Chapter Fourteen:The Wedding
453 Words
The cathedral bells tolled over the city.
It was a bright day.
Or so the guests told each other.
Inside, it felt like the sun had been swallowed.
The Logans’ crest gleamed on every banner.
The Campbells’ too, twin symbols of power and wealth.
Nobles filled the pews in silks and furs, the air thick with perfume and gossip.
Look at her.
Poor girl, she’s so pale.
But she’s marrying the heir.
She’ll be set for life.
Tasia heard them all as if underwater.
Her gown was heavy with pearls and embroidery.
Her mother’s hands shook as she adjusted her veil.
“You look like a queen,” her mother whispered, eyes wet with pride.
Tasia tried to nod.
Her mouth was dry.
I don’t want this.
The music began.
The doors swung wide.
She forced herself forward, step by step.
She did not look up until she reached the altar.
Chase was waiting.
Or rather—someone who looked like Chase.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His posture slouched.
He didn’t even seem to see her.
She felt her heart drop into her stomach.
He’s drunk.
Or worse.
Beside him, his father’s face was a cold, satisfied mask.
The old man caught Tasia’s gaze for a fraction of a second.
And nodded once.
Good girl.
Do your duty.
The priest droned on.
Vows spoken.
Rings exchanged.
Chase’s hand was limp in hers, then crushingly tight, then limp again.
She felt tears threatening but bit them back so hard her jaw ached.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
A polite murmur of applause.
Coins tossed by the superstitious.
Petals fluttered like dying birds.
They turned to face the crowd.
Chase didn’t even meet her eyes.
He just swayed.
She heard the hiss of whispering guests:
Is he drunk?
Shameful.
Disgrace.
She felt heat rise in her cheeks, but not from embarrassment.
From rage.
Alexia sat in the front row, face carved from ice.
She did not clap.
She did not smile.
But her eyes were bright with cruel delight.
Enjoy it, Alexia thought.
Your triumph ends tonight.
The reception was worse.
Chase barely spoke.
Tasia tried to eat but couldn’t keep anything down.
Their first dance was wooden, silent.
Guests avoided looking at them directly.
When at last they were ushered away, the crowd cheered dutifully.
Carriage waiting.
Bags already packed.
The bridal chamber awaits.
Inside the carriage, Chase collapsed into the seat.
He wiped his face with one shaking hand.
“You’re my wife now,” he slurred.
Tasia felt something inside her break.
Yes, she thought bitterly.
I am.
She folded her hands in her lap.
Silent.
Waiting.
Outside, lightning flickered again at the city’s edge.
A storm brewing.
- Writer
