THE NUPTIALS

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THE NUPTIALS

 

 

 

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Perhaps every woman feels sweat dripping down her back, wearing her mothers wedding gown from three decades and five years on her wedding day. Perhaps, as every woman walked down the aisle, she felt two things: a sense of pride, for her family– that she had endeared herself so much so that she had made an advantageous marriage to a count, and remembering that her last moments free, however free a woman could be, were fleeting.

 

The pianist pressed down on the keys. Aided by her father, who, up until this point had been relatively absent from court life, Margot-Lucilla sauntered down the aisle of the chapel. The woman– no longer a girl– realized that this ceremony was somewhat unimportant to the peers of Aaun. For a day, they will talk about how the thirty-year-old de Lewes spinster wed a man ten years her junior, how her birthing years are almost up, how she needs to produce an heir suitable for Robert. The melodies haunted the air, hanging over her like a cloud of thick gray fog.

 

And then she saw Robert, tan skin and blonde hair glistening in the dim chapel, standing at the altar. Robert, who she had known for three years prior to the wedding. Margot let a breath escape her lips, separating the thick fog of melodies away from her head. With a steady smile, Margot-Lucilla recited her vows and Robert his. The two sealed the deal with a quick kiss with scattered applause to end the ceremony.

 

Outside the chapel, a carriage, white and purple with the Haverlock sigil on the doors, awaited the newlyweds. The bride and her groom stepped into the carriage, one at a time, Margot’s eyes glued to the floor of the carriage.

 

“To new beginnings.” Spoke Robert.

 

“To new beginnings,” Margot said, the words like candy on her tongue. “To new beginnings.”