Chapter 2: The Wedding
Chapter 2: The Wedding
The bells of the Cathedral of Saint Asteria rang out over the capital, their solemn chimes echoing through the narrow streets and gilded spires. The city was alive with murmurs, nobles and commoners alike craning their necks for a glimpse of the procession. The marriage of Amara Rosendell and Kael Vyren was an unlikely spectacle, one that sparked both curiosity and whispers.
Inside the cathedral, Amara stood in a small, dimly lit antechamber, her reflection staring back at her from a gilded mirror. Her gown, a masterpiece of silver embroidery and flowing silk, clung to her as though it were trying to swallow her whole. The weight of the fabric mirrored the weight pressing down on her chest.
The hairdresser fussed with the veil draped over her dark locks, her fingers deftly pinning it into place. "You look stunning, my lady," the woman murmured, but Amara barely heard her. The words felt hollow, meaningless.
Outside the room, she could hear the hum of conversation. Nobles gathered like vultures, waiting to witness the union of a fallen family and a low-born knight. Amara's stomach twisted. She hadn't eaten since dawn, and now the thought of food made her nauseous.
The door opened, and her father stepped inside, his cane tapping against the stone floor. He wore a grim expression, though it was no different than the one he always seemed to wear.
"Amara," he said sharply, as if her name alone was an admonishment. "Are you ready?"
She turned to him, her hands trembling at her sides. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
He studied her for a moment, his gaze cold and assessing. "Good. Remember what I told you. Dignity, composure. You represent this family. Do not forget that."
With that, he turned and left, leaving the door ajar. Amara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm. This wasn't about her. It never had been. This was about duty, about preserving the remnants of the Rosendell name.
A knock at the door startled her, and a young page entered. "It is time, my lady."
Amara nodded, her throat too dry for words. She followed him out, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound as they walked through the stone corridors toward the main hall. The closer they got, the louder the murmurs became. When she stepped into the cathedral's grand nave, all fell silent.
---
Kael Vyren stood at the altar, his posture rigid and unyielding. The ceremonial armor he wore gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. His face was impassive, unreadable, though his mind churned with thoughts.
He had fought battles, endured grueling campaigns, and faced death more times than he could count. Yet standing here, waiting for a woman he barely knew to walk down the aisle, made his stomach twist in a way no battlefield ever had.
When Amara appeared at the far end of the aisle, the silence deepened. The nobles seated in the pews leaned forward, their eyes fixed on her. She moved with grace, her head held high, though Kael could see the tension in her shoulders. The gown was exquisite, the veil framing her face like a delicate portrait. For a moment, Kael felt a flicker of admiration. Then he pushed it aside.
She reached the altar and stopped before him, her father at her side. The baron's gaze was as hard as ever as he placed Amara's hand in Kael's. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly in his grasp. He tightened his grip, not out of affection, but as a silent reassurance.
"You may proceed," the baron said curtly, stepping back.
---
The priest began the sacred rites, his voice echoing through the cavernous cathedral. Kael barely heard the words, his focus instead on the woman before him. She kept her eyes lowered, her expression guarded. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she angry? Scared? Or had she, like him, resigned herself to this fate?
When it came time for the vows, Amara hesitated, her voice catching as she spoke the sacred words. Kael saw her throat bob as she swallowed hard, fighting to maintain her composure. When it was his turn, his response was curt, his tone flat. A few nobles whispered among themselves at the contrast between them: the trembling bride and the stoic groom.
"By the power vested in me by the gods and the crown," the priest intoned, "I declare you husband and wife."
The words landed heavily in Kael's chest. He turned to Amara, lifting her veil. Her dark eyes met his for the first time, wide and uncertain. For a fleeting moment, Kael felt something unfamiliar: guilt. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He leaned in, brushing a brief, perfunctory kiss against her lips before stepping back.
The crowd applauded politely, though Kael could sense the undercurrent of curiosity and judgment. He led Amara down the aisle, their hands barely touching. Behind them, the whispers began anew.
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The reception was a formal affair, held in a lavish banquet hall near the cathedral. Kael and Amara sat side by side at the head table, their interactions stilted and awkward. Amara nibbled at her food, avoiding his gaze, while Kael drank sparingly and kept his focus on the room.
"Congratulations," said a voice, and Kael looked up to see Lord Darius approaching. The older man wore a smug smile, his sharp eyes flicking between Kael and Amara.
"Thank you," Kael replied evenly, though he could sense the mockery in Darius's tone.
"To think," Darius continued, addressing Amara now, "that a Rosendell would marry a knight. My, how the mighty have fallen."
Amara's cheeks flushed, but she said nothing, her gaze fixed on her plate. Kael's jaw tightened, his grip on his goblet firm.
"Lord Darius," Kael said coldly, "I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to than indulging in gossip."
Darius raised an eyebrow but chuckled softly. "Of course. My apologies. Enjoy your evening."
As the nobleman walked away, Amara glanced at Kael, her lips parting as if to speak. But whatever words she had died before they could reach him. She looked away again, her hands tightening in her lap.
Kael sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he'd anticipated.
---
That night, as the festivities ended and the city's lights dimmed, Kael and Amara retired to separate quarters in the manor where they would spend the night before traveling to Kael's estate. Amara sat alone in her chamber, staring out the window at the darkened streets.
In another room, Kael leaned against the wall, a goblet of wine in his hand. He thought of the moment he'd seen Amara at the altar, the way her hand had trembled in his. For all his planning, all his cold calculations, he hadn't anticipated this: the faint but nagging feeling that he'd just made a terrible mistake.
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