Page 25 of Blackthorn

Charlotte paced the length of the chapel’s waiting room. It was not nervous energy that compelled her to be in constant motion but a need to keep warm. The room lacked a fireplace, and the bare stone walls gave the room a punishing austerity. Two uncomfortable wooden chairs and a small side table furnished the room.

She touched the spot on her chest where the compass normally rested. Having worn the item for weeks now, she felt unsettled without its comforting weight.

The locked door compounded the situation by making her feel like a trapped animal. She was cold.

She tucked her hand under her arms to warm them. She wanted to get the wedding over with. If she could just skip the ceremony and the reception dinner, and wake up tomorrow in a warm bed, that would be ideal. The waiting was intolerable.

“What is wrong with you? Why don’t I care if you die? Where is our bond?”

Lionel’s words haunted her. What if it happened again?

No. She refused to believe that such misfortune would happen twice. For several reasons. One, Draven’s condition was not a secret. Therefore, it would be impossible to spring that surprise on her in the middle of dinner. Two, he wasn’t actively trying to murder her. Probably. She sincerely hoped not. Three, no one had that kind of bad luck. Absolutely no one outside of broadsheet stories and ballads.

She just had to make it through the next few hours, and everything would be fine. Well, fine enough. This wedding was a farce. She knew that. It would not be registered, no license had been obtained, and therefore would not be considered legal. Charlotte could walk away without consequence. So why could she not settle? Why the restless pacing? A few hours and the day would be done.

Only the next few hours seemed an impossibly long amount of time. She broke it down into smaller chunks of time. Surviving without incident for fifteen minutes at a time was acceptable. Stressful, without a doubt, but acceptable. She just needed to focus her energies and not dwell on what previously went wrong. Fifteen minutes at a time.

“This is ridiculous.” Charlotte knocked politely on the door.

When she failed to get an immediate response, she banged louder. “Open this door!”

Through the door, Charlotte heard the rattling of keys and muttered curses. It opened slowly. A guard poked her head in. She had a face still soft with youth and wide eyes. Completely unintimidating, other than her impressive stature.

“They’re not ready for you, madame,” the guard said.

“Why was this door locked? Lord Draven assured me I was not a prisoner.”

“Oh, umm, I couldn’t say.”

“Could not or cannot?” Charlotte asked, pouncing on the guard’s nervous response.

“It was locked when I got here?”

The guard didn’t have the answers to satisfy Charlotte. There was no point in asking why the door had been locked. Reasons. Perfectly reasonable reasons that would humble her with their reasonableness. Instead, she asked something the guard might be able to answer. “What’s taking so long?”

“Eager, are we?” The guard chuckled.

Charlotte was not impressed. “Madame Lemoine woke me at a rudely early hour, scrubbed me like I was covered in fleas, and hurried me to this tiny room without so much as a piece of toast or a cup of tea. I am not eager. I am cold and hungry.”

The color drained from the guard’s face. “You haven’t eaten?”

“No. If Lord Draven’s arrival is not imminent, could you do something about that? A warm drink at the very least.”

“Um, yes? About the food. I can’t do anything about Lord Draven. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Charlotte agreed, giving a friendly smile. “What is your name?”

“Orianne Lavaud,” she said. Her posture went stiff. “You’re not going to complain, are you? I have no say about Lord Draven’s schedule. We’re expected to wait at our posts until he arrives. That’s just the way he is.”

“I make it a point to know the name of my friends, Orianne.”

“Oh.” Orianne visibly relaxed. “I can’t abandon my post to run to the kitchens.”

“Delegate. Send someone to do that. I won’t leave this room. You have the key, after all.” Charlotte flashed another smile.

“I guess? I mean, yes. I can do that.” Orianne scanned the hallway like she expected a supervisor to jump out of the shadows and accuse her of dereliction of duty. “Wait here.”

Charlotte thanked her and sat on an uncomfortable chair to wait. Another fifteen minutes gone. Orianne returned, this time carrying a tray of bread and cold cuts, and a mug of spiced wine, another fifteen minutes had elapsed. See? Easy. She could manage the day while avoiding disaster and not spilling a drop on her dress.

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