Snow Marriage

Chyristin Shrine, I0 | 700 (Score 700: counted Year 14000)

The Crown Prince of House Virelais arrived first on a steady, silver steed.

Hierodules in cloaks went forth to guide his horse but he raised a gloved hand to stop them. They stilled. He dismounted with ease, glanced them over.

"He will be tethered outside, he hates stalls."

They backed off like a wave.

He strode into the ancient building—and ancient it was. Walls of limestone, marble hieroglyphs and a spanning, stale straw floor.

A woman stood in the main hall, draped modestly in a sheer golden gown and adorned with a ceramic necklace.

Her sharp gainboro eyes darted about as her head was tilted to the ceiling.

"High Lady Kiys." Then he fell prostrate to the floor. "You are my child, there's no need to bow," came her bored reply. He stood, followed her gaze.

In the dome above them was a mural of her namesake: Kiys, goddess of Death and the Afterlife.

High Lady Kiys' lips twiched. "She looks like me."

Only thing they shared was the eyes.

The goddess was bald, drenched in blood and was as scrawny and pale as a corpse.

"Yes...you have quite the resemblance."

Finally his mother turned her head to him.

"Did you eat what I ordered the servants to bring you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes High Lady."

A beat of silence.

"And our patron's idol, did you kiss it?"

"Twice, High Lady."

"Good." She looked behind him. "The runt isn't here yet," she remarked.

He half smiled. "Doesn't runt infer weak?"

Her eyes met his, unblinking. "Do not correct me on my language, boy."

His mouth straightened and he gave a curt nod.

Right then, she saw it: a wooden carriage glittering with jewels aligned perfectly with the entrance.

"Speak of them and they shall come," she hissed, making her son look behind him.

Its paneled door slid up and out stepped a young man with skin as brown as the wood of the carriage, luscious curly hair and scarlet hooded eyes.

His attire was unlike the Crown Prince of House Virelais' suit and fur cape: a train with his House's colors; bronze and blue, silk gloves, a golden buttoned top coat and straight pants.

The hierodules surged around him and lifted his train off the ground as he walk forward, head held high and gaze focused on the High Lady and Crown Prince.

High Lady Kiys side stepped her son and waited for the prince to halt before speaking, "We are honored to have you in our presence, Şehzade Elian."

He only tilted his head in greeting.

She reached behind her and brought her son forward. "Here is Crown Prince Mathien of House Virelais." Mathien bowed with a flourish of his hand.

Elian's eyes narrowed. "Yes, the killer of Şehzade Laurent."

The High Lady was speechless, lips parted slightly. Mathien however tilted his head forward and echoed, "The killer of Şehzade Laurent."

Emotion shadowed Elian's face right when the High Lady found her voice, "This is a house of prayer, not a mere brawl pit. Banish this hostility at once."

Elian stepped back, straightened his topcoat. But there was a twitch to his wrist. Mathien wondered what that tell meant.

"Now, where are your parents, Şehzade Elian?"

"They will be here soon. I rode ahead to see who'd I'd be marrying."

"We shall wait for them in the innermost hall. Come." And the High Lady turned and walked to the double doors behind them. Mathien gestured at Elian's train. The young man simply bunched it up in his hand and walked past him. Mathien watched him, half amused, half annoyed.

She pushed open those doors to reveal a dimly lit room where members of the High Table were gathered in a semi circle before a stone idol of Jove, the primier deity.

The sun and moon on its shoulders, the Earth in its palms and clothed with lines of stars.

Elian let go of his train.

A priest emerged from a hidden door to the left and approached the center of the gathered High Table.

He looked the princes over then in a clear, deep voice said, "Shall we begin?"

"No," answered the High Lady, "We wait for the Mogul and his wife, the Princessa."

The gathered High Table exchanged looks and leaned close to murmur to each other.

Elian's wrist twitched again.

Then the doors swung open again and in breezed a woman with curls piled high and shrouded in a bright patterned gown. She had the same skin tone as her son. So did her husband, though he wore armour that glinted even in the dim lights.

Elian relaxed ever so slightly, letting out a soft exhale.

"Forgive our tardiness, the horses struggled on the terrain," the Princessa told everyone.

The High Lady replied, "We are just relieved no evil had befallen you when you were on your way."

"Indeed," agreed the Princessa.

"We can begin now, Father," the High Lady then said to the priest.

He pulled a thick book from within his alb and flipped it to the middle.

Mathien cleared his throat and held out his hand to Elian who glared at it. So he grabbed him, much to the other's shock, and pulled him to the priest.

His voice boomed in the small space, "It is not by chance that you have found each other and have chosen to bind yourselves to each other for eternity. Jove, Ruler of all things, had written it in the very fabric of time, willed it to be."

A scoff. "My brother's death was Jove's will?"

The priest looked up from the book. The Princessa shot him a pointed look and clasped her hands. Elian bowed his head and muttered, "I apologize. Continue."

The priest looked at him a beat longer then returned his gaze to the pages of the book.

"...As such, Jove blesses thee and gives ye three rights: to bear arms in the name of your union, to bear children and to be together when your last days on Earth pass. None can keep ye from them, none can claim them for themselves. It is yours."

He closed the book.