My father’s face drained of color so fast he looked physically struck.
“The… crest?” he whispered.
Nikolai continued, the way people continue reading bad news once they’ve decided the suffering isn’t their problem. “Her wedding dress maker has already been selected. Measurements will be taken tomorrow. Crow Island transitteams will arrange all transport. No guests are permitted to know the exact location.”
Crow Island.
My mouth went dry.
“Why would we invite anyone to watch you sacrifice my daughter?” My father’s snapped into something raw, the restraint finally fracturing.
The aide sealed the contract with a digital crest.
“The rites, are Crow-only.” Nikolai said, too calmly. “No Thorne, sovereign, bloc will attend. What happens on Crow Island at midnight belongs to the dynasty alone.”
My stomach dipped.
Midnight. Rites.
The way he said it sounded less like a ceremony and more like a door locking behind you while the world watched the outside of it burn.
“Your dynasty will attend the wedding,” he went on. “Not just the Thornes. Every house tied to you by blood, contract, or ambition. Over twenty thousand guests will be present on the island. Thorne bloodlines. Allied dynasties. Syndicate kings. Sovereign envoys. Anyone of importance will have a seat.”
Twenty thousand people.
An entire valley of witnesses.
“The church below the main hall will hold the immediate thousand,” Nikolai said, as if he were reading out a logistics brief, not my execution. “Primary family. Sovereign observers. Dynasty heads. Codex officials. The valley outside will be tiered for the remaining guests. Terraced stands. Processional platforms. Aerial feeds.”
Images hit too fast. The infamous Crow Cathedral, full, shoulder to shoulder with crest rings and crowns. Outside, a carved bowl of land lit by torches and cameras, all of it pointed at me.
“The ceremony and reception will be streamed to every sovereign territory and dynasty capital,” he added. “Every Codex city, registered court. Translated into every Codex language. When she takes the Crow name, the planet will be watching.”
The planet.
Of course.
Dynasty girls grew up with stories about weddings like this, footage replayed at dinner parties, mothers pointing at veiled brides walking up marble steps, murmuringthatis what you aim for. Global coverage. Sovereigns in the front pew. Commentators dissecting the dress, the bloodline, the alliances.
The dream was always to be watched.
My lungs felt tight.
Sovereign brats live-commenting my life in half a dozen languages. Cameras zooming in when I walked out with a new crest on my back and a new name on my ring.
I just hadn’t realised being watched would feel like being dissected.
The Crow wedding.
A spectacle.
A once-in-a-generation event to fill highlight reels and dynasty documentaries. The kind of broadcast they’d replay whenever someone said the wordsVillainandCrowanderain the same sentence.
To them, it would look like a fairytale. Silver dress. Island church. Dynasty heiress given to a legend. Fireworks over the water. Torches blazing in Crow blue. My smile frozen in a frame someone would pause to admire.
To me, it already felt like something else entirely.
Not a bride.
