“How do you feel?”

In the room prepared for the wedding night sat a man of devastating beauty.

Oswald Lawrence.

A celebrated figure of this nation, praised as a war hero.

He was her husband, now glaring at Daphne with eyes full of contempt.

“A woman dragged here as a prisoner of a defeated nation, only to end up seated at the very top.”

His sneering voice followed.

The man’s hair was damp, as though he had just bathed, and he wore nothing but a robe.

Yet there was no trace of the excitement one might expect on a wedding night.

“Today is the most humiliating day of my life.”

And unmistakable hatred.

“…The day I most wish to erase.”

His once calm voice broke each syllable apart, as though chewing them bitterly.

It was the beginning of a night steeped in contempt.

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