She was sure that the pebble was shrinking in her palm, polished down by anxious fingers, the day too big to be soothed by such a small stone. A sigh slipped from her lips again and Rhosyn balled the precious rock in her hands, as if trying to still her nervous heart.
A palm cupped hers and she looked up into eyes that had always grounded her. Caerwyn smiled softly. It was a small slip of his mouth, but it warmed his face in a way that only joy could.
He didn't need words, neither of them did. They've communicated with looks, touches, gestures and on the occasion, by just their breathing. He knew she was apprehensive. She knew he was supportive—maybe even proud.
The carriage cluttered to a stop and he let her draw one last breath for courage.
More like a gentleman than a knight today—though maybe just to prove chivalry wasn't dead—Caerwyn stepped down and helped Rhosyn carefully down the carriage step. Her wedding dress clung to her, the heavy embroidered skirt slinking around her ankles, making taking a full step out of the question. The fabric wrapping around her, silky and sleek, and just another trial she had to navigate in a room of lords.
"My Lady," Caerwyn whispered close to her ear. "It's your wedding day, not a battlefield."
Rhosyn wrapped her arm in his, her other hand gathering the cloth of her skirt as they started up the church steps. Sometimes Caerwyn snuck into her mind, and she worried for him.
"Then why do I feel like I'm going to war?" she muttered back.
He laughed at that. A low, rumbling sound that he gifted so rarely.
"Because if you didn't see it that way, you'd probably run away from all the anxiety pooling inside you, My Lady."
Rhosyn merely rolled her eyes. Caerwyn had become oddly liberal with his words, and normally she'd enjoy it—only it was at her expense.
There was a peculiar quiet that stole through the air. Despite the whinnying of horses and the crowd of onlookers, watching a lady they hardly knew climb their local church stairs to tie her life to another.
It all felt so distant. And yet, as the doors opened, Rhosyn's hand clutched Caerwyn's arm tighter at the sight of a room of eyes fixed on her. Her breath caught. Heart stuttered. Caerwyn held her still—preventing her from shrinking—and she was thankful he did.
But it wasn't the marble pillars that rose and held the impressive coffered ceiling up, that stole Rhosyn's saturated attention. Or the intricate engraved depictions across the ancient walls, or even the encaustic tiled floor she loved.
He stood with his back to her—as was custom. A fine jacket hugged his shoulders, and she was sure she could see the slightest strain sitting there. But his ears piqued at the sound of a hundred heads turning at her entrance.
It was the man she intended to chain herself to.
Rhosyn took her first half-step, heels shattering the almost silence of the hall, and he turned at the sound. Grey winter eyes crashed into hers and her heart reacted.
The pebble clutched in one hand suddenly felt heavy, and time seemed to slow with every agonising lagging step. Caerwyn's breath released slow and deliberate. It was a signal for her to calm down—that her mask was slipping. Though she didn't know what story it told, her face felt numb to her.
Karsyn's gaze warmed, a soft smile touching his lips and a sense of complete ease that Rhosyn didn't feel.
They came to a halt a pace away, Karsyn stepping forward to take Caerwyn's place. Her knight slipped her a look that said something she lost in translation. Karsyn's hand replaced his, and soon Rhosyn and Karsyn stood side-by-side facing the altar, their marriage contract laid out nearby.
A familiar priest stood before them. "Lady Rhosyn Valewyn of Ravelocke, are you here of your own will and without impediment?" he implored in the ritual manner.
It always amused Rhosyn how hostile the line was for a couple about to marry. Now it didn't seem so foolish. He was asking for her honesty, on whether or not she truly wanted this and Karsyn's warning that this was a vow of lifelong commitment became so solid.
The hall seemed to hold its breath though the words had barely lingered more than a heartbeat. It was funny how time seemed to slow when fear was involved.
"I am," her voice cut through the church easily—good acoustics.
"And are you, Duke Leoric Karsyn of Harrowfen here of your own will and without impediment?" The priest asked and Rhosyn understood the collective breath now.
"I am," Karsyn answered clearly and easily.
"Very-well," Father Pole said softly, turning to a Deaconess Kleria who stepped forward.
With a friendly smile, Kleria wrapped the blue and silver threaded hand-binding ribbon around Rhosyn and Karsyn's hands, lacing them together like fingers linking. A daunting feeling curled in her middle, and Rhosyn couldn't train her mind away from the body pressed literally next to her.
"Now for the vows," the priest announced and nodded to Karsyn.
He turned toward her, his other hand holding something small and delicate. Rhosyn paused, realising that time wasn't going slow enough. Suddenly, everything was going fast, and she couldn't dig in her heels.
Karsyn could read her abrupt rigidness—he always could. His hand, wrapped around hers with thread and promises, squeezed gently and her gaze rose.
He was everything she wasn't. A sure gaze held her, steady breath breathing her in and a mouth set smooth.
Something small screamed in her mind, but she couldn't hear it for the way her head spun and she clung to him, if only to hold herself together.
"I, Leoric Karsyn," he began and she realised that mere seconds had passed from priest to him. "By steel and stone, by roof and road, keep you and protect you—in peace and peril—until death unbinds us."
The words were almost pretty... And they dripped from his lips with fidelity.
"With this ring, I seal it."
He leaned in like he did so many times before, but this time he didn't loom, he curled into her. His fingers presented a gold band as if asking for permission, and because she didn't wear a good enough gown to flee in, she offered her hand. He guided it along her finger, the brush of cold metal and hot fingers electrifying, and Rhosyn stilled when the ring was in place and his fingers lingered, tickling against her skin.
Then it was her turn.
She turned to Caerwyn who offered her the mantle-pin southerners offered their husbands. Just as men choose a ring for their wife-to-be, women have to choose a respectable piece of jewelry. Her fingers slipped across the fine brooch, marvelling at how quick it had been to request a pin made rather than a dress. Maybe it reflected the time that each gender took to ready themselves. Maybe it just reflected the way each viewed things relating to this sort of topic—weddings.
Rhosyn turned with the pin, a rose wrapped around a feather, to Karsyn who eyed it with open curiosity.
"I," she started, his eyes quickly returning to her and she almost faltered, "Rhosyn Valewyn, before God and the law, keep you and protect you—in fair weather and in storm—until death parts us." each word laden with lead and she felt it in her soul. "With this mantle-pin, I witness and bind it," she declared, slipping the pin into place on his mantle, his hand coming up to aid as she secured it there.
He caught her with more than just his hand as their eyes locked. A lump formed in her throat and Rhosyn was thankful she didn't have to speak anymore, for her mouth went dry.
Father Pole turned and returned with the marriage ledger, their names large and stark against the traditional contract. One by one, like they've done before, they signed their names. The parchment returned before the priest addressed the hall.
"Before God and these witnesses, you are husband and wife," he proclaimed. "Made one, under God—kiss to seal your vows."
Her core clenched, heat living in her chest and Karsyn faced her. It wasn't like they hadn't kissed before—especially with an audience. But this wasn't just any kiss. It was the first kiss since their last real kiss. Their first kiss married. The one that'll link their lives when they link lips.
His fingers brushed her cheek and it scorched her in the most pleasant way. Her breath hesitated as she stepped into him, his breath hot on her face and she leaned in. He met her half-way, their mouths curious and hearts thundering—or was that just hers.
Or maybe it was simply the gentle applause that rippled through the hall, and church came crashing back to her. They came up for air and Rhosyn had to pull away lest she be consumed.
"Their Graces, the Duke of Harrowfen and the Lady of Ravelocke!"
Movement tore through the room, a hundred shoes clapping on stone.