Pretense

You find it increasingly difficult to breathe, a mixture of the tight fitting gown and nerves, as you are escorted to the chapel. You are surprised at how quickly your soon-to-be met betrothed was able to disembark and prepare for the unification. You realize now that in spite of everything some subconscious part of you had been holding out that things might get delayed for at least one more day. Though you are not entirely certain what you might have accomplished with another twenty-four hours you cannot help regretting their loss. You can hear bells ringing as you approach the steps, each chime seeming to toll your inevitable anguish. Trembling slightly, you accept assistance forward as you reluctantly ascend the steep flight. Upon entering, you see the entire nave and gallery is filled with all your family, town-folk, and people you do not recognize but assume to be part of your husband-to-be's retinue.

Averting your gaze towards the ground, you focus on attempting to stay your nerves as you continue forward. Before you know it you have reached the altar and are presented forward. Stopping, you wait a few moments before taking a deep breath and **** yourself to lift your previously downcast face. You are surprised and dismayed to find you are unable to make out any distinct features as the man's face is turned away and obscured by the large upturned collar of his coat. Frowning, you only half listen as the priest begins the nuptials in your native tongue, instead tilting your head slightly as you try to catch glimpse of the stranger's face. At least he must still be fairly young as the fair colored hair you can make out beneath his tricorn hat shows no sign of graying. However, his insistence on fidgeting and continuing to look away make it impossible to pinpoint any other notable details. As far as you are concerned, he is nothing more than a hulking figure with little respect for manners. After all, it seems he could not even be concerned with changing from his sailing attire before arriving, let alone stand still and pay respect to the process.

He appears almost on edge, as though he is either impatient or waiting for something to happen, or perhaps both. Frowning further, you reply softly when it comes time for the official vows. You wonder if the man has any idea what is being said or is merely going along with the motions. Your question is answered when you are surprised to hear him respond fluently at the appropriate time. You feel a light blush creep over when you hear his deep and slightly rugged voice speak for the first time. In addition to its unexpected commanding and direct tone, it serves to prove your suspicion that he is still a man well in his prime. While that should be a relief, it only leads to further confusion on your part. You are not sure what type of young, wealthy man would be so keen on marrying an unknown, unseen, and unfortunate maiden. Certainly there must be some major fault you will be introduced to after the pretenses have faded. Your thoughts are swiftly interrupted when you hear the most prevalent portion of the vows voiced, the I-do's.

Your heart beats rapids as you are the first required to answer. Pausing, you strain as much as you are able in a last effort to try to see the man's face before ultimately being **** to reply in affirmation. Nodding inattentively, the father turns attention to the unseen man and repeats the same question.

"I do."

There is but a moment to take in the stranger's features as he finally turns to face you. You are somewhat taken aback to see he's quite unshaven, likely a result of his long journey. You should suppose it is not that large a surprise he did not take the time to shave if he did not change either. He is at least confirmably young and unprecedentedly handsome in a rugged type of way. Hazel green eyes stand out against sun-kissed skin that is much tanner than you would have assumed possible from one journey. Before you can take in any more detail, he has slipped an arm around your waist and swiftly pulls you towards him. Your subsequent gasp is stifled as he presses his lips against yours, his rough beard scraping against your delicate skin in the process. The crowd remains silent for a moment before there is a sudden outcry from the audience.

"Stop! That is not the Ambassador!"