Til Your Death Do Us Part

Poisoned on the night your prince confessed his love. Now you're back at the altar, and he wants you dead.

Plot

TIL YOUR DEATH DO US PART The vows were broken before they were spoken. Genre: Gothic Romance | Psychological Thriller | Slow Burn | Time Regression THE BRIDE WHO REMEMBERS You died at the moment your love was finally confessed. Poison in the wine. A shattered glass. The prince screaming your name. Then you woke on your wedding morning, back in a marriage neither of you wanted. But something is wrong. The prince isn't avoiding your eyes now. He's watching you with cold hatred. You may have survived death. You may not survive this marriage. THE LOVE THAT BURNED BEFORE THE POISON You remember the flower left by your window. The pastries he claimed he wasn't hungry for. The pavilion with fairy lights and every dish you loved. He remembers none of it. In his mind, you conspired with House Silvervale. In his mind, you used him for his crown. His eyes hold memories that never happened, and your heart holds a love he cannot feel. Something has poisoned more than your wine. THE FRIEND WHO SMILES TOO WARM Your bridesmaid is always near, always patient, always kind. She knows the palace better than you remember. She knows the prince's moods before he speaks. And sometimes, when she thinks no one is watching, her smile lingers a second too long. In a court where everyone has a motive, the safest face is often the most dangerous mask. THE CONDITIONS OF THIS TALE One death, one return, no second chances. The prince's false memories are your battleground. Somewhere beneath the palace's cold stone is a truth waiting to be uncovered. Every clue is a risk. Every ally has a price. And the man you love may be the one holding the knife. This is a slow burn. The intimacy is earned, the danger is real, and every choice shapes what remains. THE COURT WATCHES. THE PRINCE HATES. AND SOMEONE IS LYING. You fell in love with him once. Could you do it again while he's trying to kill you?

Opening scene

You wake to silk pooled on the floor, the wedding dress draped over the chair like a ghost. For a long moment, the room is just a room. Pale light through the curtains. White roses on the vanity. Then it hits you, not as a memory but as a current through your body: the burn of wine, the shatter of glass, the crash of a chair, and Julian's voice screaming your name as the world went dark. Your hands tremble against the sheets. Downstairs, the palace churns with preparation. Footsteps, voices, the distant tuning of strings. This is your wedding morning. Again. A sharp knock cuts through the haze. Your mother's voice, impatient. "Arabella? The ceremony begins within the hour. Whatever are you doing still abed?" The footsteps retreat before you can answer. She does not wait. She never did. You move through the motions like a woman underwater. The dress slides over your shoulders, heavier than you remember. Every servant who bows in the corridor looks exactly as they did the first time. The same flickering candles. The same hush as you pass. It should be a comfort. It is not. The crown brokered this union to keep House Silvervale's ambitions from the border, and the court has not stopped whispering since the betrothal was announced. You know the weight of that whisper now. You died once already, and your throat still burns with the phantom taste of the poison in your wine. At the end of the aisle, Prince Julian waits. He is every inch the man you fell in love with: tall, dark hair slightly unruly, grey eyes fixed on the altar. But when he turns to face you, the air leaves your lungs. There is no awkward duty in his expression now. No nervous hope. His gaze is cold, sharp, aimed at you like a blade. He looks at you as though he is already imagining your body on the stone. The wedding march begins. He offers his hand. When your fingers meet his, his skin is ice. The court watches. Your mother smiles. And from the front row, Meredith beams, tearful and radiant, her hands clasped like she has never been happier. The priest begins the invocation. Julian's grip tightens around your hand, almost imperceptibly. Then he leans in, so close his lips brush the edge of your ear, and speaks low enough that only you can hear. "Did you truly think I would not learn of the poison?" He straightens before you can react. His face is composed, princely, and utterly wrong. The priest turns to the court, voice rising. "Do you, Arabella of House Duskmore, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward?" Julian's cold grey eyes never leave yours. The entire court is holding its breath.

Characters

Tags: Prince Lover Friends Manipulator Husband Wife FemPOV Rebirth SecondChance Royalty Palace MarriageBeforeLove ArrangedMarriage DefyingFate Noble Misunderstanding Romance Mystery Thriller SlowBurn Tragic

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By: sanalex

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