The number of guests who had arrived for the wedding feast was far less than those who had attended the Zar festival three moons earlier. Two of the Four Corners were now officially at war, and a state wedding would not be appropriate.
When Tylla heard her wedding day would be a modest affair, with only Oran political officials and their families in attendance, she was secretly relieved. After all, this was as much a political affair as signing in a new law or swearing in an officer of the court. Worse, it was a sham. But it was what she had agreed upon, and she must go through with it. She would marry Roland Davadas that evening.
As she tried to clear her mind of any concerns, she lingered in her scented bath until the water chilled. All she had to do was turn her brain off, smile, and look beautiful. Then, on the morrow, she and her bridegroom would leave the palace and ride to her new home on her groom's family estate beyond Oran's wall. Roland had mentioned he wanted to start a family right away. She would have children, and she would love them, and that would be her life.
But is that really the only way?
She cast her large brown eyes toward the open window. Beyond the fluttering silk curtains, the Pale Forest, her childhood playground, now frosted in moonlight, took on a ghostly appearance.
With a sigh far beyond her young years, she hoisted herself from the edge of the marble bath and gazed at her wet, naked body in the mirror's smoky glass. Carmelle's tender touch had nearly faded from memory.
And very soon, she thought, this body will no longer be mine, but my husband's. It will be his to paw at, to fill with his seed, and then the child will come to tear my flesh apart, to suck me dry until there's nothing left of me.
With a sudden fit of rage, she picked up a hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, shattering it. The sound of breaking glass calmed her, and when the handmaidens arrived to lace her into her gown, they silently cleaned up the pieces of glass as if they were dead rose petals and quietly replaced it with another one.
This is how things are now, Tylla silently acknowledged as she submitted to the ladies' hands braiding her hair and fiddling with her gown and its intricate trimmings. When the Oran tower chimes counted six and Tylla had been tightly laced into her gown made of white lace and stars embroidered with gold threads and peals, her mother appeared in her silk crimson gown, which was pleated in front and spreading over her round belly. She wore the royal Illymium diadem of diamonds, opals, and star-sapphires set in the finest platinum.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"My darling," she said, holding out a box with ornate gold etching. "These jewels are from Mynimium's treasury. They are three Zar's old."
Hyperia opened the box to show Tylla a tiara made from etched gold and set with iridescent pearls. It glimmered as if created by some otherworldly magic.
"I wore this on my wedding day, and now it's yours to pass onto your daughter."
Hyperia sat Tylla before the mirror and carefully set the crown onto her head. She gasped at her daughter's reflection.
"You are perfect, my darling."
Tylla forced her lips to smile, and catching her mother's gaze in the glass, she thanked her with as much sincerity as she could muster.
"And now, my precious one," Hyperia extended her hand and bid her daughter stand, "your time has come."
Tylla took her hand, and her mother led her downstairs into the wide marble hall where the entire palace staff stood in attendance.
I feel like I'm being led to my execution, Tylla thought with rising panic. Breathe, she told herself, just breathe.
They traversed the wide hallway through pools of moonlight cascading like ethereal ash from the high windows. At the foot of the grand staircase stood her father, King of Oran, in his finest gold and crimson robes with the Davadas crest. He wore the high gold crown, which showed in carved relief the story of his ancient ancestor, Corellas Davadas, transitioning from captured slave to king.
Tears welled in Tylla's eyes at the sight of her father. Hyperia handed her off to him with a kiss, and together, the family entered the grand court. Lit with flaming torches and filled with guests in their finery, the court shone like a glimmering amber jewel. The open ceiling revealed a patch of indigo sky where the constellation of Celestara, the Chained Maiden, glistened in the Heavens.
How terribly fitting, Tylla thought, casting her tear-filled gaze away from the sky and toward her waiting groom. Tall and handsome in his fine crimson and gold robes, Roland Davadas smiled nervously at her. But his brown eyes were filled with love and kindness.
I can do this, Tylla told herself. The space left in her heart now filled with courage, with faith.
With each step toward her future, she let go of the girl she was and the heart she had left behind in the Weir wilderness.
* * *
From beneath the same sky, in a sweltering swamp, Carmelle put down the hoe in her blistered hands and dropped the itchy gray cowl from her shaved head. A shrill whistle pierced the thick air, signaling the Wols labors were done for the day. It was midnight. Now, they would be allowed to eat their daily meal of thick, tasteless gruel, spend an hour at prayer on their knees, and then at last head to their hard beds for a few hours rest.
Tomorrow, the sun would rise again, and again Carmelle would drag her emaciated body to the fields to do her work. The only thing keeping her from throwing herself into the black swamp among the poisonous adders or rushing the gates of Weir to be impaled by the Lex Azarax was the hope that someday her love would return to rescue her from this daily torture. Yet each day that hope faded with the setting sun.