The emperor himself officiated. Aedan looked strikingly handsome in his family colors, with black hose, a black tunic, and a vertically divided black and white tabard emblazoned with the Dosiere crest.
Ariel looked stunning in a pure white gown and matching satin slippers with a girdle made of fine gold chain around her waist and a garland of white and yellow wildflowers in her long blonde hair. But had anyone looked very closely, they would have seen a trace of sadness on her face, about the eyes.
Women of the court whispered to one another about what a beautiful couple they made, and the men all nodded in approval of the lord high chamberlain’s making a good match. A marriage between the daughter of the minister of exchequer and the lord high chamberlain would only serve to strengthen the internal unity of the emperor’s council, and in a time of war, that was only to the good.
Gylvain and Sylvanna had both been invited to the wedding, and those few who’d heard the rumors circulating watched Sylvanna carefully, but saw no sign of anything except happiness for her comrad-in-arms as she stood next to her wizard brother. The married couple seemed very happy, and those few who mentioned it at all whispered that the rumors must have been nothing more than spurious, malicious gossip that deserved no credence.
Only Princess Laera seemed a little out of sorts. A number of the wedding guests commented upon her stiff posture, the lines of tension at the mouth, and what seemed like an uncommonly resentful look in her eyes, though she took pains to hide whatever it was that seemed to be troubling her. The theory was advanced and generally accepted that undoubtedly the wedding of the lord high chamberlain and Lady Ariel reminded her too painfully of her own thwarted wedding plans. She had, after all, once been betrothed to Arwyn of Boeruine, and that was a marriage that could obviously never take place now.
And what with the war and the awkwardness of her situation, there had been no other suitors. None that would have been acceptable to a woman of her rank, in any case. Clearly, it was impossible for her to attend the wedding without being reminded of her own plans gone awry, and that was surely the reason for her seeming discomfort.
If the wedding seemed a trifle hasty, without an adequate period of betrothal, no one thought the worse of it. There was a war on, after all, and the young couple could not afford to waste any time. It went unspoken, though clearly understood, that circumstances could easily result in Lady Ariel’s soon being a widow, and if the lord high chamberlain should fall in battle, it was important that he leave behind an heir to carry on his name and be raised to assume his duties for the future emperor. Aside from that, the word went around that Lady Ariel and Lord Aedan’s parents had often spoken of a match between their children, but it had never been officially arranged because the war, and later Lord Tieran’s death, had intervened.
The circumstances of a court wedding at a time of war also occasioned considerable talk about when the emperor would marry. It was dangerous for the empire to go without an heir when the emperor himself led his troops into battle. There was a great deal of discussion on this topic, and many young noblewomen’s names were advanced as possible candidates, in many cases by their fathers, who knew an opportunity to maneuver for political advancement when they saw one.
When the wedding was concluded, the happy couple kissed, then turned and were cheered by the assemblage, after which they invited all their guests to sup with them at the banquet tables in the hall.
The servants carried out platter after platter of roast venison and pheasant and baked fish of varying
sorts, candied hummingbirds’ wings and jellied lamb and roast boar and barrels of wine and mead.
Dancers and acrobats entertained the guests, and through it all, through the laughter and smiles, no one would have guessed the true feelings of the bride and groom.
From time to time, Aedan’s gaze would meet Sylvanna’s across the room, and he wished it could have been her seated by his side, while at the same time he felt sorrow for Ariel, his wife, who had married him knowing that he loved another. Though she smiled on the outside, inside, Ariel’s heart was breaking: she had dreamed of this day since she was a child, hoping against hope it would come to pass, but never like this. She had done it out of love for Aedan and a desire to save him, but she could not stop thinking her new husband must have felt he was trapped, and if she had not set the snare, she had at least come to collect the game.
She had not spoken with Sylvanna since the night she told her she and Aedan would marry, and why.
It had been a difficult and painful conversation, all the more so because Sylvanna had tried to make it easy on her. Ariel had not known what to expect.
She did not know Sylvanna very well. The elf did not associate with the ladies of the court, preferring the company of soldiers, and the few times they had spoken had been nothing more than a formal exchange of pleasantries. Outwardly, she had displayed no emotion when Ariel gave her the news and explained the reasons for it. There had been only a barely perceptible flicker in her eyes, but for Ariel, it had been enough. Sylvanna had listened silently while Ariel spoke, and when she was done,
she had said, “You love him, too.”
Ariel could only nod.
“So,” Sylvanna had said, with no hint of emotion in her voice, “it is well.
