Three weeks had passed since that momentous banquet, and you were now standing before a towering mirror, all but drowning in white.
It was your mother's gown, hastily yet expertly tailored to suit you. An intricate embroidery of pearls adorned the elegant neckline. The skirt shimmered and sparkled with the barest movement, billowing around you, heavier than any you had worn before. A cloud of winking stars.
It was a gown made to make its wearer feel special, but you felt nothing.
This day and this ceremony were only a Déjà vu. A repetition. You had worn numerous other wedding dresses before. Some were just as exquisite, some were far less beautiful, some you could not recall at all, in muddled lifetimes lost to your weary memory.
But to your parents, this day was a first.
"My dear..." Countess Lurmuse wrapped you in her slender arms, careful not to ruin your veil with the tears glistening in her eyes. Her voice was charged with such emotion that it earned a sniffle from your father standing nearby.
You reciprocated the hug to the best of your ability, mindful of the delicate work your handmaidens had been doing all day.
Your poor mother had fussed over you ever since the announcement of your engagement. Three weeks was too little time for preparation, even with all the resources you had, and too sudden. You could only offer apologies for all the work your parents had to do.
When you parted, your mother cupped your cheeks, gazing so softly yet intently at your face as though to memorize it. "Oh, how lovely you are, my darling."
"Now, now," your father stepped forward and placed a pacifying hand on her shoulder. "Our daughter isn't leaving us forever. You can see her anytime you wish, my love."
He spoke as though he had not been discreetly patting his eyes over at the side a few moments ago. You smiled at the two of them. If you were to care about something on this day, it was their happiness.
"I think the ceremony is about to begin," you told them once you caught the sound of the ensemble. "We must leave."
"Yes, yes," your mother sighed, finally letting go to usher you toward the magnificent oak doors that led to the hall. More than a hundred guests were waiting behind those doors. No doubt curious to see the union of the outrageous couple.
Your parents came to flank you, nervously staring at the dark, varnished wood. You heard your father ask, murmuring his concern one last time, "Dear...are you truly sure about this?"
The doors groaned open like an answer of their own, and you shot him your most dazzling grin. "I'm happy, father."
It was no lie, though happiness was not the word you would use to describe the exhilarating emotion you were feeling. Rather, it was success, the taste of freedom.
Across the hall, another set of doors wailed open to reveal the groom in all his polished glory.
He, too, was dressed in white.
Minho's pale suit was embroidered with and etched in gold. A dozen badges and medals embellished the right front of his jacket, while a cape of intense imperial blue draped over his left shoulder. From his hip hung a ceremonial sword, its sapphire studded hilt complementing his attire. His dark hair was parted to the side, left to sweep neatly above one eye.
In his gloved hands, he held a posy of thymes dotted with soft purple blossoms. It was a custom of your kingdom. They represented courage, strength, and fortitude.
In your grasp was the counterpart that symbolized love, peace, and fidelity—a bushy branch from the myrtle tree, white flowers stark against the darkness of its leaves.
You had witnessed the unity of those two halves time and time again, a metaphor for the promises shared between a loving couple. But in a wedding such as yours, these symbols were merely a formality. Neither were true to the kind of promises you had made to each other.
You stepped onto the path lined with white roses. To your left were the arrays of seats upon which your guests sat and stared in mute anticipation. To your right, a sprawling ensemble engrossed in playing the ceremonial procession.
You walked with your parents behind you, while Minho was followed by his father, his stepmother, and his younger brother. The meeting of families was a tradition particular to the western region of your kingdom, which you both hailed from. It was yet another representation of unity.
The two of you met halfway on a raised platform, where an officiant was waiting to perform the ceremony and validate your marriage. It was only up close did you notice the taut grip Minho had on his posy.
Right. This was a first for him too.
Regardless of the nature of your partnership, you decided that you owed him a smooth, joyous celebration, at least.
When your families finished greeting each other, you took Minho's hand and turned toward the solemn-faced officiant. He was dressed in a suit the color of chestnut. Over his heart was a silver brooch depicting a leopard curled around a pen, the insignia of Valorieve's Council of Records.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he called out into the hall as the ensemble faded into silence. "We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of two families and two hearts in matrimony. By the authority of His Excellency, the Count of Valorieve, under the righteous guidance of His Majesty, the King, I will oversee and recognize this momentous ceremony."
The officiant then addressed the two of you, "Please begin to tie the knot on the matrimonial bouquet."
Two ribbons were wrapped around the end of your myrtle branch, one blue, the other golden. Around Minho's posy of thymes were fern green ribbons. They were the colors of your fiefdoms.
Minho worked wordlessly, wrapping the ribbons around your branch then letting you do the same with the ribbons you held. When you finished tying the knot, you had a single, complete bouquet, which you then placed on the velvet cushion presented before you.
"Now, place your hands over the knot," the officiant instructed. You obliged, and Minho laid his hand over yours. Even through the fine fabric of his glove, his palm was warm, so much so that you suddenly felt a chill run down your spine.
"By this blessed union, Lord Lee Minho of Valorieve and Lady Y/n of Lurmuse, do you swear to be doting, dutiful, and devoted to one another?"
"I swear," Minho vowed, and you repeated after him.
"I swear."
"By this blessed union, do you swear to protect one another, never betray one another, and always hold one another in the highest regard?"
"I swear."
"I swear."
"Then, let us commence the exchange of rings," the officiant said, carrying the velvet cushion along with the bouquet away as another, smaller pillow was brought to him by an attendant. On cue, the ensemble began playing a slow, gentle composition to accompany the nearing end of the ceremony.
Two matching rings were snugly fit into the small cushion. Minho reached first and carefully pulled out one of them. You held your left hand out for him, and he placed the ring on your finger, his touch featherlike.
You spared a moment to admire the sophisticated artistry of the jewelry. The band was made of iridescent mother-of-pearl with a base of the purest silver. It thinned in the middle, where a small diamond was placed as if seated on a throne.
For a fleeting second, you wondered if the young Lord had chosen the rings himself. If there was any thoughtfulness in those beautiful creations.
When he finished, you reached for the remaining ring. It was akin to yours, the only difference being its lack of any diamond. Minho pulled off the glove on his left swiftly, letting you slip the ring through his finger with ease.
With that, the officiant cleared his throat, once again handing you the matrimonial bouquet. "Lord Lee Minho of Valorieve and Lady Y/n of Lurmuse.
"May this union bring you joy and tranquility, safety and fulfillment. May your happiness last long, and may your sorrows abate."
He paused, before announcing loud and clear for all to hear, "I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. Blessed be your union!"
The hall erupted in applause as the ensemble rose to a crescendo. Hand in hand, you and Minho turned to face your guests. You recognized most of their faces, lords and ladies you often met at balls and banquets. Your parents were seated in the front alongside Minho's family. In-laws now, you thought, looking over the faces of those who you would be seeing much more often.
The two of you were shortly whisked away to the carriage awaiting outside the ceremonial hall. It would take you across the city in a grand procession toward Valorieve Palace, where celebrations were taking place, and where you would reside thereafter.
You gazed outside the windows of your carriage. The city of Adorance was alive with festivities. The colors of Valorieve were hung from rooftop to rooftop, flags proudly fluttering in the wind. You could hear singing in the streets, faint music in the distance, and the sound of laughter dancing in the air. Your procession tossed rose petals, candy, and coins in its wake, while citizens were waving and cheering at your carriage. It seemed that they were truly happy, as though this wedding was theirs too to celebrate.
The inside of your carriage, however, was the very opposite of the merriment happening outside. Across from you, Minho sat quietly, staring outside with an unreadable expression on his face. It was a stifling silence that even you could not bear for too long.
So, you dared to speak. "Your city is beautiful."
He snapped his head in your direction, blinking once as if unsure of what he heard. You could see him try to work out an answer.
"Yes," he finally said, leaning his head back and returning his attention to the scenery outside. You thought you saw his lips lift in a vague smile. "It is."
Nothing more was said for the rest of the ride, but the tension between you had dissipated with the celebrations unfolding around you.
• • •
Your first dance with Minho was the focus of all who were gathered at the ballroom that evening.
He was a talented dancer. There was skill in the precision and elegance of his steps, but also a certain passion that made it seem like he truly enjoyed what he was doing. He held you gingerly, a hand at your back while the other clasped yours, close enough so that the only thing you could look at was him, and the many stars reflected in his eyes.
You had danced with countless others before, in this lifetime and past lifetimes, yet none had made your mundane dance feel so spectacular. What you had practiced alone in frenzied preparation suddenly became a heart-stopping scene ripped right out of a play. As though you were spirited away to a different world in those few minutes.
When your dance ended, the revelry commenced officially. Wine, treats, and other refreshments were served around as your guests indulged in light conversation and dance. You knew that many of them were not ecstatic to be attending but could not afford to offend Count Valorieve with their absence. You hoped that the food and drinks would entertain them enough.
Seated next to you on the wedding couch, Minho watched the party unfold in disinterest. Guilt nagged at your heart at the sight. Asking him to marry you was a selfish request, and you were not so heartless as to deny that a regular person ought to enjoy such an event. Especially when he was at the center of it.
"Would you care to have the next dance?" you asked him as the ensemble reached the shrill end of their piece.
Minho's wineglass stopped short of his lips and he stared at you incredulously. "Pardon?"
"The nature of our partnership is no reason for us not to enjoy the night, do you not think so?" you prodded. Though these experiences meant little to you, you still understood their ordinary significance.
So, when he remained silent, you stood, and your dress shimmered and swelled around you like a halo. With a glance back, you gave him a kind smile. You never intended to sully the lives of others with your indifference.
"Come, let us dance."