Author's Note: Thanks to Emoz1205, Carly Chameleon, DrowningBlonde, Snyper Lady & Ebon_Drake for your reviews. I appreciate it.

Sorry took so long for an update. I struggled with this chapter. Originally, chapters 3, 4, & 5 were supposed to be one chapter but they kind of grew legs. I felt they would've been too rushed or way too long if they were all together.

This chapter has a major character death and other acts of disturbing violence. There is some mild language (at least mild by my standards).

Chapter 4

On paper, this was a fairy tale moment. The beautiful princess in a horse drawn carriage to meet the handsome prince so they could be married. Allura laughed out loud at the notion. The attendants in the carriage regarded her with raised eyebrows, probably wondering if she was going crazy. Let them think that she was, she thought. Insanity was probably the only way she would be able to endure this.

She rubbed her temples. The repetitive flash of hundreds of cameras created a strobe light effect as her carriage slowly progressed through the capital city. Between flashes, the explosive hum of hovercrafts above, and the cheering crowd's roar a migraine threatened. A loud sigh escaped her. If she was on Arus, she would be smiling and waving to the crowds; playing to perfection the part of the radiant bride. Instead she sat back in her seat, hidden from the crowd's view; sullen and scowling. For a moment she wondered if Lotor expected her to feign happiness for the crowds - oh well if he did.

Though she was in no hurry to bind herself to Lotor in matrimony, the slow pace of the carriage tortured her. She just wanted the horrible deed, and the dread rooted in her stomach, to be over. The carriage moved at this painfully slow rate due in part to the host of palace guard surrounding it. Allura contemplated their purpose. In part she was certain it was to prevent any last minute escape attempts. But also, it may have been for her own protection. The war with Arus had been long, and there was a probability many in the crowd who would seek revenge for lost loved ones. If it weren't for the welfare of her people, the princess would gladly submitted to those whims.

When the carriage finally halted the princess heard the captain of the guard bark orders and then the thunder of the guards' synchronized marching. The captain opened the door to her carriage and she emerged, giving an obligatory wave and forced smile to the crowds beyond the gate. The guards lined her way to the palace entrance. Her attendants swarmed her, lifting her long, shimmering train to keep it from touching the ground, as another servant led her through the palace

She inhaled deeply as Lotor walked up to greet her. He had that arrogant smirk on his face that she would've given her left arm to smack off. But he was certainly playing the part of the handsome prince well. Medals adorned his dress uniform with a crimson sash across his broad chest. A platinum handled sword hung from his belt. After his slow inspection of her, he smiled and offered her a gloved hand.

"I guess I should've known better. I enrobe you in jewels and you still manage to outshine them." He placed her small hand in his and said, "My father awaits us." He tightened his grip as she tried to snatch her hand back. He grimaced and clenched his teeth, "once we are standing before him, we must bow."

Her head shook fiercely and she tried to back away. She didn't know why this surprised her. Of course his father would be there but it just never crossed her mind that she'd have to come face to face with the murderer of her family. One of the many realizations she was sure her mind suppressed. Allura wasn't sure if it was fear, hate, or pure outrage that she felt. Maybe it was combination of all of them. The captive bride wondered which would be harder: seeing her family's murderer and the tormentor of her people, or keeping her hatred for this man off her face. Either scenario, she was grateful that she allowed no food pass her lips earlier, confident it would not have stayed down.

"Just this once," Lotor whispered, allowing a brief moment of concern to pass his face. His fingers lightly caressing the side of her face. "I promise." One of the many promises to her she was sure he'd break. How she wanted scream 'no' and run from there. But for the sake of her people, she allowed his gesture to comfort her even though she knew he was lying. As wife to Zarkon's heir, how could she realistically expect to avoid seeing the king?

Lotor nodded to the guards who stood outside the massive doors and they opened them. Lotor hooked her right hand around his elbow and led her into the throne room. The princess' entourage following behind silently.

The expansive room, paved with onyx flooring, was lined with gilded colonnades. Her blue eyes drifted to the rows of crystal chandeliers, then to the arched ceilings. They bore frescos of great Drule warriors. Allura saw the sketched outline of a newly commissioned mural. The painting had not begun on it but she could tell what it was. It was of Lotor, his sword brandished, with Voltron in pieces at his feet. A scowl formed on her face and her eyes snapped down as she swore she heard Lotor chuckle. Asshole!

Her gaze turned to the courtiers that lined the path to Zarkon. Bowing to the crown prince, their cat like eyes peered up and stalked them as the passed – cold, devious, plotting. Behind them she could see dozens of people, slaves she presumed, prostrated. A chorus of "oohs" and "ahs" from the Drule court could be heard as they passed. The prince walked with determination toward his father's throne. His head scanning the crowds, unable to contain his satisfied smile, as if he was saying to them I told you so, I told you she would be mine.

The princess searched the crowd for Nanny or Coran or someone she knew but there was no one. For a moment she felt a pang of sadness for Nanny. She thought of how Nanny incessantly talked of seeing the princess' wedding day. But would Nanny want to see this? Would Nanny want to be in the same room as Zarkon and Lotor? Unlikely.

Allura's eyes only briefly drifted up to where Zarkon sat high upon his golden throne. Unlike his son, who even Allura had to admit was handsome, Zarkon was hideous. Red, pussy ulcer riddled his cerulean skin. There were pox marks on his face where ulcers had healed. He was a gaunt man with dark circles encompassing his hollowed out, soulless eyes. Other than their skin and eye color, Allura could see no resemblance between father and son, for which she was suddenly grateful.

As they reached the foot of the steps leading to the throne, Lotor tugged her arm down and they sunk to their knees before his father. Lotor held her hand with a firm grip, while the fingers of his other hand curled around the hilt of his sword. Allura saw from the corner of her eyes that his head was bowed and she followed suit. A heavy footfall on the obsidian stairs warned of Zarkon's descent. Allura felt herself freeze and her breathing become shallow, her chest felt so heavy, once she saw the hem of the king's robe resting mere inches from her bowed head. She tried to focus on his words but couldn't. Words like fruitful, obedience, and duty filtered through her surreal haze. But when Zarkon said, "…husband & wife. Rise my son," her mind snapped to full attention. It was done, she was married! It dawned on her that there were no wedding vows. Only the decree from the king that they were married.

"Forgive me," Lotor whispered as he pushed her onto her backside and away from him. As he stood, she saw the blue glow of his lazon sword, then Zarkon's head at her feet. An involuntary shriek escaped her and her attendants rushed to help her stand. A chorus of gasps emanated from the guests but her response was the most dramatic. Given that she hated the man more than anybody present, the practically nonchalant response of those present spoke volumes to her about the Drule's tolerance for violence.

Zarkon's guard instinctively made a move toward Lotor and his gaze snapped toward them. His eyes alight as if hoping for a challenge but they paused. Lotor picked up the crown that fell off his father's severed head and looked around at the courtier's, sword still in hand. Lotor placed the crown on his head. Allura's eyes remained fixated on the severed head (the second one she had seen in a week – she shuddered to think that this would a new norm for her). Zarkon's eyes and mouth continued to move for a brief period before what little light he had in his eyes faded. Oh, how happy she was that she didn't eat earlier.

"The King is dead! Long live the King," a courtier called out and all gathered, save Allura, dropped to their knees and bowed before the new king. He looked around at his subjects and his smile broadened. Then his gaze settled on her. He charged toward her and she froze; too afraid and shocked to retreat. Lotor seized her and roughly kissed her, her eyes wide open the whole time.

"My queen," he whispered, his hand framing her face.

For a moment, she just stared at him, unsure of how she felt. Horrified that her new husband just struck down his own father? Or grateful that he killed the man who had tormented her dreams for so many years now? Finally she whispered, "Why?"

"Why what?"

She shook her head. Why what? Really, dumbass? As if it shouldn't have been completely obvious. "Why did you kill your own father?"

"For you," he said softly and for a brief moment she thought she detected tenderness in his voice. "In Drule culture, a man proves himself a worthy mate by showing he can protect his wife. I've killed the man who killed your parents. I've avenged your family and shown I can protect you."

She didn't respond, still shaking from this sudden turn of events but she wanted to ask, "and who is going to protect me from you?" But she thought better of it.

A male servant approached Lotor and placed a crimson, velvet robe around his shoulder. They were king's robes, tailored and fitted to Lotor's broad frame. Allura wondered how long Lotor had planned this. She supposed it really didn't matter. She was just happy he had the foresight to have robes made for the occasion, as they hid the splotches of blood on his clothes. Her meandering thoughts were reigned in as he kissed her again before leading her up to the throne. When they reached the top, Lotor raised his and Allura's hand up over his head and cheers erupted in the room. Lotor lowered himself onto the throne, still warm from when his father occupied it just minutes earlier, and he smiled. Allura sat at his side, silent with her gaze fixed on the ground.

Several servants rushed forth and removed the former king's corpse, much to Allura's relief. A servant girl approached with a platter of food and knelt at their feet. Instead of leaving the platter, the girl remained kneeling with the platter offered over her head. Allura wondered if she had refused Lotor's would she have been the table instead.

Initially Allura felt sorry for the girl, it seemed like a very uncomfortable position to hold. Soon she realized this girl was lucky compared to the other slaves present. A noble approached the throne with a legion of slaves lined up in a perfectly straight line. Drawing a bejeweled dagger, he cut the throat of every slave in the line. Allura felt herself petrify. Courtier after courtier sacrificed entourages of slaves in honor of their wedding and Lotor's ascension and she was powerless to help any of them. Each slave's death represented a year of marital bliss that particular courtier wished for them. It soon became a competition amongst the Drule nobles – who would sacrifice the most slaves in honor of the king and queen? Currying the king's favor seemed to be almost a blood sport as several fights broke out. At first, the queen hoped that this would halt the sacrifices but the infighting only delayed them.

Her head hung for a moment before she lifted it again. Such an outward display of sadness over these deaths would undoubtedly be considered a weakness in the eyes of the Drule court. Instead she sat with her fingers interlocked and her lips pressed together, staring out into the emptiness. Allura wondered how long she would have to live there before she became numb to such senseless killing. As unsettling as that prospect seemed, in her heart she knew it would be the only way her sanity would endure living in a culture where lives were bought so cheaply. When that metamorphosis occurred, she wondered: would that Allura even recognize herself as she was now? Or would it seem like a memory from a past life?

Eventually Lotor held his hand up and made a shooing motion, halting the "offerings." Allura wasn't sure if he did it for her or if he was merely bored. Realizing she didn't care about what his motivations were, she was just happy he stopped the killings. However, stopping this activity meant other annoying activities would begin. Nobles began to approach the couple, offering congratulations and flattery. The new queen cringed at how they groveled and spouted off over-the-top praises for her and Lotor. She doubted the words contained any sincere feeling. She couldn't decide who she despised more: the insincere flatterers or the courtiers who lacked any subtlety about their ambitions. Several of them requested titles and lands from the newly surrendered Pollux. Lotor gave all of them the hope that they would share in the spoils but promised nothing.

"What of Arus?" a nobleman called Krayta asked. Allura's clenched her fists and her head snapped toward the impudent noble. Her eyes narrowed on the fat, pompous man.

The king turned and smirked at her. He seemed to delight too much in her tension but did eventually relent. "Arus is my wedding gift to the queen. It is her favor you must seek."

Her cold blue eyes bore at the wrinkled noble daring him to make the request of her. The man sputtered incoherent words, bowed, and took his leave. Lotor laughed at the whole exchange. But Krayta wasn't the last to make such a request. Some were more ambitious and offered Lotor lands as an inducement to retract his gift to the queen. He dismissed all the overtures (at least for now) and for that Allura was grateful.

Eventually, Lotor refused the approach of any more groveling courtiers. "We're leaving," he chuckled quietly in her ear. She gasped as his tongue traced her ears before he pulled her to her feet. When they were alone in the hall, Lotor caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "You carried yourself like a true queen," he paused for a moment as if searching for the right words. "I'm so proud of you."

He was proud and all she felt was shame. Shame that she would have to spend the rest of her life trying to please him. But more than that, shame that her actions were so deplorable that they brought him pride – how quickly she had fallen from grace.

His hand scaled the length her bodice, he smirked, and then barked to her attendants, "prepare her." Yes, shame was all she felt.