a husband, I'd become the joke of Butcher's Alley.
I wasn't about to just take it, so I marched out to the pauper's graveyard and dragged home a half-dead man I found there.
He was gorgeous. More handsome than any portrait I'd ever seen.
It didn't matter that he'd lost his memory and wasn't quite right in the head. It didn't matter that he couldn't lift a crate or carry a load, that he nearly fainted dead away the first time he watched me slaughter a pig.
I slapped my knee and made up my mind. "You're the one. You handle looking pretty, and I'll handle bringing home the bacon."
I named him Walt and treated him like he was made of glass. I fed him well, kept him comfortable, and slowly nursed him back to health until his cheeks were full and his skin was soft. Then I started planning the wedding.
On our wedding night, I'd just gotten his wedding coat off when the front door flew off its hinges.
Hundreds of royal guards dropped to their knees all at once, their voices shaking the walls.
"Welcome back to the capital, Grand Chancellor!"
I looked down at the man beneath me. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by something cold and sharp.
The belt I'd been holding snapped right in two.
I was done for. I'd been bossing around the most powerful man in the empire for six months and using him as a house husband. Was I looking at death by slow torture, or would they wipe out my entire family?
Bab Populer