Warriors do not exist in Farren.
They are seen as barbaric, rudimentary, and unrefined compared to knights.
A knight is noble, graceful, yet striking.
Becoming one would take years of gruelling training, from sword drills, horse riding and even etiquette.
A Farren knight is a position mainly reserved for those from prestigious families since they can afford to send their children to study.
Warriors like King Magnus Theo Yarrowheath are a rarity.
While he possessed the dashing golden hair of a hero with piercing grey eyes, his lips seemed to be in a constant scowl of displeasure, like he didn’t want to be there.
Aveline didn’t want to either.
“May the heavens bless this union forevermore!” The priest’s jovial tone disturbed the princess almost as much as the man in front of her.
Her groom was a head taller than her, broad as a mountain, and even beneath the formal layers and pelts, Aveline could tell that he was muscular.
Not carefully sculpted in the name of vanity, but forged through hard labour and battles.
The priest waved his hand, which was a sign for the pair to hold hands per tradition.
When neither moved, he dared to do it himself.
He dragged King Magnus’s wrist up and almost shoved the princess’s hand into his palm.
The first touch was almost painful; like the prick of a rose’s thorn.
Aveline wanted to pull back, but the hand was stronger, and she could feel every callous and scar as King Magnus’ fingers curled around hers.
Despite the roughness, she didn’t feel any pain.
It was unpleasant at first, but the unexpected warmth slowly began to soothe her drumming heart.
Aveline realised that her fingers were trembling and the strange mixture of rough yet smooth skin was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind.
The bride glanced up at her groom again with curiosity.
Instead of the earlier scowl, his brows were drawn slightly as if he too was curious about her.
When his head tilted slightly in her direction, Aveline quickly looked away and focused on the intricate embroidery on the priest’s robes.
They were emerald, of course.
One of her father’s last acts of patriarchal duty was to insist that the wedding be in Farren.
If King Magnus wanted a bride from Farren, then he must obey their traditions.
Nobody expected him to agree.
Aveline was grateful he did.
Pretending to be Farren’s beloved princess was challenging enough without doing it in a faraway land.
What if they discovered her identity?
She’d never make it home.
No, Farren wasn’t her home anymore.
Paxmouth was.
Assuming she didn’t become murdered bride number four first.
“King Magnus Theo Yarrowheath is here to vow his forever devotion and affection to Princess Blessed Astra Farrenbone.” For such an elderly man, the priest’s voice boomed through the great hall.
This time, it was the king’s turn to steal a glance at his bride.
Something uncertain flickered in his eyes before he composed himself again.
A flash, and it was gone.
Perhaps a warrior’s greatest skill was hiding his true thoughts and feelings.
While the priest continued his spiel about unity and peace, Aveline noticed a gentle sensation against her knuckles.
It was on a scar from when she wasn’t quite so competent with a sickle in harvesting herbs.
The mark had become a reminder not to rush through things.
She looked down to see King Magnus’s thumb over it.
Her heart rattled in her ribs as she struggled to compose herself.
The only things that blemish Princess Astra’s hands are cosmetic powder and hand cream.
Someone of her status should not have a scar anywhere.
Aveline gulped.
Does he know?
She wanted the action to stop.
Wanted the man to let her go.
He didn’t.
His grip tightened when the priest laughed.
“How wonderful! We have a blushing bride today!” Aveline wished for the ridiculous gown to swallow her.
“A match made in heaven!”
The princess didn’t dare to look back at her family.
They were behind her, even when she needed them most, silently watching as she risked her life for their lies.
The kingdoms gain peace, but what do I get?
A husband who believes I’m someone else?
A wife-murdering husband with a reputation for bloodlust?
“This ring represents your eternal devotion and loyalty to each other.”
King Stellan brought the items over.
He avoided looking at the couple.
“Please.” The priest motioned for King Magnus to take the bride’s ring.
“Repeat after me.”
King Magnus adjusted his grip and cradled his bride’s hands in his own.
They looked almost ridiculous from how fair hers were compared to his battle-worn ones.
“I take thee as my beloved.” The priest started.
Aveline realised that it was the first time she’d ever heard her groom speak.
“I take thee as my beloved.” His voice was smooth despite his rugged appearance, with a comforting depth to it.
“To honour and protect until the end of time.”
Protect?
The three previous wives would disagree.
“To honour and protect until the end of time.” As he repeated after the elder, King Magnus began to slip the ring onto the princess’ hand.
Aveline was thankful that the rings were at least the right size.
Once it was secure, the groom dared to lift the hand and pressed a gentle kiss against the newly placed ring.
Aveline’s vision blurred for a second when the man sent her the tiniest smile as if he didn’t do the most audacious thing imaginable.
What does he actually want from this?
There were some cheers from the groom’s side at the action, but Aveline was frozen.
She tried to search his eyes for an answer.
He gave nothing away.
“Princess, your turn.” On her turn, Aveline moved as if she was spellbound to complete the vows.
It was something Astra made sure they practised again and again since ‘someone like you lacks the grace and poise to pass as me’.
“I take thee as my saviour.”
With the ring in her hand, she took the groom’s in her own.
As expected, his hand was heavy, but there was a gentleness to it as it covered her palm to wrist.
Aveline began to repeat after the priest.
“I take thee as my -”
Her voice was caught.
What kind of saviour could kill me?
Fearing suspicion, she tried again.
“Take thee as my – my -”
She gulped.
“Beloved.” King Magnus supplied.
Before she realised it, Aveline repeated after him.
“Take thee as my beloved.” The ring started making its way down the groom’s finger, and it felt like an eternity.
The priest cleared his throat as he continued.
“To serve and surrender until the end of time.”
Serve and surrender?
The world was spinning.
Aveline’s stomach sank.
If she repeated those words, those vows – what did my family get me into?
She licked her lips while staring at the man’s hands on top of hers.
The man she was supposed to serve and surrender- what?
Her body?
Dignity?
Life to him?
Just when Aveline’s ears filled with a rush of waves, the once-still fingers sprang to life and tenderly stroked along the veins on her wrist.
King Magnus tilted her head upwards until she met his grey eyes.
His voice was firm.
“To adore and appreciate until the end of time.”
Even the priest seemed startled at the change of vows, but the words were already spoken.
It couldn’t be taken back.
Without thinking, Aveline breathed, “To adore and appreciate…” King Magnus nodded.
“Until the end of time.” The last part was almost inaudible but just loud enough for it to be shared in the space between the two of them.
On cue, the rose petals rained down around them.
The crowd cheered, and the priest clapped his hands.
The vows were completed; the couple was finally wed.
But there was one more part left.
Time slowed as King Magnus drew closer.
His hand remained beneath her chin in a silent command to stay as he completed the nuptials.
This close, Aveline noticed the barest hint of freckles across his nose that made him look younger than his title suggested.
Across the ridge of his nose, there was the faintest scar, bringing a rugged charm to otherwise handsome features.
Any closer and their lips would meet.
The tip of his nose brushed hers in the lightest touch as she prepared for the inevitable.
But through the noise, Aveline felt the question breathe against her lips as something dangerous flashed in those grey eyes.
“You weren’t supposed to have scars.”