Evelyn turned toward the large wooden double door.
She gripped her sprawling dress, the jewelry around her neck itching. She didn't want to cry. She wanted to tough it out, the idea of marrying a man she didn't know—didn't want. But being a princess should have been all the reality check she needed.
Dreams weren't something she could have.
When the announcement of her arrival dropped and the doors were pushed open by the guards, her eyes rose, the wetness breaking before she could stop it.
They poured down her face, but that didn't stop her father from interlocking their arms and walking her down the aisle.
That had to be him.
Evelyn thought.
The man she was to marry—the one she'd been betrothed to. He stood there at the altar, straight and incredibly tall, hands clasped behind him. The dark strands of his hair were left unbound, pouring just a tad bit past neck length.
