Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 5

5

ALYA

Holy crap. Despite all the evil that’s just been dropped on my head, one thing is undeniable:

My new room is a pink and white monstrosity that would make Barbie puke glitter.

It’s massive, insanely expensive, and so utterly ridiculous that I can’t decide whether to laugh hysterically or gag in disgust. Does Mikhail think I’m some twisted Disney princess or something? I’m twenty-three, for fucks sake, not a gushing twelve-year-old with unicorn dreams.

Still, I half-expected to be thrown in a cage or dungeon. So, this frilly, childish hellscape is almost a relief. Almost.

He really didn’t have to try so hard. I’m used to far less fancy digs.

Not that fancy digs change a damn thing about my situation.

Sighing, I collapse on the king-sized bed, which is so soft it threatens to swallow me whole. My eyes lock onto the ceiling, tracing the wallpaper’s ornate patterns as thoughts of Mama take over my mind. How will she react when she finds out about all of this?

As much as I love her and she loves me, she’s always been so mysterious and hard to read at times. She’s the epitome of classy and docile, but people used to say she was a wolf beneath that meek shell of hers.

But I’m not buying it. The only version of Mama I’ve ever seen is the tender and loving one. Nothing more, nothing less. Sure, she could be as tight-lipped as a clam about certain things, but it always felt like she was just trying to protect me, not like she was hiding some secret, badass alter ego.

A soft knock yanks me from my reverie, and I crane my neck towards the door. The handle twists with agonizing slowness, and I swear my heart tries to jump straight out of my chest. I sit up.

Louisa enters the room with a smile. Behind her, two other women push in a mobile garment rack. The sight makes me want to scream.

Wedding gowns. Freaking wedding gowns everywhere.

The first dress assaults my eyeballs, its diamonds catching the overhead light like some sort of demonic disco ball. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all jaw-dropping gorgeous, but all I feel is panic. “What the hell are those?”

“Mr. Zirkhov had all of these picked out especially for you,” Louisa chirps. “He wants you to select the one you’d like to wear tonight.”

My lungs forget how to function. The bastard really wasn’t bluffing when he said we were getting married tonight. Well, I wasn’t bluffing either when I said there was no chance in hell.

“Go and tell Mr. Zirkhov I’m not wearing any of these. If he likes them so much then he can wear one himself.”

Louisa and the two other ladies exchange panicked glances. When Louisa looks at me again, her eyes are wide with fear. “Mr. Zhirkov won’t take no for an answer.”

I cock a brow, a humorless smirk twisting my lips. “Won’t he? I guess I’ll just have to tell him myself.”

Jumping up, I start for the door, ready to confront the bastard again, and hating that some masochistic part of me hopes—no, craves—another physical confrontation with him. But I barely make it to the doorframe when I slam into a wall of muscle and expensive cologne. Ice-blue eyes bore into mine, and I feel my insides liquify.

Mikhail’s gaze dances with something I can’t quite wrap my head around. Mischief? Lust? Murderous intent? Maybe all three? “You don’t need to repeat yourself. I heard you the first time.”

I take a step back, but I’ll be damned if I cower before him. “Good thing you’re here, you manipulative prick.” I snap, jerking my chin towards the rack of dreaded dresses. “I’m not wearing any of those.”

He scoffs, as if he needs to put on a show of annoyance. Really, though, I can sense his cruel enjoyment underneath it all. “Unless you want to get married in your birthday suit – which, I might add, I wouldn’t object to – I suggest you choose a dress.”

“I won’t marry you,” I hiss, injecting every ounce of loathing I can muster into those four words.

The air between us sizzles with tension so intense it feels ready to burst into flames at any moment.

“Out. Now,” he orders the maids, but his eyes remain fixed on me.

Louisa and the other girls scurry out, clicking the door shut behind them with a finality that turns my blood to ice. I wish I could’ve fled with them. But now I’m trapped. Alone with this monster. And I have no idea what he’ll do next.

“You are an interesting one,” he says, stalking toward me like a predator, ready to shred its prey to pieces. “What will it take to figure you out, to tame that delicious defiance?”

Common sense whispers for me to back away, to create a safe distance between us, but a stubborn voice at the back of my head urges me to challenge him.

To push his limits. To make him lose control and punish me again like he did before. It’s insane. Dangerous. But I can’t help myself. He wasn’t lying when he guessed that I was soaking wet. Bastard.

“I’m sure you have your ways,” I taunt. “So what’s next? Torture? Brainwashing? Or just good old-fashioned Stockholm Syndrome?”

“You’re playing with fire, malyshka ,” he whispers, his voice dark and hoarse. “Behave before I lose it.”

I tilt my face to his and a daring sneer twists my lips. My pulse thrums so loudly it’s almost deafening. “What will you do if you lose it? Punish me? Go ahead, big man. I dare you.”

He stares me down, his gaze so heated I’m surprised I don’t burst into flames on the spot. “Yes, I’ll punish you. And you’ll like it so much, you’ll beg me for more.”

My throat goes Sahara-dry, but I manage to croak out, “I’ll never beg you for anything, Mikhail Zirkhov. Not even if hell freezes over.”

In a flash, his fingers are around my throat, hauling me closer. Our bodies press together, and I feel every hard plane of him, including the impressive bulge pressing hot and insistent against my thigh. “Trust me, malyshka .” He leans in so close that his breath warms my face. Our lips are leveled, and all I can think about is how badly I want to close that tiny gap. “Whether I reward you or punish you depends entirely on how good you are tonight.”

My mouth opens, but I can’t find my voice through the deafening roar of blood in my ears and the molten ache in my core. If a word manages to escape, it will be me actually begging, and I’ll be damned if I give him that satisfaction.

He’s your enemy, Alya.

He killed your papa.

Remember that, you hormone-addled idiot.

Even the white-hot hatred constricting my chest doesn’t help soothe the inferno between my legs. Goddamn. How could I be so attracted to such a monster? He’s a murderer, a tyrant, the man who tore my family apart.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, my voice shaky and breathless. “ Fuck you.”

His gaze falls on my heaving chest, and a wicked smile creeps onto his face. Then, he releases me. It happens so abruptly that I nearly stagger from the sudden loss of contact.

“Get dressed. I don’t like to be kept waiting. And trust me, you don’t want to see what happens when I’m displeased.”

I collapse onto the bed as he turns around and leaves. I’m still struggling to fill my lungs with air when Louisa and her girls slink back in, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Fists shaking, I stare them down. But they just stare back until there’s no more resistance left in me. Their fear of Mikhail clearly outweighs any fear or concern they have for me.

“Fine,” I finally spit out, jabbing a finger at one of the dresses on the rack. I pick at random, not even bothering to look closely. “I’ll wear that one. Happy now?”

Without a word, they descend on me like a flock of well-trained vultures, stripping me down and stuffing me into the monstrosity I’ve chosen.

By the time they’ve laced me into the corset, I’m so lightheaded I can barely string two thoughts together. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Two days ago, I was living a normal life. Now, I’m being trussed up like a sacrificial lamb for the devil himself.

My devil.

Fucking hell.

The makeup and hair take an eternity, but when we’re finally done, I look up from my self-pity and see my reflection in the full-length mirror.

“Holy shit.”

The sight catches me so off guard that, for a moment, I forget to breathe. I don’t just look good. I look amazing. Better than I ever have before, if I’m being honest.

The wedding dress is a vision of white satin, adorned with delicate lace and beadwork. Its neckline and sleeves are embellished with a constellation of shimmering diamond stones, adding a touch of otherworldly elegance to the gown.

It’s beautiful. Breathtaking. And completely, utterly wrong.

“You chose well,” Louisa murmurs, breaking the spell.

Reality slams back into focus, and I want to scream. “No,” I snap, my voice brittle. “If I had decided to jump out of the window instead, that would have been a good choice. This? This is just dressing up a disaster.”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she nods to the other two ladies and motions for me to follow them.

I cast one last longing look at the nearest window. It’s too late now. I couldn’t outrun anyone in this gown. Not even Louisa.

With a resigned sigh, I accept the imminence of my fate. If I’m going to escape this nightmare, it’s going to have to be another time. Right now, I’m well and truly cornered.

We make our way through winding halls and down a grand staircase that would make royalty envious. Finally, we’re outside, where I’m assaulted by a wall of scents and sensations.

The night air carries a hint of jasmine, which I inhale deeply to try and calm the swarm of butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach.

Then I step onto a patio that looks like it was transplanted directly from a fairytale, all trailing vines and blooming flowers. The soft glow of what must be thousands of fairy lights dances among the foliage, casting the whole scene in an ethereal, dreamlike radiance.

As I pause at the threshold, a gentle breeze rustles the petals, and I take another deep breath. By now my heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t burst right out of my chest.

My gown whispers against the stone pathway as I walk, each step bringing me closer to the moment I’ve been dreading since this afternoon. The moment I’ll exchange vows and rings with Mikhail, binding myself to a man I should, by all rights, want dead.

That’s what this is, after all.

Unless he’s just fucking with me…

No. I’ve seen the look in his eyes. A man like Mikhail Zhirkov doesn’t joke about things like this. He is dead serious.

Panic flares in my chest as everything finally, truly begins to sink in. I’m really getting married to my papa’s murderer. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

The moon hangs low in the pitch-black sky, and a bed of starlight glitters overhead, their beauty a cruel mockery of the darkness that’s about to consume my life.

At the center of the patio stands an arch adorned with fresh blossoms. It’s meant to be a symbol of love and unity. But the union between me and Mikhail is about as far from love as you can get. We’re enemies, bound by hate and circumstance, and we’ll be just that until the day one of us is in the ground.

Holding my breath, I step beneath the arch, feeling a tidal wave of emotion as I catch sight of Mikhail waiting for me.

His eyes meet mine, and to my surprise—and horror—his gaze is filled with warmth and undisguised desire. My heart lurches painfully in my chest, and bile threatens to burn all the way to my throat.

But I steel my spine and walk up to him, chin held high. Without saying a word, he offers me his hand. I hesitate, staring at it like it’s a venomous snake about to strike. But when I see the warmth in his gaze starting to fade, I panic. My fingers, suddenly feeling tiny and fragile, slip into his huge palm.

Together, we turn to the old priest standing in front of what I suppose passes for an altar in this twisted charade of a wedding.

He begins his sermon, droning on about love and commitment and all sorts of bullshit that has no place here. I’m only half-listening, my attention consumed entirely by the man standing next to me.

I only want to do two things to him: Fuck him until neither of us can walk straight, and then kill him in his sleep.

“You look beautiful tonight, malyshka , ” he whispers. “That fucking dress was made for you.”

I turn my head slightly to take in his sharp, aristocratic features. He’s so annoyingly handsome it’s infuriating, and he smells like the most heavenly blend of citrus and cedarwood. “I can’t say the same about you.”

He smiles.

It’s a menacing, beautiful smile.

“Sweet, little liar,” he muses. “I can’t wait to tear that dress off you and make you mine for real.”

God, this man has no filter. And the worst part is, I don’t even mind. If he’s going to trap me in this gilded cage, he might as well make it worth my while. Maybe I’ll finally be able to focus on hating him again after he’s turned my world inside out. My toes curl at the thought.

“You’re practically ancient. Let’s hope you don’t doze off right after we’re done here.”

His laugh earns him a disapproving glare from the priest. “I wonder what else that mouth of yours does, aside from spouting insults.”

“It bites,” I retort dryly. “If you’re thinking of stuffing my mouth, you should know that you might not have a dick to stuff anywhere else after.”

He watches me closely, as if he can’t believe I’m really matching his energy. “Keep talking like that, and I might actually fuck that pretty mouth tonight.”

My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I find my gaze dropping to the impressive bulge in his perfectly tailored slacks.

Damn. Just how big is that thing?

Mikhail towers over me, easily six-foot-four of solid muscle. I’ve heard that big guys built like him are usually small. But there’s absolutely nothing small about that bulge, and it doesn’t even look like he’s fully hard yet.

He catches me staring—of course he does—because he asks with a voice full of amusement, “Checking me out already, huh ?”

I jerk my gaze back to the priest, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying over the deafening whooshing of blood in my ears. I’m suddenly burning up, my skin feeling two sizes too small. I need a distraction before I do something stupid, like begging Mikhail to take me right here on this godforsaken altar.

Desperate, I twist around, taking in our surroundings. Other than some stone-faced security personnel and a handful of maids who look like they’d rather be anywhere else, there are no wedding guests. Not that I’m surprised. Why would there be? This isn’t a real wedding. It’s psychological torture. Some kind of twisted power play.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at me: Why isn’t there anyone else here to see Mikhail’s big moment? Does he not have friends? Family? He’s marrying the daughter of the king he overthrew, for Christ’s sake. You’d think he’d want to flaunt me like a shiny new trophy.

It’s all a mystery to me, and before I can ponder it further, I hear the priest suddenly asking me to say my vows. I sneer at Mikhail, but I reluctantly echo the words, each one tasting like ash in my mouth. At the end, I’m given a golden ring that probably costs more than my life. I jam it onto his finger as roughly as possible, secretly hoping it pinches.

Despite my blatant disobedience, Mikhail recites his vows with smooth confidence. When the priest declares us husband and wife, his grin is pure, unrestrained triumph.

Then we’re told to kiss.

Mikhail’s eyes darken to the color of a stormy sea as he leans over and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that’s more menacing than any threat.

My breath hitches as he snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. It feels like a dream.

No. Not a dream.

A nightmare. I’m paralyzed. Lightheaded. Caught between the urge to run and the desperate need to press myself even closer.

Cupping my cheeks with hands that could so easily snap my neck, my new husband leans in and whispers. “You’re mine from this moment onward, malyshka . Mine to love. Mine to protect. Mine to break .” He tightens his arm around my waist. “I do not share what is mine. And I will gladly kill to keep it that way. Make sure you remember that.”

I’m not a property, I want to scream. And that he can take his possessive bullshit and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. But when he brings his face closer, and his lips crash onto mine, every coherent thought flies out of my head. I melt into him.

And God help me, I kiss him back.