The Placeholder

Chapter 11

Today is my wedding, which means today I forfeit any control over my own beating heart.

A part of me feels that I am trapped in a steel cage. The other part feels replenished and more steady than I can remember ever feeling.

For someone who has had every day of my life to prepare, I don't believe that I have any right to be afraid. But I am. Fear snakes around my throat, threatening to tighten its hold. A noose that will suffocate me the moment I lose my footing.

If my wedding had been an authentic one—and not for the sake of keeping two men from killing each other and their homelands—the nervous stirrings causing a ruckus in my stomach might have been promptly diagnosed as the common symptoms of cold feet. Given my actual situation, my reality—a quite dismal affair—my condition would most likely be labeled as the natural reaction to surrender.

It won't be so bad, I drill into my skull, your life will not become a nightmare.

That may be part of the problem. Nathaniel isn't the kind of husband I had been trained to withstand. I had accounted for a cruel, nasty man. Devoid of humanity, full of greed. Someone almost as power-hungry as King Oliver had been. Someone I would have to fight tooth and nail against every time he so much as lifts a finger to harm me.  

That hadn't been the case. From what I have witnessed, Nathaniel is kind, considerate. He has already taken action to make me feel comfortable. Giving me space to process what I need to. No one else had ever allowed me that much. 

Nathaniel seems to be the kind of man that marrying could be quite pleasant. A joyous journey instead of a sufferable one.

However, Nathaniel has expressed to me a desire to advance to a proper commitment. A true, emotional bond. My guess is that he doesn't want his one and only marriage to go to waste. He's hoping I can be the kind of wife worth falling in love with.

Truthfully, I don't believe I can.

"Stop fidgeting," Harriet-Makeba advises. We stand on the top floor, out of view from the guests waiting near the bottom of the stairs.

We are waiting for the wedding music to start playing. Once it does, I will walk down-and-out into the garden in the backyard.

Cristobel had given me a bouquet of Tiger lilies to hold in front of me. She will be walking behind and holding the puffy train on my dress to prevent me from tripping. Harriet-Makeba will be by my side the entire time. It's comforting knowing I won't be completely alone through this process.

"Some of the guests downstairs are well-known citizens in town," my guard informs. "How you present yourself today will be duly noted, and the gossip will spread like wildfire."

There's a slight pressure in my head and my palms have already begun to sweat against the plastic wrapping my bouquet.

"Don't scare her, Harriet," my assistant scolds.

Beside me, Harriet-Makeba shrugs. "I'm simply telling her what is to come."

"Thank you for your guidance," I say to them both. 

Cristobel reaches for my shoulder and squeezes gently. "You look perfect. Everything is going to run smoothly. We're here for you."

I squint as I try to peer around the wall. I know it's not the smartest idea, but I would like to be clued in on what I am facing. A glimpse to better prepare myself. 

I'm not sure what my mother would say to me at this moment. She isn't here to gouge a reaction from. Even if she was, my ears would fall deaf to her complaints and opinions. I can imagine her frowning at the photos of the wedding—which will be mailed to her after. Maybe then she will regret her absence.

 "Your Highness?" Cristobel sounds confused. "I think you are supposed to stay downstairs. The wedding is about to begin."

Tanora's husband had approached while I was deep in thought. He fidgets more than I do. His eyes are shadowed and uncertain.

"I know," he begins deliberately. He moves directly in front of me. He shifts from one foot to another.

"I wanted to ask you…" he gazes at his feet for a moment, huffing under his breath as he juggles internally. "Since neither of your parents are here to walk you down the aisle, I was wondering if you would like me to temporarily fill that void?"

My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Harriet-Makeba is silently stunned. She opens her mouth to speak. Harold's eyes shift between her and I.

"I know your guard has kindly stepped in, but perhaps both of us could take you together?"

I don't have time to analyze Harold's motive. His face holds a sprinkle of sympathy. Perhaps, he only means to be nice. I decide there is no harm, and no real difference, on who takes me. It will give the guests the right idea, though. They will see for themselves that the royal family accepts me as their future Queen. 

"Yes," I smile broadly. "You may accompany my guard and I down the aisle. I would be honored to have you both by my side."

Harold gives a crinkly smile in return, taking his place on my left. We link arms.

In my peripheral vision, I see someone from the camera crew snap a candid shot of Harold in his white suit and black tie, Harriet-Makeba in dark green, and I in my blue-green wedding gown. Another shot is taken from a few steps below us. The three of us beam brightly into the camera lens. The flash dazzles me.

"Make sure that photo is sent home to my parents with the others," I call. "I don't want them to miss a moment."

"Of course, your Highness."

A snarky satisfaction smolders inside. Let them see that I no longer need them.

Deep in my soul, I ache for my mother.

A sweet melody bounces from the walls. The song is unfamiliar to me; it consists of mainly low notes and violins. I focus on the music as I regulate my hitched breathing. 

"You're up, Princess," Cristobel stage-whispers. "Take your time."

My nerves become static as I shuffle forward, taking precaution for where I place my feet. 

A sugary scent wafts in the air; it dominates my sense of smell. I want to gag.

Please, not vanilla. Anything but vanilla.

Harold keeps me steady as step by agonizing step, we decline to the main floor.

Candles illuminate crystal bowls placed on the few counters available. White and orange rose petals are scattered in a delicate path, directing my group of four down a narrow corridor. I notice for the first time that there isn't a flower girl.

Gasps and whispers float in haunting suspension. Opinionated ghosts. I can't decipher enough to grasp the gist of those opinions. 

The corridor takes us straight to the backyard after a few twists and turns. Shafts of light are blinding as we inch closer to the sun's line of fire. Harold and Harriet-Makeba lead me to an open sliding glass door. 

More guests, roughly sixty of them split into two sides, turn their heads the minute I come into view. I clench onto my two companions; my guard tightens her grip in response. 

White is the trending colour for the men today. King Ryker and Stefan wear white suits similar to Harold's. Only Nathaniel stands out in dove grey.

He really is quite handsome. Some might say I am lucky in that category. His ashen eyes are vibrant with elation and his hair gleams golden in broad daylight. A halo that helps to produce his youthful aura. He is about half a foot taller than his brother. Taller than me, but not exceedingly towering over my form. Nathaniel's smile is genuine, and takes me aback momentarily.

How can he be so joyful? Acceptance is one thing, but to be content with this arrangement is...odd.

Or maybe I am the odd one.

My mother's voice echoes in the back of my mind. Smile, look friendly. You don't want your guests to feel that you are hostile.

I muster a crooked grin and hope that it is convincing.

The guests clap as the torturous walk is now finished. Harriet-Makeba backs away with Cristobel out of sight, not wanting to take up too much space. King Ryker stays put. 

Stefan, however, glides to stand behind a podium beside his brother. My eyes narrow suspiciously as I over my fiance’s shoulder. He straightens a stack of paper and places it in front of him. He clears his throat dramatically, turning to glance at Nathaniel and I. “Are you both ready?”

“I am,” Nathaniel says, self-assured.

“Me too,” I lie convincingly.

Sky-like irises linger on my face briefly. “In that case, it is time to join hands.”

Nathaniel opens both his palms. I accept the offer and limply place my hands on top of his. Like I, his fingers are devoid of jewelry. That is soon to change for us both.

Stefan coughs again, tugging his collar weakly. Is he nervous too? And if so, then why? Is he worried that one day his own marriage will be arranged alongside his brother’s?

Perhaps, he simply has stage-fright. I can’t blame him on that, everyone is deadly silent and staring.

Stefan leans over his papers, keeping his head down as he reads.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

His speech chunters on, stretching beyond my attention span. 

Cristobel had picked a clever spot for us to stand. We are close enough to the maple trees that the branches provide us shade, but not close enough to have leaves dumped on our heads. A few stray ones feather about our feet. The guests sit directly under the sun. They cover their eyes by cupping their hands over them or wearing sunglasses. I had been warned that my layered gown may make me feel muggy and hot. The consistent current of the breeze prevents me from sweating. A few strands of my hair that had escaped from my loose, twisted braid blow into my face. 

Everytime I look at Nathaniel, he is listening intently to his brother or gazing at me. When our eyes meet, his pupils are enlarged, swallowing some of the green-grey. 

“And now, it is time to bring out the rings.”

My heart palpitates. 

The crowd seems to awaken as Stefan’s speech is now over. I steal a glimpse at the younger Prince, who looks relieved to be finished speaking. 

Cristobel strides into view, holding a black, velvet box. She opens the box and offers Nathaniel and I the two rings placed snugly inside.  

“You are supposed to put them on each other,” my assistant says in a hushed tone. “Who wants to go first?’

“I will,” I cut in. 

Neither of them react as I lift the larger silver ring meant for Nathaniel. He straightens his fingers and allows me to slide his unionizing ring on his finger. I am strangely captivated as Nathaniel takes his time with the ring destined for me. I resist a flinch as cold metal is pushed onto my own slender finger. I don’t breathe until Nathaniel has returned to his original position.

Cristobel leaves after that, wearing the short, yellow dress I had rejected yesterday. It looks much better on her than it did on me. 

Stefan fills Crisotbel’s now empty space. His grin is unnerving as he turns to address me first.

“Rhoswen Viola Boone, do you take Nathaniel Corset to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

A sizzling outcry is smothered violently in my chest. “I do.”

“Nathaniel Austin Corset, do you take Rhoswen to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

I dissociate from the proud way he says “I do.”

Stefan pauses, sneaking me a silent apology with his eyes. He no longer grins.

I hope you are happy now, Mom and Dad. I hope you are both satisfied.

The words I have dreaded hearing my whole life are finally declared, sealing the deal.

“At this time, i hereby pronounce you husband and wife.”