The Royal Ruse

Chapter 1

As Gabriella gradually regained consciousness, she felt like she had been unceremoniously drop-kicked into a reality show she hadn't auditioned for. With a bewildered shake of her head, she sat up in the sumptuous bed, her heart doing the cha-cha in her chest as she tried to make sense of her plushy surroundings.

But alas, this was no cozy corner of her own apartment. The room oozed opulence, with its velvety drapes, ornate furniture, and mirrors everywhere, reflecting her wide-eyed confusion back at her like a funhouse carnival mirror.

Panic surged through her veins as the realization dawned upon her with chilling clarity: she was no longer Gabriella, the office worker she had always been. Instead, she was Gabriella Isobel de Rassec, the infamous antagonist of her favorite novel—a character whose fate she had often lamented as they shared the same name.

Fragments of memories flooded her mind—memories that were not her own but belonged to Gabriella. She was on the brink of marrying Asher Von Rothchester, the enigmatic sole Duke of the Vraenia Empire, a man known for his icy demeanor and unforgiving nature. Their union, a mere political arrangement forged by the tenuous threads of diplomacy, bound the destiny of two nations in an uneasy alliance.

As Gabriella struggled to come to terms with her new reality, a maid burst into the room, her presence abrupt and unwelcome. "Get up, Your Highness," the maid barked, her tone devoid of warmth. "We haven't got all day. The wedding preparations await."

Gabriella's heart plummeted like a rock in a pond at the maid's no-nonsense tone, a harsh reminder that she was now living in a story she'd previously read for entertainment—a tale that had suddenly turned into a full-blown, real-life soap opera.

'Ah, well,' she sighed inwardly, 'I suppose this is what happens when you binge-read too many novels and wish too hard for escapism.'

As the ninth princess of Rassec, born to a commoner mother, she was little more than a disposable asset—a sacrificial lamb offered up to secure the alliance between Rassec and Vraenia.

She surrendered to the maid's command, enduring the rough-and-tumble routine of being scrubbed, polished, and squeezed into a dress like a particularly reluctant sausage. Through gritted teeth, she bore the primping and preening, all while silently cursing her predicament.

'Right... Gabriella is actually being abused in her own household... really, such a pitiful existence...' she couldn't help but sigh as she remembered the villainess' tragic background and sighed at the fact that she now possessed such character.

As she was escorted through the maze-like corridors of the castle, Gabriella couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking the plank towards her own execution. Each step felt heavier than the last, like she was tiptoeing through a minefield of melodrama and misfortune.

Meanwhile, the grandiose church of the Vraenian empire stood like a proud peacock in the afternoon sun, flaunting its grandeur to all who dared to behold it. Inside, the nobles gathered, their excitement buzzing like a nest of hyperactive bees, completely oblivious to the real-life drama unfolding behind the scenes.

The nobles whispered among themselves, their hearts bleeding for the poor king who had supposedly pawned off his darling daughter to seal a treaty. They painted Gabriella as a pampered princess, spoiled by her father's indulgence—a perception carefully crafted by the machinations of courtly intrigue.

But as Gabriella laid eyes on Asher for the first time, all thoughts of pity and politics vanished like mist in the morning sun. 'Holy hotcakes!' she thought, mentally fanning herself as she ogled the duke. He was like something out of a steamy romance novel. His tan skin glowed beneath the flickering candlelight, a stark contrast to the porcelain perfection of the novel's male lead. Golden eyes, like molten pools of amber, held a mysterious glimmer that seemed to pierce through her very soul. His hair, black as midnight, cascaded in waves around his chiseled features, exuding an air of elegance tempered by a hint of primal allure.

'Good grief!' she mused, 'could he be any dreamier?'

Unbeknownst to her, Asher caught wind of her blatant gawking and couldn't help but chuckle to himself. 'Looks like I've got myself a fan,' he thought, a mischievous glint dancing in his golden gaze.

As Asher observed Gabriella's unabashed admiration, he couldn't help but find her antics amusing in a way that was entirely new to him. While other ladies might steal glances or offer coy smiles, none had ever dared to openly ogle him as Gabriella did.

It was almost as if she had forgotten the rules of polite society and was treating him like a museum exhibit to be admired from every angle. Her shameless gawking, coupled with the occasional gasp of disbelief, was both startling and strangely endearing.

But what truly amused Asher was the stark contrast between Gabriella's outward admiration and the palpable tension that surrounded him wherever he went. While other ladies might admire him for his good looks and catch status, they did so from a safe distance, unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze or the aura of danger that seemed to emanate from him like a cloak.

For Asher Von Rothchester, known as the Grim Reaper on the battlefield, was not a man to be trifled with. His mere presence instilled fear in the hearts of his enemies, and even his allies couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in his presence.

Yet here was Gabriella, staring at him with wide-eyed wonder as if he were a knight in shining armor rather than a harbinger of death. It was a paradox that both intrigued and amused him, leaving him wondering what other surprises this peculiar princess had in store.

As the ceremony barreled forward like a runaway carriage, Gabriella found herself in a whirlwind of lace, vows, and too many flower arrangements. But nothing could prepare her for the moment when Asher swooped in for the kiss.

She yelped in surprise as his arms encircled her, a startled deer caught in the headlights of his charm. She swore she heard a low chuckle rumble from his chest, but before she could process it, his lips were on hers, sending her heart cartwheeling in her chest.

It started off innocent enough, like a scene from a rom-com gone terribly right. But then... 'Wait, is that his tongue?' Gabriella's brain short-circuited as she felt the unexpected invasion, her senses reeling like a ship caught in a storm.

When Asher finally pulled away, a devilish grin playing at his lips, Gabriella was left feeling like a fish out of water, gasping for breath and wondering if her heart could handle any more unexpected twists in this rollercoaster ride of a life.

As she blinked dazedly at him, she couldn't help but wonder, 'Did he just French-kiss me?'