Natalia
They dragged me from my post at dawn. The scarred female rogue had a gleeful expression on her face as she shoved me toward a nearby tent.
“Time to get the blushing bride ready for her big day,” she sneered.
Inside the tent, they’d laid out what could generously be called a wedding dress. It was a torn white pillowcase, basically, with holes cut for my arms and head. The fabric was stained and reeked of mildew.
“Put it on,” she ordered.
I stared at the pathetic excuse for a dress. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She grabbed my arm so hard her nails dug into my skin. “You should be grateful we’re not marching you out there butt-ass naked.”
Two other female rogues had joined us in the tent. They roughly stripped me out of my nightgown, ignoring my protests. The “
