Saint Michael’s Cathedral, Fineberg, New Edom
It was a cool pleasant day in autumn; it was all the clouds and a strong sea breeze.
Many people were lining the boulevards to cheer on the marriage. To many people who were out waving flags and cheering, it was a marriage that was more than a festive occasion—it heralded a long awaited treaty with Ghant. On one side of the boulevard were the Royal Cavalry Guards, commanded by Lieutenant-General Zadok Hesperinus in person. They wore white tunics with crimson frogging, tall wolfskin shakos with stiff feathers at the front, dark blue trousers and riding boots.
The Cathedral, a great bronze-domed marble building was rich with statuary, the walls and ceiling frescoed, the floor a mosaic of bronze, marble, and lapis, built in imitation of architecture in Mount Angel, had clearly grown up over centuries of time. The decoration had a strong Byzantine feel, with intricate carving now worn smooth by time and figures posed in rigid, stylized ways. In such places - especially in the tunnels in the ossuaries and scriptoriums beneath - there was a sense of overpowering age, of the weight of years pressing down. Elsewhere, while the Romanesque/Byzantine aesthetic remained, the process of time could be seen preserved in stone and mosaic; pillars grew taller and more graceful, windows expanded, mosaic figures acquired depth and perspective. Domes became more common; frescoes appeared on walls and vaults. Statuary took on a classical Renaissance quality, carved with loving realism. The great limestone arches soared overhead, the floor beneath was covered in an intricate mosaic, and the whole vast space was bathed in gentle varicolored radiance from the massive stained-glass windows that made up so much of the walls. It was modeled after the archiepiscopal palace in Mount Angel and looked very much like it.
In one of the chambers the bridal party were gathered. Mara’s wedding gown looked lovely, people were saying. —modeled after a Roman palla, it flowed gently along the curves of her body, flaring as though of its own will, and up close it could be seen that delicate flower patterns were woven into the blue material. It bared her supple light olive skinned arms, her neck, showed delicate hint of cleavage at the front, the smooth line of her back behind. Her dark shining hair was piled up in an intricate tiara like crown. She had probably never looked so beautiful and elegant. She looked so much like her mother’s wedding pictures it made her want to rage and shout, but instead she simply stood looking into the mirror as Tegan, her handmaid, finished making sure she was wearing it all properly. Nearby Countess Melissa Merodach, Princess Lavinia (who looked very pale), Princess Maria Pileser, Countess Camilla, and Princess Ava Shalmaneser, all in light blue gowns, were talking quietly and happily.
Mara found it weird--she had been almost nauseated by the idea of marrying Crown Prince Heinrich of Nordkrusen (whom she had not loved or even known), had not wanted seriously to marry Maximus of Constaniana, though she had wanted to frankly date him and go to bed with him, it was ridiculous how viscerally attracted she had been, barely could control herself at the yacht party they’d met at, had loved her fling with Tom Alvarado at the WA…..no future in it but it had been really fun, she had probably liked him the best, had felt trapped by the idea of marrying Heike, even though she was intensely attracted to him and was possibly even falling in love with him, and now--she felt very much herself somehow. Perrin as usual understood her perfectly--she needed to have a range of choice about how to carry out her duty to marry, it had to be entirely the person she found acceptable. She didn’t love Michael, but she found him most acceptable indeed. Besides, the only man she truly, madly, deeply loved she could never ever marry. Ever. In fact she wouldn't even think of his name in this context.
Draped over her neck now was the necklace of coins worn by Queen Adah the Liberator, a shawl and a veil arranged attractively, with dangling embroidered tassels. For a moment a frisson of awe went through the ladies. It was not merely Mara--they were reminded at moments such as this that as queen she had the blood of the ancient leaders of the realm in her, that this was part of history.
“Nervous?” asked Princess Ava, smoothing down the veil.
“Yeah, kinda,” said Mara. “Why you got some spliff?”
Ava said, “No, but I know a guy in the Royal Guard who’s probably holding--”
“I’m kidding, I’m not going to be high at my wedding, Ava.” Mara said, pinching her cheek gently. She crossed her fingers. “Oh my gosh, girls! Let’s hope this one lasts!”
Lavinia flinched. When they had a moment to whisper, Mara said to her, “Haven’t you talked to him yet?”
“We haven’t had time--and he acted weird when I saw him briefly yesterday,” said Lavinia nervously. “I’m a wreck. I need a drink.”
“Belt up,” said Mara firmly. “Be a big girl about this. Your father, me, and Perrin will protect you. After all it’s bullshit that you might get punished but Tommy won’t. Think positive, dude.”
Lavinia fanned herself. “I’ll try…” then she put on a big smile when Marie came to report on who had arrived already. “Your grandmother’s here, she made it!” piped up the short little princess excitedly.
“Oh good, I heard that she was pretty unsteady on her feet earlier this week, it’s her blood pressure, goes wonky,” Mara said, sighing. “If only my father could have been here.” There were murmurs of sympathy, and Melisande Merodach said firmly, “Now now, no crying till after at least, you don’t want to mess up all the hard work on your face, right?”
In another chamber was the groom’s party, which consisted of Prince Michael, and his groomsmen. His best man was his older brother, Prince Martin of Dakmoor, and the other groomsmen consisted of Emperor Nathan IV of Ghant, his cousin Prince Benjamin of Dakmoor, his other cousin David Mutu and his close childhood friend, Gorka Daraskan. All of them were wearing tuxedos in the typical wedding style. The room naturally was one of tension and stress, seeing as how Nathan was stirring up shit...as usual.
“Well, here we go Mickey D...looks like you are going to be a king after all.” Nathan laughed. “And to think that it almost got called off…”
Michael sighed. “You really aren’t helping any, Nathan. I really want this to work out.”
Nathan smirked. “Even a blind man can see that she doesn’t love you...a marriage of politics, just like your father wanted. A marriage of politics and love, well that would just be too good to be true, would it not? I mean, you can’t have everything, Mickey. There has to be a tradeoff.”
Martin wasn’t in the mood. “Shut it, Nathan, seriously. Love just doesn’t happen at the drop of a hat. It takes time. I think she will come to love him eventually, I mean why wouldn’t she?”
David Mutu echoed that sentiment. “This all happened really quick, I mean, I am still trying to wrap my head around it.”
Gorka Daraskan agreed with that as well. “As long as you are a good, loyal and supportive husband, she will come to appreciate that, I think. Just be patient and prepared to work at it.”
Michael nodded. Indeed, perhaps it was the way it was for a reason. But Michael would not be deterred. He loved this woman and wanted to do right by her, satisfy her needs and live up to her expectations. That would take time. Besides, he felt more strongly about her then he did about any other woman he had been with in his life. First there was the northern girl Izena, who broke him out of his shell and made him a man. There was great passion there, but it never went anywhere, because they grew apart and she was not of noble stock. There some others in there...and then there was Arietta. She was a dumb, selfish girl, but he was always drawn to her energy. The night he had her there was alcohol involved, and she was...far too implacable to ever advance with. Then there were some other girls...then there was Allaria Belmore. Beautiful and charming with a seductive flair, but Allaria was only in it for the thrills. She shunned his additional advances because, simply put, he was not someone that would inherit anything that she could put to use. Michael was a second son, and the world does not favor second sons. Then there were some other girls...and then Lavinia Nabal. He liked her alot, the way she behaved, the way she made love, her ambition...but she was a married woman. Michael had to abandon his affections for her to pursue Mara.
And then of course there was Mara herself. A long train of one night stands, fleeting romances and failed relationships finally led to her. Mara was everything Michael ever wanted...a beautiful, intelligent, willful Queen, who could offer Michael a lifetime’s worth of challenges and the goal of attempting to win her heart. He was marrying her now, and soon he would be King...King Consort, more specifically. His goals, his dreams and aspirations were finally being realized, the ultimate achievement for a mere second son. So why then was he not satisfied with himself? Why was he left wanting more?
Michael found himself questioning one singular aspect of the whole arrangement that left him yearning. She does not love me. Why should he care? Why should he worry about that? He was going to be King! His son would be a King! His line would stretch into the very halls of time! So would he care?
Perhaps in that very moment, Michael realized, hitting him in the head like a sack of bricks. Was it truly a crown that he wanted, a throne to sit, a title to be had? Or was it the love that came with those things? Would they love me if I was a King? His father said he loved him...but did he? His father always favored Martin...and that drove Michael insane. Why does he not love me? He found himself asking that question now about his bride. Why does she not love me? Michael wanted that...he needed that. He tried so very hard to win Mara’s love and her affections, but to no avail. Michael was not a man to be dissuaded or discouraged though. He was a man who accomplished things, who planted his flag wherever he endeavored to plant it. He would not give Nathan the satisfaction of mocking him…oh no, that I will not do. Michael could never rest easy, there was always another goal to be acieved, another high-hanging fruit to be picked. Mara’s heart was it...the endgame of his ambitions. I will earn her love, and I have a lifetime to do it.
At the entrance to the cathedral, Mara’s mother, Queen Dowager Rebecca, slim, elegant, wearing a dark red flowing gown with a shawl over her lovely arms was receiving the guests as they came in, along with her father, the elderly General Prince Andreas Pahath-Moab (who had disowned his republican grandson, and still refused to speak to Perrin Pahath-Moab, insisted on being on the other side of the aisle from him) still very tall and straight and grand, though retired, wearing all his decorations and ceremonial sword, in the uniform of the Royal Dragoon Guards. As the guests came in, each was greeted in this manner.
Among the illustrious guests that walked in as part of Michael’s family was his sister, Empress Sophia, now heavy with child and in a fluffy white dress, be accompanied by her father, Malibar of Dakmoor, and Martin’s current significant other, Maria of Garza. A suprise appearance was Michael’s uncle Baldakar of Dakmoor, who smiled as he sat next to his older brother Malibar. There was also Michael’s grandmother, Isabella Orinbere, the Orinbere family, and some other kinfolk on that side of the family consisting of northern nobility. Then there was Michael’s mother’s family, the Mutus, being led by his grandparents, the venerable Lord Balthazar Mutu and Lady Annabelle Ordos, along with the Ordos family and the families of Michael’s aunts and uncles on that side.
There were a few other guests of note as well on the Ghantish side. Among these included Nathan’s mother, better known as Caroline Zuria, the Princess Dowager of Ghant, and her husband, the commoner Charles Kindaro. With them were their children, Arietta, the Emperor’s only trueborn sibling, the Princesses Alexia, Alexandra, and Amelia, and Amelia’s twin brother Charles.
More discreetly, coming in later than the others and sitting in the corner of the back, was Prince Albert of Ghant, his wife Lanea of Ziri and their son, Prince Edward.
The former royal consort smiled graciously, saying, “So pleased you could come. Thank goodness it’s a beautiful day for the wedding!”
The General bowed saying, “So honoured, please follow the ushers to your seat.”
As black robed clergy moved up and down, making arrangements, and as the musicians and choir were warming up in another room, anticipation of the ceremony began to build. Old Archbishop William Laudner was being garbed as well for the ceremony; he had had a recovery from his bout of illness and was very much ready to perform it. There was a murmur among the older members of New Edomite society as Prince Enoch Tubal-Cain and Queen Dowager Elizabeth (King Mark’s widow) helped escort in frail old Dowager Queen Anna, the consort of the deceased King Josias II, Mara’s grandfather. The rather sad old lady looked grand in her embroidered dress, shawl and hair veil, and smiled graciously and quietly to those who rose to bow deeply to her.
Trumpets sounded, and Count Merodach, the Grand Chamberlain, a slim man in white and blue court uniform, stood in the center aisle, and said, “Majesties, Highnesses, Excellencies, Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen--please take your places.”
The Archbishop in formal garments accompanied by censer carrying deacons moved up the aisle and as people got up, and through the doors Mara heard the rustling in the crowd like the faint murmur of an ocean, and the music swelled up as well, filling the chambers with the magnificent strains. Mara felt a thrill. She did not love Prince Michael, though she liked him and found him attractive. But she felt thrilled—her destiny was this, after all, and she lifted her chin, and saw tears fill Tegan’s eyes. Mara smiled. General Andreas Pahath-Moab came into the doorway and he seemed to have something wrong with his throat. His eyes welled up. “My dear…I still see you as just this tall…” Oh my GOSH Mara thought, and cut it short.
“Hello, Grandpa. Are we ready?” asked Mara, smiling at him.
He managed a nod, and she took his arm. She whispered, “Say something to Perrin today, please? For me?”
He made a grumbling noise, and she heard something like ‘traitor’. Mara whispered, “Come on, Grandpa--don’t be such a dick about it.” She knew where Perrin got his stubbornness from--it was a stubborn family.
As was customary, Michael and his party were the first to make their procession up the aisles towards the altar. Michael escorted to his position, although his mother was not able to escort him, so his grandmother, Isabella Orinbere, did so in her place. The Dowager of Dakmoor didn’t say anything, but she searched her grandson’s eyes and gave him that soft look she often did, the one that said that everything will be fine, just relax and be yourself. Martin’s groomsmen were in tow, and assumed their positions in turn.
Mara and her grandfather, with the pages holding her long white train, made their procession up the aisles. Her eyes glittered with tears of excitement, but she was moving with smooth grace, a look of rapturous delight on her face, her face in a soft smile, as before her flowers were strewn, and behind them came the bridesmaids and matrons of honour, looking lovely as well, prettily smiling and eyes shining with delight for Mara. She saw the faces of Count Thomas Lalery, of Perrin Pahath-Moab, of Prince Enoch Tubal-Cain, Queen Olivia--she had to repress an urge to scream and rush to her excitedly; the feeling was mirrored in Olivia’s shining eyes. Foreign guests, some remote, some well known to her--President De Groot, Emperor Valerian and other grand persons from around the region and the world.
Michael had to do all he could to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor when he saw Mara walking up the aisle then. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and his heart seemed to melt in his chest like a piece of milk chocolate in the heat. He couldn’t take his eyes off her...her beauty was hypnotic to him, and he never ceased smiling his pearly whites. He was going to be this woman’s husband, and in that moment he felt a great deal of emotion, for wanting to be a part of her life and to make her happy for the rest of her days. Would she let me?
As the bridal party came before the altar, the two clergy officiated over it all.
Mara realized, heart in her mouth that she was really doing this, that she was committing her life to the man standing beside her. A man she barely knew. The words seemed a blur to her. No, no one knew of any reason why they should not be joined in Holy Wedlock. Yes, she vowed to place her trust in him, richer or poorer, sickness and health, to love, honour and obey. Had she truly said those words, which flew around the cathedral like startled pigeons? The cloth draped over their hands, her hand in his, holding it for the first time. She felt dizzy, she looked up into his weird Ghantish Dakmoorian eyes. Her own became blinded with tears.
Michael said the “I do” to all the questions and without any hesitation, never once looking away from Mara’s eyes. It was such an odd feeling, for Michael spent his whole life being the master of the heartstrings of women throughout Ghant, and yet this woman here, his bride, was reducing him to a tender, vulnerable man of great emotion...just like he had been when he was a younger man, before all the women came along. When it came time to kiss, Michael wanted to do so lovingly and tenderly. That was what he went for when the time came for it, the perfect wedding kiss. Hopefully she thinks the same way about it.
The kiss, feeling unsettlingly intimate in this public setting, Edomites kissed sometimes as parts of religious ceremonies, she had only ever kissed one man in public before, other occasions being entirely private, she felt not so much desire as deep tenderness, her generous heart opening to him she looked up briefly into his eyes one more time (every time she looked at him he was staring into her eyes like a man dazed or something, it was a bit unnerving at times) before they turned to the applauding audience, and she smiled for them, walking down towards the lectern by the altar and waited till Michael had signed, then signed beside him, and then Count Lalery as one witness, then Malibar of Dakmoor as another witness, and the thing was done. She was married to Prince Michael of Dakmoor. And was walking down the aisle, seeing congratulatory faces, her mother proud of her at last, and then heard the deep ringing voice of General Hesperinus shout, “Draw!” and swords flashed in the sun to form an arch…
And so it came to be in that moment, as the final words were said and the last deeds done, that Prince Michael of Dakmoor had come to be the husband of Queen Mara of New Edom. Sophia, Isabella, Annabelle and all the other women on Michael’s side were in tears...even Malibar looked to be watery eyed, the first time Michael had seem him in such a state since Michael’s mother had died two years prior. While they all cried tears of joy and elation, Michael felt an overwhelming sense of joy. For Michael approached the altar in that cathedral as a Prince of Dakmoor. Now he was leaving it as King of New Edom. Now it is time to become King of Mara’s Heart, Michael thought as he walked back down the aisle with his beautiful new wife in locked arms.
