Page 1 of Making the King

Cara

“Do you, Cara Rodríguez, take Rochus King as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Blinking, I look up from the floor and stare into the scared eyes of the spineless priest. Being here, wearing this dress, is making a mockery of my childhood.

The strapless dress is a complete replica of a dress I once saw on TV, and promptly told my bitch of a mother I wanted to get married in. Everything matches from the sweetheart neckline to the floor-length skirt. The bust is so tight my tits are threatening to spill out, not that it matters.

I’m not even sure why I’m dressed, and a part of me almost wishes I wasn’t. Better naked than tainting one of the few good memories I had of my childhood.

“Cara,” my dad prompts, digging the gun harder into my back. “Answer the priest.”

I want to laugh at the fact he’s threatening me with a gun. It just shows how little he really understands me if he thinks the gun is the bigger evil when I’m being married off to a stranger at sixteen.

For now, I have to play along and not give away that I’m not scared of him. But how can I be when he’s lorded this very day over me for so long? I don’t know when I stopped being scared, only that rage and a burning need to punish my parents for taking something from me is all I feel now. My childhood. My freewill. And at times, even my will to fucking live.

I run my hands down the skirt of the dress, smoothing an inconsequential wrinkle. The bottom of the skirt is covered in blood, but sadly, it’s not the blood of my enemies. It’s the blood of the couple who accidentally walked into the church half an hour ago. Needless to say, they won’t be telling anyone what they stumbled upon.

Tossing my waist-long, dark hair with purple streaks—that I only got to piss him off—over my bare shoulder, I sneer, “If I must,” answering the rhetorical question.

“Y-you have to say ‘I do’,” the priest says, his hands shaking so badly I absentmindedly wonder if he has arthritis or some shit.

“Why?” I challenge, my voice ringing out loud. “There’s a gun fucking pointed at my back, and another at yours,” I nod my head toward my twin brother, Mateo, who’s standing behind the priest. “So tell me, Mr. Priest man, why the hell does the wording matter?”

I quickly look away from my twin. I can’t fucking stand looking at the traitor I shared a womb with for eight months.

Next to me, my groom, Rochus King, coughs, and it sounds like he’s trying to cover up a laugh. “Can we just get on with it?” he asks, trying to take my hand. “I want to move on so we can get to the part where I can finally consummate this holy matrimony, or whatever the fuck you call it.”

I turn my head and look at him. If I force down my disgust, I can admit he’s somewhat lucky in the looks department. Not that it matters. I might be a child bride, but I’ll also make sure one of us is a widow before the night is over.

While my dad has a fucking boner for this marriage, it fills me with nothing but hatred. I knew it was coming, I’ve known that since I was twelve. That’s how old I was when my mom sat me down and explained my purpose in life.

That was the day my childhood ended. With a few choice words, she changed my carefree existence into one where I had to… let’s just say, knowing you’ll be sold to the highest bidder when you’re sixteen doesn’t exactly make it easy to continue your life.

Not long after that talk, my parents dragged me to my sister Julietta’s wedding because daddy dearest wanted me to know what was in store for me. It wasn’t a joyous day, and I hated seeing my beautiful sister marrying the forty-something year-old guy. He reeked of sweat and alcohol, and I can still recall the offensive stench.

I’ve been told that Rochus King is nineteen, which I guess I should be happy about. Then again, if I don’t take matters into my own hands, he might have a long life in front of him.

A snigger tries to burst free as I remember the vial inside me. The small see-through glass was brought to me by my sister, when she pretended to help me to the bathroom. According to her, it’s a very strong sedative that she uses on her husband at least once a week.

Seeing as I have no pockets or anything to hide the vial, I saw no other option than to shove it inside me. I suppose it’s almost poetic that the way to end my husband’s life is in my vagina, a place he’ll never touch. That’s what I told my sister during our rushed time together, and it felt good to see her tentative smile before her horrid husband dragged her away.

As soon as I was in place, next to Rocco, they left. But not before Julietta’s husband made sure to announce he’d only allowed my sister to come as a reward for her good behavior. Personally, I think he just wanted her to see me miserable.

I startle, realizing I’ve been lost in my head when Rochus whoops, “Fuck yeah I do.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I mean, would you look at her? She’s worth every fucking cent.”

Swallowing down the disgust I feel at his words, I shoot him a smile I know is laced with innocence and not portraying my thoughts of how I want to make him scream in pain for buying me.

“D-do you have any vows?” the priest asks.

“No,” my dad says, sternly.

At the same time, I say, “Yes.”

“Cara,” my mom scolds, speaking up for the first time.

I don’t need to look at her to know she’s scared, and I can’t say I blame her. If I step out of line, my dad will make her pay for my transgressions. Maybe I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. It’s not my fault she married the devil, allowing him to sell her daughters. That’s all on her, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s as bad as he is.

Rochus smirks at me and nods. “Let’s hear your vows.”

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