Page 14 of Honeythorn
“Yes.” A brisk, cold reply, eyes turned away, as always.
“Will I keep my current rooms after the wedding?”
“No. You will be moved to the room adjacent to mine.” Raphael didn’t sound particularly happy about it. Milan was indifferent. One door or a dozen—it was all the same.
As he lay in bed that night, Milan was convinced that surely, some people must feel excited the night before their bonding. Perhaps they would be sleepless with giddiness or afloat in fantasy. Despite knowing this was true, however, Milan could barely imagine it.
All he knew was the cold ball of his body as he curled in on himself, shivering in the shadow that had been cast over his future.
CHAPTER FIVE
Milan had expected to be nervous on his wedding day, but there was only numbness.
“You look very handsome, My Lord,” Melissa said quietly. Her kind face peered from behind him as she fixed the line of his shoulders, both of them staring at his reflection in the tall mirror.
Milan couldn’t disagree. The suit was of a rich, velvet mustard, with a patterned silk shirt and a shimmering vest. The clasp at his throat boasted his house sigil—the Pryor bird—a stubbornly untraditional addition that Milan would refuse to take off even if he was told to do so. Milan would not leave himself behind in this marriage. Not if he could help it.
Melissa had looked at it with a resigned expression but only smiled at Milan in response. Maybe she understood.
“Not a lord,” Milan responded. “Not yet.”
“Almost.”
Yes, almost. A different person, almost. Even then, as he looked at himself, all the pieces seemed to be there: his round face, his large dark eyes, the way his curly hair was shorn short, his thick lips and brown skin, and the beauty spots under his right eye. But as hard as he stared, the pieces failed to make a familiar whole.
When it was finally time to go down, Melissa guided him unnecessarily to the ballroom. The rest of the house had been decorated as carefully as Milan himself. Waxy-looking flowers in marriage white were everywhere—flickering candles making light and shadows dance across stone and rich red carpets, banners in the blue colours of the House of Ledford. His own colours, of course, were absent.
Still, it was stunning.
“Here we are,” Melissa whispered as they stopped in front of two massive, wooden doors. He was glad he had insisted it be Melissa and not someone higher up, or an entourage, to guide him to that moment.
“Thank you.” With a nod, two servants pushed the doors open.
Light. Candles everywhere, flickering ominously as if by magic—there wasn’t a window open in the whole place. Milan stepped forwards, and stepped forwards, and stepped forwards again. A solitary violin played an unfamiliar song. The numbness melted in the heat of the nervousness that had started to rise. Row upon row of chairs filled with strangers flanked him. He felt his face flush under the scrutiny, but his head remained high.
Milan let out a slow breath as he finally stopped in front of Raphael. Milan had to admit that he looked good. Perhaps even one of the most handsome Alphas he had ever seen, despite his brooding expression.
A sudden, delicate moment unfolded itself just as the violin silenced. It was Milan, and it was Raphael, and it was the odd intimacy of what was about to happen. It was the knowledge that they were about to be joined, not only in the eyes of the law and the monarchy but of nature as well, once night fell and their bonding began.
The moment was broken as the officiant began to speak. The words washed over him. About care, devotion, loyalty. Love. They were sounds without meaning. With each second of the droning voice, the impulse to run, to save himself, rose. But he did not move. He would not be a coward, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
Instead of the handfasting tradition of his own land, signifying walking together through the journey of life, this land seemed to symbolise unity with a ring for each spouse. Milan’s hands, to his embarrassment, were shaking so much that he was afraid he would drop them, but he managed to slip it, without accident, onto Raphael’s finger.
That the ring was cold when Raphael did the same to him was no surprise. It was the jolt of sudden knowledge: Milan was married now.
He looked up at Raphael and could parse no expression from his features. The man was a complete stranger to him.
“And now you may kiss,” the officiant proclaimed.
Milan stared at Raphael with wide eyes and did not dare to move as the Alpha leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. Warm, unlike the rings. Soft. Milan closed his eyes.
It was done. Or, almost done.
There was still the wedding night—their bonding ritual—to come.
**********
The banquet that followed was slow and tedious. The guests were apparently a collection of nobility and business people—not a working-class person to be seen. It was no surprise then, that they were loud and uncouth, draining the wine supply at an alarming rate. Milan hoped someone had the foresight to water it down.
