This couldn’t be happening right now. Panicked, I leaned toward the prince and whispered, “Can I speak with you alone?” It was vital that I get him away from here, that I explain the situation. I wasn’t expecting a good reaction, but I was ready to risk his anger now before it was too late.

The prince furrowed his handsome brows. “What? No, we’re getting married right now.”

“Yes, that’s what I must speak with you about.” I wanted to tell him that he didn’t want to marry me at all, that I wasn’t who he thought I was, but how could I in a room full of people? I was trapped. If I revealed myself at this very moment, I might jeopardize Isolde getting away, and then it would all have been for nothing. But if I waited, I risked things going too far.

So what was I to do? For all my efforts to innovate and create something out of nothing with my inventions and art, I was at a complete loss in a situation like this.

The prince didn’t even look at me, and my stomach sank as the priest cleared his throat. “May I continue?”

The prince nodded, and I began to flounder. I had to stop the ceremony, but how was I to do that?

I was wringing my hands beneath the cloak, wondering if I should just throw it off and reveal myself as the priest droned on, speaking of union and devotion and all sorts of other things that would have been quite nice if the situation wasn’t so dire. I’d never felt so alone in such a crowded room, trapped beneath the heavy cloak and veil, pretending to be someone else while I was married off to a man who might have me thrown in prison or worse once he realized I wasn’t who I said I was.

I hoped Isolde had gotten on that ship. Desperately, I hoped that all of this would be worth it at least in some way, because I was beginning to think I had gravely miscalculated this spontaneous plan in my effort to see my sister off. It wasn’t one of my inventions or a painting where I could adjust a few parts or paint over a mistake. These were people, something I had never been particularly adept with.

How did one go about repairing what was beginning to look like the beginning of a diplomatic scandal? I certainly didn’t have the answer, if there even was one to be found.

I turned to look at the crowd. There were so many people here, both human and demon nobles. I quickly spotted my parents sitting a few rows back from the front. My father’s satisfied smile made my stomach churn, and my mother looked almost as pleased. I wasn’t surprised they seemed not to notice my absence at all. They hadn’t even questioned why I wasn’t there with them in the carriage. All that mattered to them was marrying Isolde off, securing the family name and fortune.

A row away from them were some of the more notable demon nobles who made up the parliament, including Prime Minister Rakzah Chonre, a man I knew had been openly vocal against the marriage with a human consort.

I definitely didn’t want to reveal the ruse in front of that man. He would be the most likely to throw me in prison—or worse. He was already glaring daggers in my direction, as if by his stare alone he could eviscerate me and put a stop to this marriage.

But I still had to find a way to get out of this. I could always run away, but with this ridiculously heavy veil on, I wouldn’t be able to move very fast—and I wasn’t exactly fast anyway. I would surely be caught right away. The irony was that Isolde had always been the more athletic of the two of us, and if she’d been here, she probably could have gotten away with ease.

Inwardly, I cursed. It didn’t matter that Isolde could have run. The important thing was that she was getting away now, and that she hadn’t been subjected to this against her will. I’d volunteered, and I was happy to do this for my sister—however terrible it was turning out to be.

“Lady Isolde?” the priest said.

I realized then that every eye in the room was currently trained on me and turned back to the priest. “Yes?” I squeaked. I’d missed half of what was being said.

The priest nodded. “And do you, Prince Bane Hightower, take Lady Isolde Tillcot as your royal consort?”

The prince nodded. “Yes.”

Oh…oh dear. Had I just said yes to marrying the prince? Dammit. This was getting out of hand, and I had to stop it right now!

I couldn’t let the priest announce me as married to the prince, so I started to turn, intent on leaving, but the prince caught my arm, holding me back. “The ceremony isn’t done yet,” he said in a low voice.

Even though he looked irritated, he was somehow even more handsome, and just that one touch had my pulse going wild—and not with fear or anxiety. It was simply my body reacting to the very handsome man currently holding my arm so tightly.

Was I really so susceptible to a handsome face? Over the years, catching glimpses of men strolling in the city or out riding or even at the occasional party had made it clear to me where my preferences lay, but I was still green in many ways, and I felt myself easily swaying in the face of his overwhelming presence.

Left with no choice, I stood still while the priest made his final announcement. “You may kiss your consort, Your Highness.”

I felt lightheaded as the prince tugged on the veil, but I held it down from the inside, terrified of letting him see my face—the face that was very much not his chosen consort’s.

The demon prince scowled and tried to pull the veil up again, but I held it tight, gritting my teeth and praying for a miracle. But what could possibly happen now? There was no averting this disaster, only prolonging it.

The priest cleared his throat. “Um, Your Highness, you can kiss your consort now.”

“I know,” the prince gritted out. “I’m trying to, but the damn veil won’t move.”

The priest frowned and approached us, and inside, I shriveled up a little more. Wonderful, more people crowding around me.

I doubled down, tightening my hold on the veil from within the cloak. I couldn’t let my face be revealed. It would be disastrous. But what was I supposed to do?

A man from the front row who looked remarkably like Prince Bane, only an older and more distinguished version, rose and approached us. “What’s the matter, my prince?”

“The veil is stuck, uncle.”

I knew immediately who the man was, Lord Syr, the maternal uncle of the prince. For whatever reason, he seemed far less agitated by the situation than the prince and the priest. “Ah yes, this old thing. We really should do away with such an old-fashioned tradition. I’m sure your consort is finding it stifling in there.”

When he patted my shoulder, I instinctively squeaked and jumped back a little, but Lord Syr only smiled kindly. “Sorry, my dear. I’m only trying to help.”

The last thing I wanted was help getting the veil off. I wanted to get away, to go back home before anyone realized that I wasn’t who I was supposed to be. The more logical side of me—which often won out—knew it was pointless, but I was in a panic and desperate for an escape, and logic had all but left my brain.

I took a step back, trying to get away from them, but that single step cost me dearly.

My boot caught the edge of the cloak, and I started to fall. The prince, still holding the veil, fell with me, and we tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fabric.

I winced at the sound of the veil ripping as we rolled down the stairs of the dais. In the background, there were gasps and shocked cries, and the second after the veil was completely ripped away from my head, we finally stopped rolling.

I found myself sprawled on the broad chest of the prince, my face pressed into the warm skin of the other man’s neck. All I could think was, He smells very good.

And a second later I realized there was a bigger problem than the fact that my face was currently pressed against the neck of the prince—the man I had apparently just married. It was exposed. From the corner of my eye, I was aware of people staring, their mouths agape, completely in shock.

I gulped and dared to look down to find the prince with a similar expression. “Who the hell are you?”