Death Do Us Part

HONEY, DOES THIS TASTE LIKE POISON TO YOU?

While sitting on death row, I'm given two choices:

1. Be horribly tortured in a way that ends with my intestines being pulled out of my anus. Or 2. Marry the tyrant fairy king. He might eat babies and bathe in their blood, but he's dark-haired, with violet eyes, and oh gods, he's pierced.

Deciding I can fix him and his entire backwards kingdom, I willingly say, "I do."

But the thing about fairies is, they're sticklers when it comes to wording. So when...