His Beloved

Mirabela (1 year ago)

Standing at the back of the church I can feel my hands tremble as I grasp my bouquet of lilies, primrose, and ivy tightly. The smell of incense is so intense that it causes my head to ache. Today is my wedding day, a day I worried would never come.

Most brides are happy on their wedding day, but I can’t say the same. Instead, what is supposed to be a joyous celebration of union is a somber affair. My father, the esteemed Duke of Udraelon, uncle to the current King of Enniskillen, and brother to the former arranged this whole thing. I had no say in my groom-to-be, in fact, I’ve never even met him. His reputation, however, precedes him.

Sebastian Baccara.

The son of penniless peasants, who worked his way up to become a master swordsman in the royal army. He slowly gained the king’s favor, was knighted, and was granted a title of his own, Baron of Abamore. He was gifted a large area of land over which to govern upon his return from battle. He is said to be ruthless and short-tempered, which causes me to be fearful. I do not wish to marry a man who will treat me like my father has.

As the eldest daughter of a Duke, my father would have loved for me to marry up. However, he has chosen to save those opportunities for my much prettier, younger half-sister, Rosina. Thus he found Sebastian to be a suitable enough match for his “useless” daughter.

“Must you always look so pathetic?” my father scoffs, joining me in the back of the church.

I lower my veil, trying to remain calm and not fuel his rage. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. He tightly grips my arm, forcing me around to look at him.

“I asked you a question you insolent child!” he sneers

“S-sorry father,” I mumble, eyes trained on the ground

“You should have died with your useless mother,” he huffs

He often says things such as that. He married my mother out of obligation - there was not an ounce of love between them. She died when I was 4, and so my father has always seen me as a burden he must bear. No matter how hard I try to appease him he is never satisfied with me. It has been this way my entire life. I always come up short, especially next to Rosina who is perfect in his eyes, which means I am often punished.

But he won’t hit me today, not while there are others about - he needs to keep up appearances. Which is why I’m in the finest dress I’ve ever laid eyes upon instead of the soiled, threadbare dresses I wear daily. My gown, which fits me perfectly for once, is constructed of silk and brocade in hues of gold and white. My veil is made of the finest gossamer, flowers adorn my hair which is pulled back into an elaborate hairstyle.

The ceremony begins moments later, my father guiding me down the aisle toward the altar where my groom will be waiting for me. I dare not raise my eyes, instead focusing on the aisle lining as we walk. When we reach the altar, I finally look up just as my father is handing me off to my groom. I’m not sure what I was expecting in my future husband, but Sebastian far surpasses anything my imagination could conjure up.

He’s tall, far surpassing my 5′4" frame, and broad with defined muscles that are noticeable even when covered in his wedding attire. His dark brown hair is neatly groomed, as is his dusting of facial hair, and his eyes are like two glowing green emeralds. But what surprises me most, is that when I take his hand, which is firm yet gentle, I feel a sense of peace envelope me. He certainly looks the part of the fearsome warrior, but I feel as though he’d never hurt me.

The ceremony goes by in a blur, it was like an out-of-body experience. We stand before the priest to exchange our vows and promise ourselves to one another before God and all in attendance. Sebastian slips a plain gold band onto my left ring finger and the officiant announces we are married.

The next several hours are a whirlwind. Immediately after the ceremony is the wedding dinner. Sebastian and I are seated at opposite ends of a long banquet table. I'm unsure as to why, but I had been hoping for a moment with my husband, and the desire to be near him surprised me. The meal lasts for what feels like an eternity. People make small talk all around me, boasting about this or that, but no one actively engages me. It’s fair to say that I’m a bit of a pariah, not often allowed to attend court or parties, so people tend to look right through me or stare as though I’m some sort of beast. Later on, there is some dancing, that I am not allowed to partake in, though it does look to be a lot of fun.

Soon after the dancing starts, my new husband makes his way over to me and my attendant. He relays something to my attendant then turns on his heel and exits the hall.

“Miss, we must go and prepare you for your wedding night,” my attendant, Yvette, says to me.

I nod and follow her to my chambers. Once there I undress and get into my nightgown, then I let Yvette take down and brush out my hair. This particular part of the wedding rite is one I’m not looking forward to - being intimate with my husband. "It’s in a lady’s virtue to lay perfectly still and allow her husband full control in the marriage bed. How you behave on the first night will set the tone for the rest of your marriage" my stepmother had said to me repeatedly. I want to be a good wife to Sebastian, even if he never accepts me, so I’m going to do my best to fulfill my duties.

I sit at my vanity, Yvette gently brushing through my long light brown hair, when the chamber door opens behind us. Yvette quietly scrambles to leave us alone. I watch her go in the mirror, fear gripping my chest. I listen as Sebastian’s steady footsteps come up behind me, he places his hands lightly on my shoulders, and our eyes finally meet in the mirror.

“As you know, I have to leave for the campaign in the morning. If this is not something you want, I won’t force myself on you, speak now and I will go,” Sebastian says, his voice a deep timbre that covers my skin in goosebumps.

As I struggle to form words his hands gently move to my upper arms and back to my shoulders again, eventually finding their way into my hair as he begins playing with it.

“You do speak, I heard you in church,” he states, staring at me, waiting for my reply.

I squeak in surprise when he spins me around on the small vanity stool and stoops down to meet my eyes.

“If this is not something you want, I won’t force myself on you, speak now and I will go,” he repeats.

“N-no,” I start and he drops his hands from my arms and rises to leave.