The day had dawned bright and bold - warm, as all too many days were of late, but not so uncomfortable as to postpone the impending nuptials. (Indeed, between the flinty determination of the Lady Ankh, and the ironclad will of Lord Orestes, the weather stood no chance of disrupting the planned festivities. Perhaps an act of God might have had better luck...but even then, the heads of House Tiamat and Immortalis would likely have sent such a desperate deity packing.)
The whispers of rumor had been confirmed after the ball, and news of the impending marriage of Lady Nassar and Colonel Kvothe had been spread to all corners of the kingdom. While their courtship might have been a personal, private thing, their imminent marriage was decidedly a public affair. The common folk adored the prospect of a whirlwind romance, and the nobility lauded a contract well made. The implications of such a high-profile merger echoed throughout the mainland, and the light of penitent politics cast a significant shadow.
Everything down to the finest detail had been planned with painstaking acuity.
The spot had been chosen carefully. Picturesque and private, just beyond the boundary of the castle proper - but not so remote as to impede ease of attendance. Indeed, all the notable Houses had been invited, every landed noble and ranked soldier summoned to bear witness. The invitations had been penned in costly gold ink; the parchment had been scented of exotic spices and rich vanilla. A carpet of flower petals paved the roads leading to and from the ivory altar. Sumptuous silks draped over stately archways and cradled lush, blooming centerpieces. No expense had been spared.
Kvothe himself had been polished to the exacting standards expected of a noble groom. His claws had been delicately buffed, his coat had been brushed free of tangles, and his skin had been worked with a decadent, spicy oil. His fur gleamed, his teeth glowed. He'd been pushed and primped and prodded enough that the pageantry of the morning had - nearly - served to distract him from his impending vows. A twilight wedding had been deemed best - more picturesque - but the hours of painstaking preparation leading up to the main event had only built up Kvothe's feelings of nervousness and anticipation.
It all led to this moment. If Kohl was looking down on them...would he curse their union? Would he support their tentative, burgeoning love? Death had robbed him of a voice, but Kvothe felt it echoing in the orchestra all the same.
Now standing at the altar, awaiting the swell of music that would herald Nassar's arrival, Kvothe glanced to his side, where Luciel stood in the position of his best man. The former soldier's presence had been his only solace throughout the day thus far; certainly, Orestes offered no sympathy or comfort. Kvothe's father sat at the end of the isle, a grim, fatalistic figure radiating nothing so much as smug satisfaction; only a keen eye would notice the faint trembling of the older male's granite limbs. The nascent noble rarely made such public appearances anymore - typically he conducted his business from the seclusion of the Immortalis Manse. That he was present now only underlined the importance of the imminent nuptials.
Bicolored eyes tore themselves away from Argent's monochrome features, and he focused instead on the end of the long bridal isle. Scattered with scarlet rose petals, Kvothe wondered if Nassar, too, would think it looked like blood spilled on the white tile floor.
