The room where we were to be married felt more like a cell than a place where two people were supposed to join their lives together. There were no flowers, no music, no friends or family gathered to witness the ceremony. Just me, Cyrus, and a guard standing beside a dusty desk, watching us with the disinterest of someone overseeing a chore. The room was dim, and on the desk sat a candle highlighting a single piece of parchment– the contract that would bind us together in name but not in choice.

The room was too cold, the walls too bare, and the silence too loud. As we stood there, side by side, I could feel the weight of this moment pressing down on me. This wasn’t a real marriage. This was an act of survival.

Yes, Cyrus and I grew up together, always knowing we were to be married eventually– maybe even have our own children… but, we never expected a wedding ceremony this grim.

I was anxious. Sweat was beading on my forehead from my nervousness and soaking into my newly made, military uniform. Neither of us even got to change into something nice.

But nice ceremonies weren’t for Mongrels, they were only for pure-bloods.

A grand or happy ceremony wouldn’t have changed our moods anyway. I certainly did not want Cyrus to marry me against his will, and the look on his face said that he didn’t want it either. Of course he didn’t. I was broken now, unable to give him the one thing that could have brought some happiness to our union. 

I let my mind wonder if he would have enjoyed being a father– wonder if I could have been a good mother.

No parent is perfect, but the good parents always do what they think is best for their child at the moment. My mother thought it would be best to let the guards brand me when I was seven, thinking that a lifetime of pain was better than a short life snuffed out by the King’s cruelty. Serf Seraphiel allowed Cyrus to be brutally whipped by a King’s guard because, had he stepped in, it could have been worse for both of them. 

Even if given a chance to go back in time and change the events, most parents would end up making the same decision based on the circumstances. Most just want their child to survive… to hope that their children’s future will be better than their own life.

It was always about surviving, about doing what needed to be done to ensure that we kept living, no matter the cost.

That parental sacrifice was something I would never experience, and now, neither would Cyrus.

But, as I stood in the room, preparing to sign my name on a piece of paper against my will, I couldn’t help but wonder if this, too, was just as similar as one of those parental choices. Was this what was best for Cyrus and me? Would we look back and justify this moment as something we had to do to survive, even though it wasn’t what we wanted?

Would we look back and realize that this was something that we did want?

I glanced at Cyrus, his face set with that quiet determination I had come to know so well. There was no joy in his eyes, only resignation. A look that meant he was doing his duty, and nothing more. He was here because he thought it was best for me, just as I was here because I thought it was best for him; to play along with the King’s demands until we could fight back. We were both trapped, doing what we had to do because the alternative was unthinkable. We didn’t have the luxury of a real wedding, of making promises based on love and hope for the future. All we had was survival.

The guard grunted impatiently, shoving the contract closer to us. I hesitated, staring down at the paper. My hand hovered over the quill, and for a brief moment, I thought about what might happen if I refused to sign. But I knew the answer. The King wouldn’t hesitate to punish us, to make an example of us. What good would our defiance do if we didn’t live to see another day?

So, I picked up the quill and signed my name, the ink bleeding into the parchment like a final seal. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t a choice. This was another step in a long line of sacrifices that we had to make in order to defeat King Varek. Another decision made in the name of survival.

Cy’s fingers brushed mine as I stared at the paper, and I realized he was grabbing the quill from me. He bent down and briefly hesitated, before he signed his name next to mine.

We were now married. And it meant nothing at all.

“Now that you have signed, I must read off the King’s declaration for married Mongrels,” the guard said, breaking the silence. His voice was monotone and detached as he recited the words. “In accordance with the laws of the Veil District under order of King Varek, all marriages between Mongrels are subject to the following decrees, known as ‘The Marital Declaration’.” 

The guard paused, letting the weight of the words settle before continuing, his eyes never meeting ours.

“The first decree is as follows: the marriage shall be permanent. Should one spouse die, the surviving partner is never to remarry. You belong to the King, not to each other. This contract, once signed, is binding under the law of His Majesty and shall remain so even after death. Any attempt to remarry will be met with immediate execution.”

My heart pounded with anger, but I stood still, my hands shaking at my side. It wasn’t like we could remarry without the King. This was just a useless clause that was meant to remind us of his control.

I caught a glimpse of Cyrus out of the corner of my eye, standing straight ahead, jaw clenched, and every muscle in his body tense. 

“The second decree,” the guard continued, “if either spouse engages in an illicit relationship with another Mongrel outside the bounds of this marriage, and said union results in pregnancy, the unborn child will be forcibly removed from the womb and left to die, as it is a violation of His Majesty’s bloodline laws. Any who attempt to flee or conceal such a pregnancy will be branded as traitors and executed.”

My stomach churned at the thought. The room seemed to close in around me as the implications settled. It would never be possible for me, but the thought of other Mongrels having gone through this punishment in the past was more cruel than I could put into words.

“Thirdly,” both parties are expected to remain faithful to His Majesty’s law, and any failure to perform the duties of a spouse– whether by refusal to comply or failure to fulfill the King’s commands– will result in immediate and public punishment. The King, in his mercy, has bestowed upon you the honor of serving under his protection. Disloyalty will not be tolerated.”

I let out a scoff at his mention of “protection”. The guard’s eyes flickered to me with disdain, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he heard me or because of the last decree he was reading off.

“Finally, any offspring born from this union shall be subjected to the King’s authority and may be removed from their parents' care at any time, should His Majesty deem it necessary. These children are not your own. They belong to the Kingdom."

A chill ran through my body. Every drop of blood in me willed me to tear up the contract and spit in the guard’s face, but my feet remained rooted to the floor. 

The guard rolled up the scroll with a practiced efficiency, clearly unaffected by the horror of what he just read. He tucked it under his arm, looked at both of us, and simply said, “You are dismissed.”

We both left the room quietly, my feet dragging behind me as I felt myself fighting against my need to turn around and punch the King’s guard in the face. Once we were back out in the courtyard, we passed by the guard's horse that he had ridden to our military camp, tied up beside a post. For a moment, I thought about jumping on its beautiful white back and riding away from here– to look for Serf Seraphiel. But I had no clue where we were… or how long of a journey it would be.

I looked over at Cyrus, who was walking quietly beside me. His face no longer held a look of determination. He was staring at the ground, his blue eyes holding a small gleam of sadness. My heart shattered and I lifted my arm to tug on the sleeve of his white uniform.

“Are you going to be alright?” I asked softly, but the question hung in the air for a moment, heavier than I intended. What else could I say?

Cy pulled his arm away, his voice tight. “I’m fine,” he muttered, picking up his pace toward the training grounds. I could hear the frustration in his voice, so I attempted to apologize for everything, but he didn’t look back. 

As he walked ahead of me, the King’s declaration echoed in my mind, as heavy as the brands on my cheeks. No children, no future, no freedom. I couldn’t help but think about the Mongrels that had come before us, forced into this same cycle. What had become of all of them? Did they learn to love each other unconditionally through the pain, like Cy’s parents, who clung together despite the King’s laws? Or did they become trapped in marriages that were nothing more than contracts– marriages that enabled abuse, like my mother’s?

What would become of our marriage? Would we grow to love each other too? Or, would we fall apart, broken under the weight of the King’s control? 

I stole a glance at Cyrus’s broad shoulders, hunched ever so slightly as we neared the others who were training. His silence was heavier than any words he could have spoken. 

Could we, at least, be the same after this?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.