Dark One's Bride

by Aldrea Alien

  Then the sensation vanished, leaving her face feeling dry and dusty.

  Around her, the women chatted amongst themselves, discussing this colour and that. Clara hadn’t much experience with makeup and certainly hadn’t worn it before. Her mother had deemed it as the mark of a harlot and refused to let Clara try even a few of the cheaper products the travelling merchants would bring to the store. She’d always wondered why the nobility would also paint their faces if that was true. Another lie.

  She cracked an eye open, peeking warily from beneath her lashes. All discussion had stopped, yet her limited view revealed she was still surrounded by people. Only one stood before her.

  A brush, similar to one a painter used, descended upon her cheek. Whilst it didn’t rid the dry feeling of the powder, the sweeping did have an oddly soothing quality. She closed her eye again. Another brush—smaller she was sure—ran across her eyelids and brows.

  Something wet, and slightly tacky, brushed along her lips. Clara flinched from the sensation, peering down at the woman’s hands to what looked like a pot of reddish paint. The woman continued on as if Clara wasn’t currently staring at her, her focus clearly narrowed only to the lips she painted.

  Finally, the woman straightened. “All done!” She stepped back, granting Clara full view of herself in the mirror.

  Clara stared at the reflection whilst a few women at her back continued to fuss about with the mass of her hair. To her dismay, the blood-red curls seemed all the more vibrant now they’d painted her face. But that wasn’t what drew her gaze.

  She could barely believe the woman in the reflection was herself. Whilst she wouldn’t call the light olive brown of her skin the darkest of shades, the white dust they’d applied to her whole face gave her a ghostly appearance. A few pats of rouge had returned a soft, if not entirely healthy, glow to her cheeks whilst dark powder rimmed her eyes, giving them a smoky facade. And her lips… they might not have been the same luscious red as a few of the women at her back, but they were still extremely bright.

  Was she getting married or going to war?

  With her deemed ready, the group escorted her down to the entrance to the lesser hall, where they left her alone and entered through the massive doors.

  Clara paced the width of the corridor, her heeled feet giving a muffled clack on the rug with each step as she quietly ran through her vows. Her face itched beneath the powder. She fisted her hands into her skirt, trying to ignore the sensation. Even with the distraction, the words she was to speak before the altar came freely.

  A low whistle caught her attention and she spun about to see Lucias marching up, still adjusting his jacket. She’d been too consumed with her own attire to previously notice just what he wore.

  Beneath the jacket was a dark red shirt and black waistcoat, the latter of which was so heavily embroidered with the stylised fire emblem of the Great Lord, it might as well have started off as red. His hair was tied back, although a few unruly strands were fighting their way free. A simple silver coronet bearing a single garnet adorned his brow.

  Belatedly realising her mouth had dropped open, Clara closed it with a click. Instantly biting the tip of her tongue. “S-shouldn’t you be inside?” she mumbled.

  Lucias chuckled as he stopped beside to her, fussing with the jacket collar. “Did no one tell you? Here, custom dictates that we walk to the altar together.” His dark gaze raked over her, seeming to drink in every inch. How she wished to know what thoughts sparked through his mind to have him look at her so hotly without a flicker of silvery-blue light. “As equals.”

  “Equals?” He held the power to destroy an entire kingdom, how could she possibly be considered his equal? “Us?”

  One brow arched in her direction. “Do you doubt it?” His gaze had settled on her face now, unwavering in its noncommittal appraising of her painted visage. Did he not like it? This was the first time she’d ever been this dressed up and he didn’t seem as impressed as he had a moment ago.

  Her bottom lip trembled. She wanted to bite it, but daren’t. “I’m not your equal.”

  “My dear, if you aren’t, then I don’t know who could be.” He lightly ran a finger over her jawline and frowned, concern creasing his eyes. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m nervous,” she said, fastening onto the most familiar of fears. He’d think it foolish for her to be upset over something as small as him not liking the makeup. “I’m going to get the vows wrong.”

  “Still? Come here.” He drew her into his arms, holding her tight against him even as she valiantly strained to keep from marking his clothes with the makeup. “My love, you won’t get them wrong. Even if you do, it won’t matter.”

  Clara pulled back to stare incredulously at him. “They’re the most important words I’ll ever speak.” Did they not carry the same significance to him? And what of the people she must recite the oaths before? Lucias may not care if she fumbled, but they would.

  “I can think of a few other words which would rank higher. If it bothers you to say them out there…” He entwined their fingers, holding her hands to his chest. “I, Lucias Dark, swear in the name of the Goddess that I have the right to take the maiden Clarabelle Weaver as my wife.” He leant forward until their foreheads all but touched. “This is where you say your bit.”

  Laughing, she spoke the last piece of her oath, “And I, Clarabelle Weaver, accept this man’s claim of being my husband.” The words came so easily, but it was never the final portion she was worried about.

  Lucias step back and, with a mighty flourish, bowed. “And now we are wed.”

  She bent her head. Her eyes burnt from the strain of holding back even these tears born of joy. “In the eyes of the Goddess, maybe, but not before the altar.”

  “In my heart, we already are.” He cupped her chin, tilting her head up. “To me, the priest’s talk is mere words and the altar naught but a marble slab. A ceremony, no matter how grand, won’t change how I feel for you. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d rather have a quiet little wedding in some temple, especially if it would ease your distress.”

  “You mean the kind where you gift the priest a few coins for his time and he blesses our marriage?”

  He grinned. “Precisely.”

  If only it were so simple. If only he wasn’t the Great Lord so it could be that simple. “But we can’t.” Such a wedding would not do for the ruler of a kingdom.

  “No.” Lucias tugged at the lace encircling his wrists. “Clara?” He peered at her face, seemingly attempting to pluck free the true source of her worry. “You are aware of how to make children, aren’t you? Gettie spoke with you on that?”

  Smiling, she clasped his shoulders. “I know.” There weren’t many people her age back home who weren’t vaguely aware of the mechanics. Gettie’s talk had merely given her a more in-depth awareness.

  Relief smoothed his forehead. “Good,” he mumbled.

  “Did you think you were going to have to explain the act to your newlywed wife?”

  “Briefly, yes.” A smile curved one side of his mouth, although his gaze suddenly refused to meet hers. “By the way, don’t drink too deeply of the Cup.”

  The Cup? Did he mean the Goddess’ Cup? The one richer people drank from after they exchanged vows? Many couples in Everdark wed without such ceremony, but she’d heard of its use. For a bride and groom to drink from the Cup at their wedding was meant to gift them with the Goddess’ blessing. “Why not?”

  “It’ll be spiked with tiãpe. I’ve warned them not to put it in, but I can’t be certain if they listened.”

  She nodded distractedly. “Sure.” Of course the people of Endlight would twist the ceremony by spiking the Goddess’ Cup. Tiãpe. Had she heard the word before? “What is it?” She swore it was the same word Gettie had uttered some time back, although she couldn’t recall the reference.

  Lucias ducked his head and peered up at her, his grin cocked to one side. “An aphrodisiac.”

  “They wou
ldn’t dare,” she breathed.

  “They would.”

  Her lips parted in horror. “To a virgin?”

  The snort of unrestrained humour gusted out his nose. “Clearly you haven’t heard the rumours spreading about last night.”

  She felt her face warm until she had no other choice but to look away or die of embarrassment right then and there.

  “Let’s just say no one believes you’re untouched.” He sidled closer and squeezed her hand. “Just take a sip from the Cup. You’ve my word that I shall do the same.”

  “You will?”

  He bobbed his head. “I desire to keep my wits about me tonight. It’s probably better if we wait until we’re back in the confines of home to consummate our marriage. However…” He leant closer. His breath fell hotly on her ear, sending a cool jolt down her back. “This day is something we’ll only experience the once, Goddess willing. It should be remembered without some herb clouding either of our minds.”

  The doors to the lesser hall swung open, stilling any thought of a reply.

  Sunlight streamed through a multitude of windows, flooding the room beyond in its soft, yellow-amber glow. Clara squinted, trying to make out more, giving up as her eyes watered. She blinked furiously, trying to keep herself from tearing up and smearing the makeup.

  “Well then, Miss Weaver,” Lucias said as he offered her his right arm. “Shall we?”

  Shocked, she lightly placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. She wasn’t used to being on his right side. Ever since they’d first encountered each other, he stayed left-handed in everything except sparring. “Would you not prefer to keep your sword arm free?”

  He smiled and the world seemed to melt into a soft, warm realm lit by the same rich light emanating from the lesser hall. “In this, my dear Clara, you are my sword.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  She wasn’t sure why they referred to this hall as the ‘lesser’ of the castle’s two mighty rooms. The title certainly did not allude to its opulence. Immense marble columns held up a ceiling of gilt and glass, allowing great shafts of golden light to illuminate the room and make the walls glitter.

  Dozens of people lined the space between the thick pillars and the aisle. The crowd turned in unison as Lucias escorted her into the room. The jingle of bells greeted their entrance, accompanied by the delicate notes of a harp. Clara caught the faint tap of a drum, wavering on the edge of hearing and pounding in tune to her panicking heart.

  All at once, they became the centre of the world. Her legs faltered for one brief moment. Everything whirled on without her. Only Lucias’ firm grip on her arm kept her from collapsing. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, the faint narrowing of his lips at odds with the calm facade that had taken the rest of his face.

  Clara hoped her smile appeared more confident than she felt. With luck, her face was plastered with enough makeup that her steadily heating cheeks were adequately masked. Some sword I am. A fresh loaf of bread would offer more resistance.

  “Relax,” Lucias whispered out the corner of his mouth, the words barely audible over the singing which had started up. Count Farris had apparently decided to head in the direction of extravagant when it came to preparing for the Great Lord’s wedding. “You’re halfway there.”

  She hugged his arm, her chest tightening. How she wished she could draw on his strength and have as much faith in her not messing up as he did. But whilst they were halfway to the altar, they hadn’t come close to being in the middle of the ceremony.

  At the far end of the aisle, a massive stained-glass window took up much of the wall. In the middle sat the symbol of the Great Lord, rimmed by the light pouring through the panels of green and gold. Like the flame the symbol represented, the dark red glass glowed and seemed to flicker in the afternoon sunlight.

  The rays illuminated the priest waiting upon the dais. Being in Endlight, the man’s official robes were the green and gold of the city’s ruling house. After a lifetime of seeing the men and women of Everdark’s clergy garbed in grey and pale red, it looked a little comical.

  She turned her gaze to the front row of seats where her children were, decked out in their red and black attires. They sat all prim and proper alongside some of the highest nobility in the court.

  Poppet waved as Clara glided by, the girl’s eager movements stilled by Ruby’s gently restraining touch.

  They reached the short flight of stairs leading to the dais without any further stumbling, a miracle in itself considering she’d envisioned herself breaking an ankle in the heeled footwear. The singing stopped and the music faded away until there was only the faint drumming to fill her ears.

  Or perhaps the beat truly was her heart pounding away. Was it this hot a second ago? She was going to pass out, she was certain of it.

  Fanning herself with her hand was not an option, so Clara settled on discreetly puffing. Breathe, breathe. Absorbed in her personal struggle, she barely felt the increasing pressure of Lucias’ grip on her fingers.

  The droning voice of the priest as he spoke the words which would, by the ceremony’s end, unite her and Lucias in marriage seeped into her consciousness. She caught a few words of a prayer, the familiarity soothing her. I can do this.

  At last, the priest fell silent and bowed to them in turn. “Do you both agree you are of sound mind and of an age to enter into this union?” His grey gaze settled on her as they both nodded. “And you, dear woman, do you also declare you come before the altar of your own free will?”

  Clara straightened. The fluttering in her stomach that had been with her for what seemed like forever had suddenly stopped. She knew this part. Could it be that Lucias was right and she’d no reason to worry? “This is true.”

  The priest inclined his head, the dark red light filtering through the window turning his cap an unflattering brassy shade. “Then kneel and centre your minds.”

  They followed his orders, sinking to the floor with their knees brushing the dais. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Lucias remaining quite still and seemingly calm, his gaze steadfastly locked on the carpeted step before them.

  She closed her eyes, seeking the same peaceful state. No matter how she tried, there was no possible way her mind would centre itself, not with her heart thudding so desperately. Why did the sound not echo throughout the hall? It seemed loud enough.

  The priest cleared his throat and addressed the crowd at their backs, “My good people, my lords and ladies, we are gathered here, under the blessing of the Goddess, to join this man and this woman in a binding of lifelong commitment.” He laid a gentle hand on her head. “On this most merry of days, if any man or woman does seek to declare any impediment on why these two may not be coupled, whether it be by the Goddess’ Law or those of the realm, now is the time to speak.”

  Clara held her breath, the pounding of her heart drowning out all sound. Already, sweat ran down her back. Her lips moved in silent prayer that no one would seek to stop this.

  The priest lifted his hand from her head. “Arise as one, my children, and step before the altar with the assurance that none here seek to disrupt your union.”

  She rose to her feet, aided by the subtle touch of Lucias’ magic. Was her unease so obvious? Did he think she would faint? Was she going to faint? Her head felt light enough. Goddess, please give me the strength to hold out until we’ve kissed.

  Together, they stepped onto the dais. Her gaze fell to the altar, a huge block of marble carved with intricate knotwork. Atop it, glittering in the afternoon light, sat an ornate golden chalice.

  The Goddess’ Cup.

  The priest walked to the altar, turning his back to them. “There is much which could be said about marriage,” he said, picking up the Goddess’ Cup. “Yet it is not a path which can be determined by others. As in all ways of life, it does not come without its challenges, but in facing these trials together, you can step forward knowing you are united with someone to share your burden as willingly as they partake in y
our triumphs.”

  Clara’s fingers twitched as the Goddess’ Cup was lifted above their heads. She heard the liquid within—the traditional dark red wine—slosh about. Not yet. Soon, she would be required to take hold of the chalice’s wide bowl. She could not be too eager to grasp the chalice or risk dropping it.

  “Above us lies the sky just as the earth lies below,” the priest rattled on. “Take heed in these constants and remember your hearts may be likened to the earth and are in need of nurturing, just as the soil must be tilled for each harvest. Yet, you should not let it rule you entirely, for like the sky, the mind presides over all and thoughts are ever-changing. The Goddess gifted us with this understanding so we may guide ourselves throughout all stages of life. So may the combined strength of your wills make you not as one, but as two of a whole. Possess the other as you are possessed in turn and be free in giving your affection and warmth. But above all, have patience with one another, for though the sky is ever above, it not always clear. Storms are as constant as fair weather, as is their passing.”

  She caught Lucias’ lips twitch into a gentle smile at the last sentence. His dark eyes were locked on her face. Tiny beads of sweat adorned his upper lip. The bobbing of the slight lump in his throat was more pronounced than usual. Not as calm as she first believed. And seeing his discomfort relieved some of her own nervousness.

  The priest lowered the Goddess’ Cup between them and Clara placed her hands on one side, supporting half of the chalice as Lucias did on the opposite side.

  Their fingertips touched. Within the deep bowl, the dark red wine rocked and stilled. Perfectly balanced. That was meant to be a sign of the Goddess’ approval towards their union. She hoped it was true.

  “As the wise Goddess decreed in times past, only those seeking to unite in marriage have the right to bind themselves to the other.” He nodded to Lucias. “If your wish to seek this woman as your wife is in earnest, then say so at this time and declare before all your pledge to her and may the Goddess find favour in your words.”