Sky of Wind by Emily Deady

Chapter 13

Meena stood below the dais in the great hall. She wore the deep purple dress which had been made for Ian’s dance during the last silverreign. There had not been time to create a new dress for the occasion. Not that it bothered Meena. The last few days had been more than full planning a wedding in public, and planning a dangerous mission behind closed doors.

The hall around her was full of nobles, relatives, and friends from the palace and city. King Frederich shared the full extent of their political situation with their most trusted inner circle, but for the most part, the hundreds of witnesses had no idea the wedding was anything other than a love match.

From the upper balcony, a group of musicians played joyful tunes. The happy sounds flooded the room, lifting the spirits of nearly everyone present.

The usual palace guard stood in their strategically appointed positions. Each one, however, was flanked by a ‘visiting’ soldier from Chendas. The councilor himself stood on the dais next to the royal family.

Lord Gilart and two of his sons traveled through multiple nights from Allys to stand on the dais as well. As close friends of the Sirilian family, they had been informed of the situation, and gladly welcomed Sol into the family whenever the councilor was present. Even Aizel and Celesta, masked under layers of millinery and face powder, stood with the Gilart family as Sol’s sisters.

Meena was not sure if the Gilart family knew or believed in the full extent of the chaos and harmony magic users, but they were happy to participate in a plan which undermined King Gareth.

In all, the moment was exactly as Meena had imagined her wedding to be. Though in her dreams, the face of the man standing before her was always hazy. Now, it was very clear. Too clear.

Meena stared at Sol’s face as though she were a woman in love. It was not difficult, she could see every small detail of his appearance and disposition and she liked what she saw. His freshly shaved skin made him look younger, though it revealed the firmly pursed expression of his lips. This was a boy who had been forced too soon to play the part of a man. Meena wanted to place her hand on his cheek, to ease away the constant rigidity in his face and posture.

She could feel his intense gaze watching her from under hooded lids, but she flicked her eyes away, afraid he would read her thoughts if she met them.

As the music ended with a triumphant flourish, Queen Cara stepped forward to stand in front of the couple.

Meena drew her eyes back to Sol’s face. Suddenly, her hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. She wiped them on her dress, hoping no one would notice the motion.

Sol looked solemn. More than solemn, stern. Meena felt a strange flutter in her chest as she swallowed, smiling sweetly up at him to ensure at least one of them was performing this correctly.

Scanning around the side of his face, she took in his curling brown hair. He kept it shorter than most of the men she knew, less than a hand’s length long. A stray strand fell across his forehead and her chest relaxed. The unruly curl softened him, proving that he was indeed human.

Finally, when she had taken in his whole face, she brought her eyes to meet his. Her heart thumped in her chest, seemingly loud enough to be heard in her own ears. Hopefully, he could not hear it.

His intense eyes were a rocky green. Not the bright gem-like color of Aizel and Celesta’s eyes, but a mossy green, streaked with gray.

He stared back at her, hardly blinking. His gaze was direct, but guarded. He seemed to be as intensely focused on her as she was on him.

For just a moment, Meena imagined if this truly was the wedding she had always wanted. The only thing out of place was the small wrinkle between Sol’s eyebrows. Perhaps, for a moment, she could pretend it was a wrinkle of excitement and responsibility. That the man she was marrying truly wanted to marry her. That he was looking at her with eyes of love and honesty.

Meena started, coming back to the moment. Sol was not the husband she’d always dreamed of. He was a stranger.

Even if this wedding was a farce, it was likely the only wedding she’d ever have. She was a princess and the attendants believed it was real. And with the precarious future of her kingdom, it felt selfish to imagine a real wedding in the future. If she ever had the chance to marry for real, to someone who truly loved her, it would be in a small and private place, surrounded by beautiful trees and a blue sky and with no deception to mar its loveliness.

Sol still had the small wrinkle between his eyebrows. Meena wanted to reach up and gently massage it with her finger. They were in this together. She scrunched her nose at him, reminding him to relax.

His eyes lost the guarded look for a moment as he reacted to her expression, but he did not relax enough to smile.

“You may join hands,” Queen Cara whispered.

Sol lifted his hand, holding it palm up.

Meena swallowed back the overwhelming feelings of disappointment which threatened to spill out. Lifting her hand, she placed it in his.

A spark of energy ran down her arm at the contact. His hand was warm, wrapping around hers in a gentle grip. Meena squeezed firmly back.

She would not let her hand lie limply in his as if she had no part in this arrangement.

She had proposed this marriage, for the good of everyone they loved, even if not for each other.

And though her head knew it was not a real marriage, her heart couldn’t help but wish that it was.

Queen Cara lifted her own hands, placing a long yellow strip of silk around the couple’s joined hands, looping it around them multiple times.

Sol’s eyes dropped to watch her movements.

Meena did the same, but as her mother continued to wrap the full length of the silk into a beautiful weave around their hands and wrists, Meena found her eyes glancing up at Sol again.

She was struck once again at how young his face was. If she was going to marry someone, it would be someone like him. Someone who was close to her in age. Someone who took themselves seriously and cared deeply enough about those he loved to spend his life working for their good.

When she had tied the yellow ribbon closed, Queen Cara placed her hands around their joint one. She paused for a moment, as was customary, silently offering her support and well wishes for the new couple.

“May this union, beginning in companionship, grow into joy,” she whispered. Her words were vague, but also sounded like something a mother would say if her daughter truly was getting married.

With a small smile, she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Meena’s cheek.

Meena swallowed loudly. The moment was as beautiful as she’d imagined it would be, except for the hollow bloom in her stomach.

Queen Cara lifted her eyes to Sol’s for a moment, and Meena felt her mother squeeze their hands as she nodded to him.

Sol nodded in return, and Meena felt his grasp on her hand tighten.

When her mother stepped back, Meena’s father took her place. He surrounded their bound hands with his own. His eyes, crinkled softly in affection, met Meena’s.

“May this union be for the good of our peoples,” he whispered.

Blinking, he turned his gaze to Sol.

Sol inclined his head slightly in response to the intensity of the king’s gaze.

The king placed one hand on Sol’s shoulder. Leaning toward Meena, he used his other hand to softly pull her into a hug.

Meena leaned into him, twisting the upper half of her body as her hand was still bound to Sol’s. She saw her father gently shake Sol’s shoulder as he pulled her close.

Meena swallowed as her father stepped away. He was trusting them to accomplish this. He was trusting in her and in a complete stranger.

She brought her eyes back to Sol.

This time, his eyes met hers, clear and confident. His hand still gripped hers tightly inside the cocoon of ribbon.

They were in this together.

Meena smiled as an elder monk stepped forward. He carried a scroll which he opened when he stood in front of the couple.

“Do you know the words of the betrothing?” he whispered to Sol.

Sol shook his head.

“I will lead, then,” the monk responded. He whispered the first words from the scroll then paused for Sol to repeat them.

“I choose to bind myself to you,” Sol repeated slowly, his voice was low but carried strongly. “Under the eyes of the people gathered here today, I pledge my life, happiness, health, and belongings to thee. May these witnesses see that I keep my promise to thee for all time.”

Meena could feel his muscles tense through their joined hands as he spoke the last words. Words he did not intend to keep.

Meena’s own hand began to feel uncomfortably wet and hot. She hoped Sol hadn’t noticed.

“And you?” the monk whispered.

“I know the words,” Meena replied. She’d memorized the words in her ninth silverreign. Her tongue suddenly felt dry and time seemed to stop as she tried to pry it from the roof of her mouth. “I choose to bind myself to you.” Her voice was loud, but squeaked a little. She inhaled, but her lungs still felt desperate for air. She couldn’t say the words out loud and not mean them. She paused. For the purpose of our joint mission. Adding the words in her head gave her strength. “Under the eyes of the people gathered here today, I pledge my life, happiness, health, and belongings to thee.” During this time, as we work to accomplish the same goal. “May these witnesses see that I keep my promise to thee for all time.” My promise being to protect them as is my royal duty.

As soon as the words had been said, Meena felt her body relax. They’d done it.

Meena let the next several minutes wash over her in a haze. She and Sol stood in front of the dais, their hands still bound, as their guests approached and continued to offer them well wishes. Meena did her best to smile even when the older married couples leaned in to offer advice about a happy union. It all sounded the same to Meena, and she couldn’t tell if everyone was repeating the same few platitudes, or if she was just too tired to listen properly.

Sol watchedas an endless wave of guests lined up to greet them—or greet Meena, rather, since no one there actually knew him. He watched the princess laugh anew each time an older man patted her on the cheek, told her to stay young forever, and called him a lucky man. She thanked each older lady who told her the secret to lasting happiness was to laugh often together.

Lords and ladies, advisors and relatives each came forward to touch the yellow binding around their hands and whisper some quick message that got lost in the noise of the crowd.

Sol tried to remember to smile if anyone directed these well wishes at him, but after the first few, every face seemed to look the same.

Every face except for that of the raven-haired beauty standing at his side. She was too bright and happy. Untouched. He was afraid to squeeze her hand for fear she might break.

He didn’t want to watch her crumble at the first sign of hardship. She’d never known a single difficulty. And here he was, about to take her into the hands of a heartless enemy, away from the protective father and brothers who had squeezed his shoulder, slapped his back, and given him imperious looks.

His head started to throb. His plan had been so simple and straightforward, now it was more complicated than he’d ever imagined. And why had Meena not looked at him a single time since she’d spoken the words that bound them together?

Finally, the musicians started to play again as trays of mouthwatering food were brought into the room and spread out on the tables. It still took an agonizing long moment for the final members of the crowd to congratulate them before the lure of food and drink called them away.

Sol felt his shoulders sink, not in relaxation, but in exhaustion. His arm was stiff from holding his hand up and his hand was numb from not moving.

Finally, she looked up at him.

Sol turned to face her. He desperately wanted to tear his hand out of the silken prison and hide from the watching eyes of everyone in the room.

“I’ve seen some couples keep the binding on for the entire wedding feast,” Meena said, as though she had read his mind. “But I’d rather enjoy the food before our travel tonight if you don’t mind.”

Sol fumbled for the end of the yellow ribbon, pulling it loose as fast as his free hand could move. “Food is a smart decision.”

“You don’t need to look like you are trying to escape from my side,” Meena whispered, lifting her hand to help untie the ridiculously long length of silk.

“Right.” Sol slowed his frantic movements, glancing at her face.

She was focused on the ribbon, and he could not read her expression.