The eyes of the bride glistened with tears, her trembling fingers intertwined with her brother’s.
He shouldn’t give me away. Not now.
A whisper between her lips, muffled by her veil.
“No. You must. It’s the only choice.”
His tone cold, remote. The voice of an assassin.
Mother… Father… It’s his fault.
A stranger grasped her childish hand.
Guy didn’t look back.
The day after, abused bride, she saw him again near a man with the eyes of an hawk: Guy was smiling, proud.
“I’ll be a knight...”
“I hate you. You’re dead to me.”
Isabella turned away.