Consummation

Emilia’s POV

I spun around on the balls of my feet. My gaze darted everywhere, gliding over the scattered mass of silks, velvets, and brocades draped backs. Yet, no one remotely resembling Gabby managed to crawl into view.

Where the hell was she? I muttered to myself under my breath. My lips trembled as much as my fingers did on my dress.

I lifted my dress up at the corners, as I have always seen medieval princesses do in movies. There must be more than just lifting the dress up from the corners—mine kept sweeping the floor behind me no matter how high I lifted it.

I grunted for probably the twentieth time tonight as I turned and yanked it off the boots of a noble man while I sneaked through the guests at the party.

The nobleman turned sharply to me, jerking forward from my pull.

“Sorry,” I mouthed softly, squeezing my face at him in a look of complete remorse.

He grunted, clenching his teeth, and he threw a leg forward, coming for me. His eyes narrowed on my face and my dress, and he bowed instead.

“I am sorry, my duchess,” he forced through clenched teeth, and he walked away quietly.

I heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and I turned, resuming my search for Gabby. Thank hell I didn't get slapped. This was perhaps the one positive thing about this whole disaster.

I continued through the guests, looking left, right, back—everywhere. I had to find Gabby, and I had to do it fast, before Mother—well, my character’s mother—came at me with more guests.

After the wedding ceremony. She had bombarded me with so many unfamiliar faces. Men and women in fancier silks, velvets, and brocades, their heads raised high, chins lifted, and shoulders wide and pompous. They either pretended to be friendly, stretching their ugly faces in fake smiles at me, or they raised their necks higher, acting like I owe them some favor, which I have to repay…

Something stopped me from moving again, forcing me to a standstill. I whirled back sharply, hissing loudly through my teeth. If it's not the bloody dress again! It was stuck under another nobleman's boot again.

I folded my hands on the soft, silky length and pulled it. I yanked it off the man’s foot. He almost slipped, and before he could turn and bless me with a duly deserved glare, I mouthed a sorry to him too and continued on my way.

I grunted, my fingers tightening harder on the dress. I lifted it so high that my arms began to ache, my shoulders sending ripples of pain down my arms. I winched softly.

I was sick of everything already. Sick of this book world. Sick of the wedding. Sick of the guests. And especially, sick of the damn bloody dress.

I leaned on my toes to find Gabby. My toes pressed against the shoes, tight like ballet shoes, sucking at my feet. My toes almost went numb with pain. Yet, I didn't withdraw my gaze from gliding over the heads and back.

I had to find Gabby—she was my friend. My best friend. I had to make her understand we needed each other. If we are ever going to escape this disaster, then we have to work together.

I leaned back on my feet with a faint sigh, lowering my head. Where was she?

I turned back as I’d reached the end of the large hall. I gasped, running into the familiar face—Mom.

Her brows were furrowed in anger. “Where the hell have you been, Emilia?” She snapped.

Before I could think up an answer, she’d snatched my wrist and was pulling me along with her.

She bumped past everyone—everyone being those she deemed unimportant. Those on the other end of the spectrum, she humbly slid past and gave a polite smile or two. The yells and groans weren't enough to stop her. The guest at the front began clearing a path for her.

“How could Lady Rochel be so shameless as to give up her only daughter to the mad Duke?” One man leaned to the ears of another, whispering. He turned sharply from me when our eyes met.

“The poor girl.” A lady whispered to another beside her. She had the courage to look me in the eye and speak. Her eyes were droopy, like she pitied me. “She has no idea what she is walking into. Rochel is a bitch. She is sacrificing her only daughter for power.”

The murmurs and whispers continued, and as they did, Mother’s fingers clasped tighter and tighter on my wrist until it began to hurt. Pain shot from my wrists up to my shoulders.

I groaned softly. I tried to wriggle my wrist from her. But her grip was vice. Her fingers, though slim and long like mine, were like steel.

Her face was as plain as a board when she turned to me. “You should be with the Duke, your husband. You have to consummate your marriage immediately,” she said.

Consummate. The word rang loud in my head, echoing loud in my mind. I tilted my head to a side, pondering on what the word meant, though I had every bloody idea what it does. Sleep with the mad Duke, as everybody called him.

No! Bloody no! I screamed in my head. This time, I steered all the strength in my little body into my hands, and I forced them from hers.

She whirled fast to me, her face tightened in a snarl. She lifted her face up from me to the little audience she had made while dragging me about. She threw them stiff smiles before bringing her eyes back to me.

Now, her eyes burned with more fury. “If you do so much as embarrass me again and embarrass the family, I would ask your brothers to give you a whooping as they used to do. So come along willingly with me to your duke and husband so you can consummate your marriage and give us a bloody heir.”

“No!” I yelled at her, looking straight into the heat in her eyes—seeing the face that had always looked at me with love look on me now, as if I were merchandise.

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away before they could drop. “No!” I yelled again. She just looked like Mom. But she wasn't, Mom. She wasn't my mother.

Her jaw strained tight as she clenched her teeth. She whipped her gaze to the audience, glaring hard at them. She glared harder when she returned her face to me. Her brows were furrowed over her forehead.

“You won't ever disobey me. I am your mother.” She leaned forward to me and snapped low so the guests around us wouldn't hear her.

“No! I am not marrying anyone. This isn't even my life. I was thrown here by some force. I—” I hadn't completed the sentence when I saw her palm whipping the air for my face.

I shut my eyes tight and swept my head to the right in expectation of the nasty sting. A second, two, three, four—nothing.

The wild collective gasps around me made me snap my eyes open. He stood proud and resplendent in his velvet suit. The glows of the rich candlelights shone bright on a face that was devastatingly handsome. He held Mom’s hand in the air. “You might be my mother-in-law, Lady Rochel. But don't you dare lay your hands on my Duchess. Else I won't forgive you,” he told her, his voice hard and stern, just like the chilling look he gave her.

Her face lost every color as she struggled to hold his gaze. “I am sorry, my Duke,” she said, throwing her head down with a bow.

“You should be,” he responded. He threw her hand away. He leaned forward and grabbed my arm instead. I found my leg moving after his, my eyes wide, my mind blank.

I just couldn't think of any reason why he would help me.

“Let's go, my duchess,” he smiled at me with all his face.