A short while later, the Queen sent a frantic parade of royal maids into the bedchamber, carrying extravagant, heavily jeweled bridal gowns and glittering accessories to begin the preparations.
As Isla sat completely frozen before the towering gilded mirror, hot, agonizing tears silently streamed down her pale, flawless cheeks.
She loved Dorian with every single, irrevocably shattered piece of her soul. His dark eyes and burning touch entirely consumed her mind.
If it were not for the terrifying, absolute necessity of her royal mission, she would absolutely never, ever marry anyone but him in this entire lifetime. But today, the cruel, heavy weight of duty had brutally conquered her love.
She had absolutely no other choice left. She simply had to marry Prince Lucier.
As the royal maids meticulously prepared her hair, they nervously offered extravagant pots of vibrant rouge and heavy, expensive powders.
But Isla gently pushed their trembling hands away.
She absolutely despised wearing heavy makeup, vastly preferring her own simple, natural appearance.
Today of all days, she entirely refused to hide her face behind a thick, suffocating painted mask when her impending marriage already felt like a massive, heartbreaking lie.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door creaked open, and the Queen stepped softly into the room.
Seeing her beloved daughter fully dressed in the breathtaking, ethereal white bridal gown, the Queen was instantly overwhelmed by a profound, suffocating wave of emotion.
Beautiful, vivid memories of the exact, miraculous day Isla was born suddenly flashed before her tear-filled eyes.
"How did she grow up so fast? How is it already time to give her away?" she thought helplessly, completely struck by how incredibly quickly time had slipped through her fingers.
Catching her mother's emotional reflection in the mirror, Isla frantically wiped her own heartbreaking tears away, desperately forcing a brave, composed smile onto her lips.
'Mom... why are you just standing over there at the door?' she asked softly.
'Come here, please.'
The Queen quickly wiped her eyes and walked over, her heart swelling with an absolute, undeniable pride. She gently cupped Isla's face and leaned down, pressing a deeply tender, fiercely protective kiss directly against her daughter's forehead.
'May the heavens completely protect my beautiful girl, and may this kiss ward off every single evil eye from ruining your absolute happiness,' the Queen whispered, her voice trembling with pure motherly devotion.
Just then, the grand doors swung open much wider, and the King strode into the chamber with a massive, overwhelmingly triumphant grin plastered across his stern face.
'Well, if the tearful mother-daughter farewells are finally concluded, we really must be going outside!' he announced loudly, his booming voice completely shattering the quiet, tender moment.
'The entire royal court and your groom are eagerly waiting for you at the altar. Shall we go, my little pooped princess?'
Isla slowly stood up.
She took one final, agonizing breath, completely and utterly burying her fiercely beating, Dorian-filled heart behind a flawless, unbreakable mask of royal perfection.
'Yes, Dad,' she whispered numbly.
'Let us go.'
As Isla finally stepped across the grand threshold of the magnificent palace hall, a profound, breathtaking silence instantly swept over the massive crowd.
She was already naturally breathtaking, perfectly radiant without needing a single drop of heavy makeup to enhance her features, but today, wrapped in her ethereal, glittering bridal gown, her beauty was absolutely transcendent.
She effortlessly commanded the complete, undivided attention of every single soul in the room.
Standing proudly at the altar in a striking, richly embroidered red groom's attire, Prince Lucier simply could not take his eyes off her, a wide, overwhelmingly victorious smile plastered across his handsome face.
As she agonizingly closed the final distance, Lucier eagerly extended his hand to claim hers, but Isla completely froze, her fragile mind trapped in a heavy, suffocating hesitation.
She desperately turned her gaze toward her father, her brilliant blue eyes silently, pleadingly searching his stern face, practically begging to know if there was truly no other political strategy, no hidden loophole to save her from this tragic fate.
Ignoring her silent, desperate plea, the King ruthlessly unlinked her trembling arm from his own and firmly, decisively placed her delicate hand directly into Lucier's waiting palm.
Her skin felt as terrifyingly cold as solid ice.
The royal priests quickly approached the altar to initiate the sacred ceremony, but just before the very first ancient chant could be spoken, a bold noble from the crowd suddenly raised his voice.
'Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion, but was this grand royal union not originally scheduled to take place two whole years from now? Why on earth is it being rushed with such sudden, unprecedented haste?' the guest questioned, echoing the quiet confusion of the entire court.
The King completely dismissed the concern with a smooth, flawlessly practiced political smile.
'Whether this joyous marriage occurs tomorrow or today makes absolutely no difference to the magnificent future of our kingdom,' he declared loudly, his booming voice echoing off the marble pillars.
'And let it be known to all that this beautiful union is happening entirely by our beloved daughter's own free will; there is absolutely no coercion here, and we are not forcing her into anything she does not deeply desire.'
Isla stood perfectly still, a beautiful, hollow doll, as the sacred wedding ceremony officially commenced.
They recited the binding, inescapable vows before slowly, agonizingly sliding the heavy, jeweled royal rings onto each other's fingers.
Then, the high priest finally uttered the terrifying, inevitable command for the groom to kiss his new bride.
Isla's wildly beating heart violently hammered against her ribs in a state of sheer, suffocating panic, her shattered mind frantically screaming for Dorian as Lucier eagerly leaned in.
He firmly pressed his lips against hers, sealing their legally binding fate in a cold, triumphant kiss that felt entirely, sickeningly devoid of the fierce, fiery passion she had surrendered to just hours before.
'I now proudly pronounce you husband and wife!' the priest announced to the heavens.
The entire royal court instantly erupted into a thunderous, deafening applause, the sheer volume of their cheers violently vibrating through the grand hall.
Basking in his absolute, long-awaited victory, Lucier eagerly grabbed a chilled bottle of expensive champagne.
He shook it playfully before popping the cork with a loud, celebratory cheer, proudly pouring the bubbling golden liquid into two delicate crystal glasses.
He handed one to his pale, trembling bride, and together, they both took a slow sip, the cold liquid tasting like pure, bitter ash on her tongue.
Almost immediately, a massive, suffocating sea of ecstatic nobles and eager guests began to swarm the altar, endlessly crowding around them to offer their joyous congratulations for a marriage that Isla secretly, completely despised.