Page 247 of Disillusioned
“It is already done,” he said hoarsely, leaning in. “You were about to give your word on paper, as I have pushed for.”
“Your brother had you on your knees with a stake at your back,” she countered.
“This is my own doing. I will never forgive myself. I—” He stopped, as if the words were physically caught. “I will not shame you before the altar, Eleanor. You mean too much to me. Your decision is your own. I will not be the one to corner you, command you, nor fight you. Whatever your decision is, I will live with it.”
Garin was right. The decision was hers—had to be hers. France was already at her gate. Once they broke through, they’d storm their way through to her. If they could not reach her, they’d go after more of her towns. Her farmers, women, and children… the most vulnerable.
Father Guillaume rattled off before them, intoning his script. The scent of frankincense and myrrh grew cloying. Lilac’s pulse, anxious and galloping, filled the air like a drumbeat.
Suddenly, Garin flinched.
“Repeat after me, Sir Albrecht,” Father Guillaume said solemnly, beginning to dictate. “I, Albrecht, by the solemn authority vested in?—”
He trailed off as Garin interjected, his expression nearly a scowl, “Vested in me as lawful proxy for His Imperial Majesty Maximilian,dotake thee, Eleanor Trécesson, to be his wedded wife, before God and this Holy Church.”
Lilac stared at him in wonder. He’d researched. He’d memorized the vows.
He continued, unflinchingly holding her gaze. “I pledge, in his name, tolovethee, to honor thee, and tocherishthee, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, so long as my life shall endure.”
Garin slowly, reverently, dipped into a low bow, and caught her left hand on the way up, just as he had the night his true identity had been revealed to her. “By this vow, he binds himself to thee in Holy Matrimony, according to the rite of our mother Church.”
Myrddin released the red box into the air, and it floated smoothly over to them. In the crowd, Lorietta shook her head as Adelaide grinned appreciatively. Marguerite was clutching at her necklace so tight she might strangle herself.
Garin opened the box and pulled out a shining gold ring—a large inlaid pearl, set between emeralds and diamonds.
Father Guillaume cleared his throat with a knowing smile at Lilac. He slowly closed the book. “Have you written your own vows, too?”
The small crowd flinched at the drum of artillery outside in rapid succession—two steady bangs, back to back. She glanced out the high windows. Just as the sky began to brighten, they’d fired the cannons.
Rupert suddenly stood and bowed, before striding quickly toward the corridor exit.
“Hey,” Henri murmured. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“He’s a vampire,” Marguerite snapped, as the door swung shut.
“So am I,” said Bastion from the empty front pew, opposite her sisters.
Lilac’s parents grew quiet.
Piper raised a steady hand, her fangs protruding. “And me.”
Henri’s ruddy face blanched.
Garin was distracted, staring down at the ring, his face expressionless as Lilac began to speak.
“Brocéliande whispered to me before I could speak the language of ourcourts. I inherited the Tongue of the Old Faith, the Arcana Lingua that binds me to Brocéliande and the creatures within her.”
Not a sound was made. Not even from her parents. Garin’s gaze had drifted from the ring to her hands, stilling there.
“Today, I take the hand of an emperor I have never touched, whose voice I have only read in decrees and never heard. By proxy, through blood, through duty, andnotdesire—I am bound to him.” She let her hardened gaze fall upon Garin, where it softened. Lilac spoke to him—through him. “I do this not for love, but for the bones of a kingdom too fragile to stand alone. For those who need a voice, my voice, to be heard.
The room was still. Silent, as her words echoed in the chamber of the chapel.
“Let it be known, I do not offer my heart, for it is no longer mine to give. What I offer you is my loyalty and my sovereignty, which will remain. I bind myself to the empire—not the man. So, let the Old Gods mark it. Let your false prophets rejoice. Let Brocéliande forever remember this day.”
With unsteady hands, Garin plucked the ring from its holder; it began floating again, and Myrddin tugged it away. He held it before her but waited expectantly. There was a ghost of a teasing chuckle there. His eyes were kind despite their shade of garnets, and his brows rose expectantly.
“With this vow,” he murmured under his breath, his dimples taking her breath away.
