Loyalty and tradition


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2. The wedding

The anticipated day had dreadfully arrived. Neither person for the celebration had met each other in over a year. So when Di'novelia woke up to a girl's day, filled with spa, extravagance, shopping, preparation and the like with her female friends, the day after dawned on her.

Di'novelia had grown. A lot. In many ways. Her body was curved in an hourglass figure and more bold looking. Her chest had been filled out, no more fragile petite body. She had gained weight, but wasn't chubby as her mother, more like she could fit the model role without looking incredibly starved or extremely thin. The creamy skin that had once adorned her figure was no more, it had become tinted into a soft tan that let her silver hair and cerulean gaze stand out and display her more detailed features instead of the young childish ones she had had.

"My sweet girl, you have grown so much... Are you ready?" Her mother had sneaked up upon her while she sat in front of the mirror in the build-in wardrobe and bathroom. Novelia nodded, as her gaze fastened onto the foreign image inside the reflection. The girl that sat in front of her was gorgeous, stunning and seductive. Huge eyes with long lashes of darkness formed from the mascara displaying the still lingering innocence. They had gone with dark cosmetics in order to make her look fairly more mature, but it fit the softly curled silver locks. They had cut her hair short for the occasion, so it only dangled to her shoulders. Her lips were painted a light-red skin colour, and it made them look full and plumb. The wedding dress lifted her mature chest into view, she had frowned deeply at this and had at first refused such inquires from her mother, friends and mother in-law. But  then it had hit her. She would use this against him. Over the year, she had plotted and planned on how to make him feel miserable. She wanted revenge - even though it was not his fault, but she needed someone to blame and he was the obvious choice in her opinion. The dress itself was simple, light and silver, just as her hair. It had crystals dotted all over till her waistline, from there on it was pure silk material. It slid over her body, clinging and melting against her. The dress didn't own her, she owned the dress. On top of her head a crown was princess-like attached. It was a noble's wedding. It was as if they were royals. She had simply rolled her eyes and bit back her smart comments, that she had practiced on. Composing herself, she brightened into a wide smile, practically brimming with happiness for the occasion. She had stepped up her acting as well. To be honest, she had become more like the lady she should be, and she missed all the fun she had had with her books and small practice hours with magic. - That was something she longed B'evial would teach her. She had actually longed for him. In her dreams. In her waking hours. Lately he had been her main train of thoughts. She wanted him, but he scared her. If he was still as perfect as the last time she had seen him, she was sure she would bend to his will if he snapped his fingers. Once again she felt caged and claustrophobic. She wore high heels for the wedding. They would kill her within minutes, she knew this, but hadn't bothered practicing. Standing with the balance from her mother's steady hand, she once again looked herself over.

"Mother... I will miss you... And I am truly sorry for the pain have caused you over this year." Her mother shook her head.

"You are a good girl, my sweet child. You will do well." The pressure of those words dawned on her. It was too much, and she felt like crying.

"Oh sweetheart! Don't cry! You'll ruin your make-up." Swallowing her tears, she nodded and headed for the ceremony that awaited them.

He opened his eyes with a hangover and cursed. He had walked to the basin, and had grabbed a razor of some sort; a mechanism and he had shaved, without nicking himself even once. He had removed what little stubble he had; concentrated around his chin. He took a long bath afterwards, anointing his body with ceremonial oils and soap. Once he got out, he had dried himself.  He put on his best clothes, and he washed his mouth with his best wine. He stared at himself in the mirror, grabbing a brush he tamed his wild mane into a shape. He had let it grow long until it curled around his shoulders. He looked fresh; and clean.

He walked downstairs, spending at least an hour on himself before he nodded towards his parents. He was ready; as much as he could be. Before he went, he put on gloves over his delicate hands; the gloves were full of magic. He had spent his last year of freedom training; having gradually learning to accept his role as a husband, though not necessarily faithful. He put on his best cape and pulled it over his shoulders. He grabbed a second set of gloves; riding his gloves as well as his saddle. It would be a long ride to the ceremony. HE gritted his teeth; he felt his parents preparing as well as he moved outside and got near his mount, applying the saddle. His parents were right behind him, preparing their own methods of transportation. He looked back at the house he grew up in, closing his blue eyes; before he got on his dragonhawk, ruffling it's scaly feathers. He kicked it towards his destination. There was no tears shed, no emotional words being said. This was a chore just like anything else.

As housemaids, butlers, slaves, and what other staff that might have been ran around setting up the whole mansion - and probably her new home as well - she seemed in a daze.

"When are they coming?" Her voice was dead. She was dead. Her movements were stiff and she was in the way for the staff. Just kind of watching from the outside in.

"Straighten your back. You will wait for them patiently." It was her father. He looked great. She hated him. He hadn't protected her from the start when she had needed him the most. 'Be a good sport.' he had said to her one night she couldn't fall asleep. The comment had shaken her core. Rage had filled her and chased those pure moments with her father away. Nothing about him was appealing or fatherly. He just wanted more power. She saw this now. He was disgusting, however obeying the head of the family was worse than a crime. Straightening herself as she stood with the bouquet. Flowers such as calla lily and Carnation tangled together in a binding that resembled this ordeal.

"So when are they coming?" She was impatient.

"Soon. Stop being in the way, girl! Don't ask further questions." She blew out a ragged breath. She should have drank some wine before this.

"Can I get something to drink?"

"You will not drink until the festitives. You need to be conscious when you say 'yes'." The last sentence seemed like an order, and it made her frown. More pressure.

"Right... So I just need to wait here?"

"Yes. Until they come."

"And then we'll start?"

"Yes. Now no more questions, young lady!" She tightened her hold on the bouquet, while her arm hang loosely within the grasp of her father's. She began tapping her foot onto the floor restlessly.

If she were to stare into the distance for too long, she would hear the thumping of a gentle rain. She would hear noises from the stables, then a black haired figure, covered in thick cloaks made just for rain. His face was covered in shadow as he was hooded; to protect his gentle hair from the rain, though bits and ends stuck out from the hood regardless. Even if she couldn't see his face; there was no doubt. This was B'evial.

He had a military pose; he had grown bigger in the year of absence, due to the increase in training. He stood disciplined, and yet somewhat, he stood wild. He was the unrelenting freedom of the wind, and he tugged off his riding gloves; revealing pale, bare hands. "Father, Mother. You should lead the way." He added, as they went before him .

The pale hands disappeared as he put on his magical gloves; he gritted his teeth, running a hand through his hair as the rain seemed to have calmed down. He seemed intensely angry; he seemed intensely cold about it as well. He had his boot thumping on the ground audibly. He caught her sight if she were to be visible from the windows; he didn't seem to take his eyes off her then. He was hiding something under his cloak, behind his back. It was obviously a wedding gift for her.

A gasp escaped her. Was he staring at her? But the windows... She quickly moved slightly behind her father, feeling the need to be protected from his intense gaze. He was stronger, more than he was before. Intimidating, cold and wildly angry. It was strangely arousing, but scary as well. A prayer went over her lips in a silent plead for help. The male frame besides her was only a shell. He wouldn't protect her. There was no help. She was almost brought to tears once again.

The mansion had been decorated with dark colours for B'evial, and light colours of red and white for Di'novelia. The hallway and entrance had been turned into a formal churchlike setting, and she was waiting at the stairs, so they could walk up together to where the priest had settled his dusty old book of rituals. These weddings easily took up to two hours. A boring ordeal, but needed in their society. However it weighed up for the party afterwards. Booze would be supplied in large quantities, food that could have lasted for weeks would be brought in, but really it wouldn't be eaten either way.

Sucking up her final ounce of confidence, she looked down the make-shift aisle with as much disgust as was possible. She wanted him to hate her. Hate her enough to leave her.

B'evial essentially followed his parents to the door. He seemed colder now; there was no need for pretense. She was hers, and both of their parents had done what they wanted to do; they had achieved what they aimed for ever since the beginning. There was no sense raging against the dying of light; though B'evial seemed to be the person to forget things. He would get his revenge on everyone but her someday; somehow. He stuck to the side of the mansion with the colours, waiting for the ceremony. He remembered the instructions he was given; he remembered exactly a year ago when this was announced to him either.

His gaze was scary; piercing; he seemed like an animal that was getting more cornered every second. His muscles were tense; his teeth were gritted, there was not a hint of rest upon his face. He seemed pale, paler than before; this was evident as he pulled his hood down exposing his face.

He didn't wave or say hello to anyone; not even her parents. He wouldn't waste his time on anyone else but him and her today. He owed her at least this much; she had unwittingly become his partner in crime. He walked beside her like he was meant to, gazing not at her, but at the priest; taking a deep breath, he took her by the hand like he was meant to, giving it a gentle squeeze to let her know that his rage was not for her; it was for everyone else. He led her forward towards the priest, staring straight ahead. Perfectly focused, like a tiger chasing an unfortunate prey.

Now that she had gotten closer to him, she truly saw the beauty he wore like an armor. The touch she had longed for was not there, for he was wearing gloves. Disappointment rose like bile in her throat. Such distracting thoughts! She would not linger and long like this. Even with the attention he gave her, she felt so out of place. Once again the looking in from the outside experience occurred. Her parents bright smiles. Her in-laws nodding in approval. The priest speaking words of the Light, when truly this place was completely abandoned by such magic. Glances to her side told her exactly of her husband's emotions, even the way his muscles tensed underneath her arm let her know. He had hinted that the rage was not pointed at her, but that just made her wary. What was his intentions? Would he abandon her at the aisle? Would he murder their parents in cold blood? She did not know, for she did not know this man. And in that moment it hit her. She knew nothing of him. He knew nothing of her. But the attraction was almost electric. As the hours went in a daze, she stood stiff and looked forward into the nothingness, just waiting for her queue.

His skin soon touched her bare skin as his gloves evaporated; he seemed to have teleported away. He felt her warm hand, and he turned to her; his attitude changing. As he heard the words being performed, he found it fitting to turn and look at her. To watch his bride-to-be. He forgot about his parents, or her parents. He liked the feel of her skin, and he gritted his teeth; smiling. He was smiling, to her shock and probably even to his surprise.

He knew absolutely that he had no knowledge of her. He knew that she had no absolute knowledge of him. He thought that was okay. He knew it didn't matter. He turned to the Priest, nodding; this wasn't a hint; this was a order for him to hurry the hell up. His eyes were frightening and beautiful; they were the colour of deep sea. He realized there was no room for hesitation, beyond this point.

Although he didn't show it, he was absolutely terrified.

The priest hurried up coming to the formalities of the binding. They had all agreed that promises from their mouths wouldn't be formed, so they didn't have to repeat the priest's words, but simply answer with a yes or no. He turned to B'evial.

"Do you take Di'novelia Amnida to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and hold, in sickness and in health, in good and bad times?"

Di looked up to B'evial. She wanted to see him struggle, but she also longed for him to say the word she wanted from him.

He leant forward, whispering. "Yes." The priest heard and she heard, and there was no shivering  in his voice, no stumbling. No hesitation. In this moment, he wanted no one else to be his companion in life. "In good and bad." He turned and said, audibly, so the whole family could hear. Now his heartbeat started raging on, his vision falling back on her; his lips parted slightly. She needs to say Yes, he thought; he thought this more for the sake of his pride than anything else. If she said No, his ego would be bruised; and his heart possibly broken, though he thought that wasn't a possibility in his short-sightedness.

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