Chapter 5. A Wedding Night Full of Wounds
Why? Diana’s eyes widened.
“Why…?”
“Why? Isn’t it only natural to spend the wedding night with my new bride?”
Under the golden light, his dark face seemed to glow faintly. The eyes, lit by candlelight, were fixed on her face.
It was strange. Was it just the shadow? Those two eyes seemed to glitter—perhaps with vulgar delight, or perhaps with pure joy.
“Why? Do you hate the thought of lying with a slave?”
“…”
“But what can you do? This is how it will always be for you.”
A trapped bird, a promised humiliation. Diana had to make a choice. Her body trembled uncontrollably.
“Let me go.”
“…”
“This thing on my neck—take it off.”
“…”
Diana’s silver-gray eyes met his. She swore she showed not a trace of seduction. At her flat tone, Giskar reached out his hand. The restraint loosened at its master’s touch. His large hand brushed against her neck.
So this is how I finally walk the road to hell.
Whether being sold to Ferdinand or this—wasn’t it the same?
If that’s the case… then it’s better to win this man’s favor. He had removed the restraint when she showed the slightest softness, hadn’t he?
Diana opened her eyes fully and looked at the man who was to be her husband. It was an expression of surrender. His large hand stroked her neck and then withdrew.
Her reason was already numb. With a vacant expression, she stepped toward him. Reading the lack of resistance in her gaze, his eager hands tugged at her thin clothing.
Goosebumps rose on her exposed skin. His eyes roamed over her body—her slender, deer-like neck, her full chest, her tightly closed legs that shyly tried to hide themselves, the neat curve of her hips.
The eyes that had been cold as ice now burned with hot desire.
His lips bit into her neck. As pain shot through her, she bit her own lips hard, and his rough hands pressed against her skin. For a moment, she thought his hands trembled.
It’s nothing. This was bound to happen anyway, Diana Brienne. You know well what becomes of a noble’s daughter.
Come on, seduce him. Your life will be easier that way.
Lifting her stiff arms, Diana wrapped them around his neck. His lips parted, and his tongue pushed into her mouth.
“Mmph—!”
Whoever said a kiss was sweet? This one was relentless, like a warning of what was to come. His tongue explored every corner of her small mouth. His fingers slid down below her collarbone.
Yes, to him even this was revenge. That’s why he touches me so roughly.
“Hh—hh!”
Her body shook. Even the first touch made her dizzy, but the way this man moved frightened her more.
Finally, he removed his clothes. Lying there, she looked up at him. He reached out, stroked her hair, and then smelled it.
“I’ve only imagined it before.”
“…”
“What it would be like to touch your hair properly.”
“…”
“What scent it would have, how soft it would feel.”
“…”
“It smells disgusting.”
Yet even as he said it, he stroked her long hair several more times and pressed his lips to it—something lovers might do. When she instinctively tried to pull away, he pushed her down again.
His tongue soon trailed down her hard collarbone. She reached to take off the shirt draped over his body.
He gave a short, mocking laugh.
He said nothing, but his gaze was the same as one might give a submissive slave. He stopped the light caresses entirely.
He simply knocked her hand away and entered her in one motion.
“Ah—ahh!”
She squeezed her eyes shut and writhed. She wanted to tell him it hurt, but she knew he wouldn’t care. Instead, she bit her lip hard—but that didn’t last long.
“Uh—ahh!”
Without realizing it, she clutched his neck tightly. He arched his back roughly, and a low groan reached her ears.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she looked up at Giskar. He lifted her chin and licked her tears greedily.
Her arms shook limply under his harsh movements. From her mouth came only muffled sounds trapped by his hand.
“Diana.”
“…”
“Diana, Diana. My lady, my lady!”
Ah… he was a monster.
Diana closed her eyes.
When she awoke, she bit her lip. A dull ache throbbed through her whole body. Staring blankly at the bloodstained sheets, she bit her lip again.
She couldn’t fully grasp what she had done.
She touched her smooth neck. There was no restraint there anymore. In front of everyone, she had been dragged like a dog, forced into marriage, and then given her body to this man just to have her collar removed.
“Ah… uh…”
So much had happened that she had forced herself not to think about it. But now the realization of what she’d done made her want to vomit. She had given up the most treasured thing expected of a noblewoman—her chastity.
And that wasn’t all.
She had lain naked with her enemy, their bodies joined. She had received his kisses, been held in his arms, and moaned—whether in pain or in pleasure didn’t matter.
The thought of herself in this reality made bile rise in her throat. She covered her mouth as her stomach twisted and churned.
“Ugh—urrgh!”
She vomited right there on the bed. At the same time, the sobs she’d been holding back broke free. She felt anxious and terrified, yet there was no one to comfort her.
She realized she was truly alone.
And so, for the first time, Diana cast aside the mask of nobility and wept like a fragile human being.
Then, from somewhere, she heard a rustling sound. Turning around, she saw Giskar sitting in a chair, watching her.
Thinking she had been alone, she had cried without restraint. Seeing him, she instantly stopped sobbing and stared at him with a hardened face.
A tear rolled down her cheek. Without thinking, she pulled the blanket over her bare body. Seeing that, Giskar turned away. After the sound of sniffles filled the room for some time, he left, as if tired of hearing it.
It had been a truly cold wedding night.
***
A noblewoman from the fallen kingdom of Panborough had become queen. That alone was enough to invite ridicule. She wasn’t a royal from another land, but a noble of a destroyed country. And her wedding—what a spectacle that had been. The king had perversely placed a slave’s collar on his bride.
Because of that, everything surrounding Diana was steeped in disgrace. Whether by design or malice, Giskar placed maids around her who disliked her—or even hated her. Some were maids she herself had once dismissed, making it the peak of humiliation.
Everyone was her enemy.
Before she could try anything, all her attempts ended in failure. Giskar literally abandoned her and subtly pushed her into trouble.
It would have been better if he had mocked her openly.
“Oh my, Your Majesty the Queen.”
Lady Levian, now serving as her lady-in-waiting, had a beautiful face but a tongue like a viper. To the public, she appeared as a virtuous lady shielding the pitiful queen of a defeated nation. People praised her kindness, but Diana knew better—she only fanned the flames of criticism.
If Diana wore lavish clothes, she was accused of wasting the royal treasury. If she dressed plainly, they sneered that she looked like the slave she once was.
If she spoke, even her voice—her very breathing—became a target of mockery. At palace banquets, noblemen avoided speaking to her, and knights shunned her with disgust.
“She’s the princess of a defeated country.”
“Look at that pitiful sight.”
“The slave queen.”
Even the palace jester sang mocking songs about her—slave queen, low-born queen, queen without a country. Court ridicule followed her everywhere.
“Please, don’t be so cruel to Her Majesty the Queen.”
Lady Levian always stepped forward to shield her—but Diana knew the truth. She gave her clothes that didn’t fit the customs of the Rodbrok Kingdom, ensuring she would breach etiquette. She silenced her so she could do nothing as queen, stepping forward herself as if she were the true mistress of the Queen’s Palace.
The maids and attendants treated Lady Levian as the queen, ignoring or mocking Diana as if she didn’t exist.
It was natural that her husband, Giskar, wasn’t her ally. He threw her into this hell and spent most of his time on the battlefield.
Worse still, before leaving for war and after returning, he took her roughly. It was an explosion of life-force, like the ferocity of a wild beast. Each time their flesh met, she vomited again, and he would leave.
She never refused him. The more he lay with her, the more it seemed like he favored her—that was reason enough.
If there was one thing to be “grateful” for, it was that he never looked at another woman. Whether she truly owed him thanks for that, she didn’t know.
She thought of it with cold detachment.
In that hell, with Giskar rarely in the palace, they could never grow close. She avoided him, and he stayed away from her.
Yet he kept one rule—when he was in the palace, they would share one meal together each day. That alone made her look a little more like a queen.
On the fourth anniversary of their marriage, her health had been weak and she slept late. With a face paler than usual, she entered the dining hall, where a meat-heavy meal awaited her. She stared at it without appetite.
“Our queen still seems as finicky as ever,” Giskar remarked, already seated. His sharp eyes looked at her as though she were pathetic, but Diana didn’t meet his gaze.
“I hear you’ve been especially picky lately,” he continued.
“…”
“More so than before.”
Once, rumors of her shabby attire had been used to force her into wearing ornate dresses. Now they talked about her “picky tastes.”
“Eat,” he commanded.
With a weary expression, she took the meat he offered.
The moment she smelled it, nausea rose in her throat, but she forced herself to chew. The meat was tender enough, but without appetite, chewing felt like labor. When she finally looked up as if to ask if she could stop, he was watching her.
Their eyes met—
“Uurrgh!”
She covered her mouth and vomited.
One of the maids behind her gasped.
“Your Majesty! Are you all right?”
“…”
“You should have held it in, even if seeing His Majesty makes you feel sick…”
Her voice was quiet, but loud enough for Giskar to hear. He immediately stood from his seat. From that day on, they never shared a meal again.
A few days later, he left for the battlefield.
