"Don't test me." He whispered through gritted teeth.

I froze.

Slap him! Push him away! Punch him in the face! Do ANYTHING.

These thoughts raced through my mind, yet this body refused to yield to a single one.

He held me for what felt like an eternity, and when he finally let go, I fell back into my chair. My heart pounded, and I broke out into a cold sweat. Asholle pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the table.

He sat there with a shallow smile plastered on his face. He knew that I couldn't disobey him.

"I am generously giving you a year to practice. If you screw up my wedding..." He brought his hand up to his neck and made a decapitation motion.

"How am I supposed to practice?!"

I didn't even have a wedding in my past life; we went to a courthouse and quickly married before Luis left for basic training. 

"My loser cousin Wolt will be getting married soon. He's the Duke of the West. I'm sure you've heard of him," he said.

There was a recent rumor about the Duke. Wolt Weadt Westboye was engaged to Zen Tsubu Komugi, a commoner, which caused an uproar in the noble community. 

I wanted to ask Zen what his Japanese name meant. I lacked the internet here, so I couldn't satisfy my curiosity in secret. Wolt's name looks like complete gibberish. Was it a gross misspelling of whole-wheat? Wolf weed? 

Did the author smoke a bowl of wolf weed before writing this?

Many nobles have thrown their daughters at Duke Westboye with hopes of increasing their status and political pull. Marrying into the Ducal house of Westboye would be an instant boost in power.  The North experienced a similar phenomenon.  It's been raining noble ladies in the North for a while since Darq was a bachelor. 

Please be the main love interest, Darq! Please marry the Saintess!

I wanted to spite Asholle with that wish. It was a selfless wish; The Saintess would provide unlimited support to our hero while he slaughtered our northern neighbors. There wouldn’t be a wedding for me to mess up, which would save me from potential execution. My wish would save at least two lives! 

But I digress. 

I did not want to go West. It was guaranteed to be a miserable trip because I would be responsible for a spicy wedding. The nobility was up in arms because Duke Westboye chose a man for his future Duchess. 

Not only was he a man, but he was also a commoner of unknown origin. They were probably more upset about the gender thing than his status; they would have thrown their sons at the Duke rather than their daughters.

"You will be leaving tomorrow to meet with Duke Westboye,” said Asholle as he steepled his hands like a cheesy villain from a 90's cartoon.

"What?! I just got here! Tomorrow is too early, Your Highness!" I disputed. A single night was not enough to pack for my first road trip in this wacky zany world.

"My word is law" he made another decapitation hand sign. This time he did it with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. This guy had way too many creepy smiles in his facial expression repertoire.

And what is it with the decapitation fetish?

"I will excuse myself now, YoUr HiGhNeSs." I hiked up my skirt and stomped away. I was not too fond of these gowns. One of these days, the stiletto’s heels will get caught onto the hem of the dress, and I will topple over like a shiny embellished domino.

The bow on the back of my dress caught on the doorknob—

I turned to grab onto the door to steady myself.  

"FEL!" A familiar voice rang out.

Damn it all—

Pain shot from my waist and ribs. Someone had yanked my sash from behind me, causing me to fall back.

RIIIPPPPPP!

The strength of his pull spun me around, and I was now falling face-first.

THUD!

My vision blackened for a second as my brain rattled around inside my skull. My hands and forehead were hot from the friction.  The darkness lifted, and now stars danced before my eyes. 

Finally, my brain settled back into its seat, and I identified the sash-puller. 

"Why did you do that? You caused both of my falls." My face burned red with rage, embarrassment, and rug burn. "You've failed to catch me TWICE now."

"I apologize. I have no excuse, I should have grabbed your waist, but I missed because I was too slow, and I'm reallyreallyreally sorry," Darq babbled as he quickly looked away to hide his flustered face. 

All that I heard after that was "blah blah blah" because I was too angry to listen to his excises.

[How many more times must I go through this cliche before he successfully catches me? Maybe the only way to break this curse is to be caught by this walking disaster, or die from a broken neck.]

Asholle let out a burst of uncontrolled laughter while the Duke awkwardly stared at the floor.

I looked around, and not a single person offered me their hand. I stood up, dusted myself off, and then shot him a dirty look. He held out the ripped portion of my sash at me. He couldn't be bothered to offer me his hand to help me up, but now he wanted to rub the ripped waistband in my face?

Rude. You keep it, jerk!

Darq looked at the prince, then back at me with his big, confused, dumb eyes. The prince hadn't stopped laughing, and now he gasped in delight. This turn of events was a knee-slapper for him.

 Asholle motioned Darq to take a seat across from him. Darq hesitated at first but then nodded. He dutifully walked over to the table and sat down to start their discussion. The prince took the sash remnant from Darq and examined it with a sense of satisfaction. 

He flung the sash, and it landed neatly on his gloves on the table. "That's my burn pile, in case you were wondering," Asholle grumbled when he caught me looking at the pile,

"...I didn't ask, but ok," I replied with an eyebrow raised. Asholle waved me off.  I turned to hobble out of the palace.

Whatever. I was going to the West tomorrow. The upside was that I'd be far away from these two clowns. 

Screw the Capitol.