“Elizabeth!” cries Roark from the other side of the door. My heart leaps. I heard the gunshots and his voice, but Queen Korinthia holds a blade up to my face and threatened to end me if I so much as made a sound.

She must figure Titus was killed, and when she turns to me, the look on her face is pure venom. “This is your fault. You fucking whore,” she hisses.

I see what she’s about to do a split second before it happens. Just like Roark said, she pulls her arm back to run me through with the steel of her weapon. My execution of the movement is sloppy, but I sidestep her thrust, pinning her arm to my side and adding my own flavor by punching her in the throat. I was aiming for her face, but the way her gun clatters to the ground and she gasps for air with bulging eyes makes me glad I missed.

A second later, the door bursts open and Roark steps in, looking more handsome than should be possible. His hair is slicked to the side with sweat and his chest heaves. He looks down at his wheezing mother with contempt, but forgets her long enough to pull me into a hug so tight I think I might suffocate.

“My princess,” he breathes. “I thought I lost you.”

“You never will,” I whisper.

“I need you to do me a favor,” he says, pulling back. “I won’t hit my own mother, but someone needs to.”

“You didn’t even have to ask,” I say, slapping Korinthia as hard across the face as I possibly can. The impact stings my hand, but the way her head jerks to the side is worth the pain.

I feel a little guilty. As much as she deserves it, it feels bad to hit someone defenseless, even if--

Korinthia pulls something metal from her dress and lunges for me with a feral look in her eyes.

Quicker than I can even flinch, Roark steps toward her and punches her so hard she is literally tossed to the side with the force of the blow, hitting the ground hard enough to knock her unconscious.

“Shit,” he says. “Maybe I could have left a little off that punch.”

“I thought it was fine,” I say, still catching my breath from the surprise of her attack.

He moves back to the main bedroom and pulls something from his pocket that he uses to tie Titus’ hands.

“What did you do to Titus?” I ask.

“I taught him not to fuck with my princess. But we need to hurry. Titus and Korinthia still have control of the royal guards. I had a handful of men fighting to buy us time, but we need to move. The main force of the guard could be here any minute, and I have an idea. Come on.”

Roark tells Kato to stay back and barricade himself inside the guest bedroom with Titus and Korinthia until we come back.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Roark puts his back to the door leading to the main hallway, raising his Blade. “We’re going to talk to the priest.”

I raise my eyebrows. “About what?”

Roark grins, dropping to one knee. “This isn’t exactly how I planned for this to happen, but... Elizabeth. Will you marry me?”

It feels like the wind is knocked from my lungs. My knees go weak, but I stay standing somehow. “I expected a bigger ring,” I joke.

Roark laughs. “Me too.”

I lean down, gripping his face and kissing him. “I will. God, yes. I’ll marry you.”

“Good, because I think you are going to have to if we want to make it out of here alive.”

I glare at him. “You make it sound like you’re only asking me because you have to.”

“I was going to wait until tomorrow, to tell the truth. But nothing about this is fake. The way I feel when I’m around you. That’s real. That’s something I never want to let go of.”

I chew my lip. “Why’s it so hard to be mad at you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll think of a way. We’re going to have a long time to figure it out. Come on. Stay behind me.”

I take a deep breath as he opens the door and sticks his torso out, gripping the doorframe with one hand and pointing his gun down the hall before motioning for me to follow. My heart is thundering in my chest and I feel like I can’t catch my breath, and I don’t know if it’s because the man of my dreams just asked me to marry him or if it’s because I’m not sure if we’ll survive long enough for it to happen.

We pass through several hallways without running into any resistance, and just as we’re about to turn the corner back to the main stairwell that leads down to the lobby, the sound of gunfire explodes nearby. Roark turns, shielding me with his body, then realizes no one is firing at us.

“Shit,” he says. “The fight is on the stairwell. We’ll go the back way. Come on.”

I follow him through a bedroom and down a hidden trap door. We travel with no sound but for our footsteps and the occasional pop of gunfire in the distance or the echoing ghost of a scream.

“I always thought rain would ruin my wedding day, not gunfights,” I say.

Roark turns toward me, face serious. “I’m going to give you the wedding you deserve as soon as this is over. People will talk about it for centuries. But first I’m going to make sure we’re alive to get there.”

“I wasn’t…” I say quietly. “I was just joking.”

“I know,” he says. “But I don’t want you to think this is it. You’re my princess, and soon you’ll be my queen. Our wedding will be a memory you cherish.”

“I’ll cherish it because it’s with you, Roark,” I say.

“And because it’s going to be amazing,” he says, smirking and continuing down the tunnel.

I smile at his back. Well, I would be happy either way, but having some spectacular royal wedding isn’t a point I plan to fight--I am a princess after all.

We emerge in another bedroom, and somehow manage to reach the in-palace cathedral without running into anyone except for scared, fleeing nobles.

Three priests are gathered around the altar on their knees, praying. “Up,” calls Roark, voice echoing in the large cathedral. The men stand, raising their hands when they see who it is.

“Please,” says the oldest man with the biggest hat--based on what little I know about churches, I assume the bigger the hat, the more important the guy is.

“No one is going to get hurt,” says Roark. “But one of you is going to marry me to my princess, and you’re going to give me an abbreviated version of the royal coronation ceremony. Am I clear?”

“Abbreviated?” asks Mr. Big Hat. “There’s no such procedure, my prince.”

“Now there is. Come on, we don’t have long.”

“I can’t abide by--”

Roark fires his gun, blasting out a section of stained glass a few feet behind the lead priest. The men flinch, covering their heads.

“You said no one would be hurt,” snaps one of the priests.

“And I said one of you is going to marry us.”

“I’ll do it,” says the tallest of the three with the smallest hat.

“Thomas,” snaps the lead priest. “Prince Titus promised us--”

Roark aims his gun at the man’s head. “Promised you what? Money? Promotions? Guess what? Prince Titus is bloody and tied up right now, whimpering for his mother. And once one of you fucking priests marries us, he’s going to be rotting in the dungeons, where I think he’ll have a hard time delivering on whatever he promised you.”

The tall man steps forward, opening the book on the altar.

“Good. You two are our witnesses. Do a good job and I won’t have your heads off when I become king.”

They nod sheepishly now.

The tall priest, Thomas, motions for us to stand on either side of the altar, facing each other.

“Abbreviated ceremony as well?” he asks Roark.

“Very,” says Roark. “We’ll have a do-over once we’ve planned a proper wedding.”

“Very well,” says Thomas. “You may kiss the bride.”

Roark quirks an eyebrow. “That counts?”

He nods. “The marriage pact is sealed with the kiss. The rest is just a formality.”

I stand on my tippy toes and Roark leans down so I can kiss him. I close my eyes, forgetting where we are and why we’re here for a moment, long enough to let it sink in. Roark Burkewood is my husband now. My king. And I’m his queen, at least I will be when they do the coronation ceremony. I have to admit, I would feel a twinge of sadness right now if I didn’t know the real wedding was still coming. A silly part of me wants to be the bride everyone envies, just for an evening, to wear the big puffy dress and the shoes, to have someone carry my veil and to have my moment--to finally have my moment when everything aligns and I couldn’t be happier. Except it’s not just going to be my moment. It’s going to be ours, and that makes it all the sweeter.

The doors to the cathedral burst open, revealing a squadron of at least fifty armed guards.

“In the name of Prince Titus, stand down!” shouts the captain at the front of the group.

“Coronation,” hisses Roark. “Now. Very abbreviated.”

Thomas reaches inside the altar, bringing out a golden scepter and two crowns--one gold and thick while the other is a ring of delicate silver swirls lined with glistening diamonds. He places the scepter on Roark’s shoulder, eyes darting to the group of men approaching with guns.

“The church recognizes this holy union of king and queen. I crown thee King Roark Burkewood,” he says, placing the crown on Roark’s head with trembling hands. “And Queen Elizabeth Burkewood,” he says, placing the surprisingly heavy crown on my own head.

Roark turns toward the men, who are so close now I can see the stains on their clothing. “Stop!” he shouts, voice booming through the building. “In the name of your king, stand down!”

The men hesitate, and it’s enough. Heads turn and the men talk in low tones, arguing amongst themselves until their captain shouts for silence, raising his arms high. “Quiet!” he turns to the priests. “Tell me, priests. Is this true? Is he our king?”

Thomas nods, then he glares at the other two priests until they nod as well. “It’s true. Yes.”

The guard captain watches us through narrowed eyes, turning once more to his men. I hold my breath, knowing with a word, this man could still end us. They could open fire and blast us all from existence, claiming the ritual was never completed.

But the captain falls to one knee, bowing his head. “We’re at your command, my liege.”

The rest of the men fall to their knees as well, and I hold on to Roark so I don’t collapse from relief. His large hand rubs my back. “Can’t believe that worked,” he mutters.

I bulge my eyes at him. “You didn’t think it would work?”

He shrugs. “It was my best plan, but no. At least it was a plan that involved kissing you, though.”

I grin. “You’re unbelievable.”

“In bed,” he jokes.

I roll my eyes. “Did becoming king turn you into an immature middle schooler?”

“No. It made me realize I’ve never fucked a queen before. I’m impatient to give it a try.”

I clear my throat, looking at the priests and the guards who all obviously heard what he just said and are trying to look anywhere but at us.