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The moon itself is a mere sliver tonight, casting long, twisted shadows through the gossamer curtains of the opulent chamber. I stand by the towering windows, staring at the distorted silhouettes that mimic the turmoil within me. The non-negotiable terms of this farce echo in my head.
We must sleep together on our first night.
My gaze falls on her. She's a vision, even now, with uncertainty clouding her features. It's a strange thing to be bound to someone who looks at you as if you are both a savior and a captor. The way her presence seems to be throwing me off track is going to become a problem if I don't gain control of the situation promptly. Furrowing my brow and setting my face in the hardened expression I’ve been known to wear, I turn from the windows to look at her.
I walk over to where she stands with purpose, noticing that though she is visibly shaken, she doesn’t even so much as flinch when I approach her. She is smart to present such an obedient front, but the fear behind her eyes shows through, making me consider the fortitude of her resolve. It does not matter. I need her to do this and could command her if need be, but that doesn't appear to be a problem I’ll have to face.
"Let's just get this over with," I say, my voice coming out colder than I intended. I've always been good at wearing masks, and tonight won’t be any different. The rebellious playboy, useless to his family—that's all they see. But this act... it's not for them. It's for me."
She turns to look at me, searching my face for any sign of deceit. I can assure you that my stoic facade tells nothing. My eyes hold secrets darker than the night itself.
"Can I trust your words?" her voice is barely above a whisper, but it breaks the silence like the shattering of glass.
"You have no choice," I respond, almost mechanically, detaching my gaze from hers. "But yes, you can."
Unable to help myself, I move closer, feeling the heat emanating from her body. "You are truly beautiful, you know? But beauty... it can't move my heart. Not anymore."
She pauses at my admission, though I'm unsure why it should matter. Her heart is none of my concern—just as mine is nothing to her.
"Is that supposed to comfort me?" The question escapes from her lips. Her desperation hangs in the air.
"Take it as you will." My shrug is nonchalant, yet there's a heaviness in the air between us that even dismissive gestures can't dispel.
She is speechless, and upon seeing she has nothing left to add, I grab a soft white gown off the bed and hand it to her, gesturing for her to dress herself. As much as I could enjoy seeing her naked all day, this isn't part of the deal.
She dresses silently, her breathing heavy and hurried. When she is presentable, she looks to me for directions.
“Ready?" I say, turning to face her squarely. She nods quietly. I recognize something in her actions. The decision to comply isn't born of submission but survival.
I extend a hand, and she takes it, letting me lead her toward the wedding venue downstairs. The Venue is swathed in shadows. Flickering candlelight casts an otherworldly glow upon the twisted columns that rise like the skeletons of forgotten deities.
Our footsteps echo against the stone steps, resonating with the rapid beat of my heart. This place, meant for binding souls, feels more like a tomb.
"Sir," Tommus’s voice is low, almost drowned by the solemn ambiance of the venue. His eyes take in Jasmine briefly before returning to mine, "Everything is prepared."
"Good," I reply. We move toward the dais, our procession silent except for the soft whisper of her gown against the ground. I meant it when I said she truly is a beauty. She moves stiffly and unsure of herself, but her head is held high, and so far, she is presenting herself as the obedient wife I need her to be.
I glance at Aqura, noticing his unusual composed features. There's no joy in his eyes, only a quiet resolve. He knows everything, understands everything, and stands here for me as a witness to this travesty of love. I know that he, too, feels the phantom chains of noble birthright that force us into these roles. We both hate our families with passion.
"Here we go," I tell her, shaking her from whatever thoughts were running through her mind. She takes a deep breath, a long, slow inhale of acceptance, and turns to me, nodding.
"Okay," she says politely.
This is a wedding of appearances, and after this, she owes me nothing but her continued compliance.
The ceremony begins with ancient words spoken in my elven tongue. The annoyance of the formalities consumes me, but it is all a part of my plan. I just have to power through. The weight of centuries-old traditions presses upon me as I slide into the role that makes a mockery of such tradition.
The officiant, someone with no allegiance or loyalty to my father, steps in front of us and begins.
"Karul," he intones, "Do you take this woman to be your mate, bound for life?"
"I do," I say, a small smirk itching the corners of my mouth. Jasmine looks almost as annoyed as I feel. I can't help but wonder what is going through her mind.
"And do you," the officiant turns to her, "take this man to be your mate, bound for life?"
Her voice is barely above a whisper, but she says it assertively despite it. "I do."
"Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your mate and seal your union with the homage of tradition." He nods to us and steps back. His part in this charade is finished.
