Chapter 23 Runaway
[Nyx]
I pushed my food around my plate, appetite diminishing with each passing minute. The conversation continued around me—discussions of seating arrangements, music selections, and the traditional ceremonial elements.
"Of course, as per tradition, Alpha Karl will walk you down the aisle and formally present you to Mr. Crowley," the coordinator explained, looking at me with professional enthusiasm. "The symbolism of the father transferring protection and responsibility to the husband is quite beautiful."
"Like handing over a parcel," I muttered under my breath.
Only Lysander, seated beside me, heard the comment. Beneath the table, his hand found mine and squeezed gently. The unexpected gesture of solidarity made my throat tighten.
"Speaking of traditions," Tristan's voice cut through my thoughts, his tone deceptively casual, "Seth and I were at Moonlight last night too, sister. You didn't notice us in the VIP section? Quite the dancer, aren't you?"
The table fell silent. Isla's expression morphed from surprise to tightly controlled fury in the span of seconds.
"You went to a nightclub? Two days before your wedding?" Her voice could have frozen the water in our crystal glasses.
Before I could formulate a response, Lysander spoke up. "Yes, Nyx mentioned she was meeting friends for a gathering. It's a pre-wedding tradition, I understand."
I turned to stare at him, stunned by the unexpected defense. He gave me a nearly imperceptible nod.
"A tradition?" Isla's voice dripped with disapproval. "It's hardly appropriate for a Verdant bride to be seen... frolicking in public venues."
"I wasn't aware my activities required your approval, Isla," I replied coolly.
My father cleared his throat. "Let's move on. Tell me, Lysander, are you prepared for tomorrow's ceremonies?"
Throughout the remainder of dinner, I couldn't help noticing Lilith's downcast eyes. She barely spoke, picking at her food and occasionally glancing at Lysander when she thought no one was watching, her expression a mixture of longing and resignation.
When dinner finally concluded, Lysander and I walked side by side back toward the west wing, our footsteps echoing on the stone path.
"You didn't have to lie for me," I said quietly.
"I wasn't lying for them," he replied, his voice equally low. "I was lying for us. This is our life, not theirs."
The simple statement hit me with unexpected force. Our life. As though we were already a unit, already something more than two strangers thrust together by circumstance.
"Thank you," I said again, the second time that day. I was saying those words to him more often lately.
He nodded, and we continued in silence, but something had shifted in the space between us—something I wasn't quite ready to name.
---
Saturday morning arrived with the inevitability of an execution. I sat before the gilded mirror in the bridal preparation room, staring at my reflection as if at a stranger. The traditional Verdant wedding gown enveloped me in layers of ivory silk and family symbols—every stitch and embellishment a reminder of the legacy I supposedly represented.
Ariel stood behind me, her nimble fingers arranging my hair into an elaborate updo adorned with pearls and tiny white flowers.
"You look beautiful, little one," she said softly, our eyes meeting in the mirror's reflection.
I didn't respond. What was there to say? Beautiful or not, I felt like a prisoner in ornate chains.
Through the window, I could hear the growing murmur of arriving guests. Time was running out, slipping away like water through my fingers.
"Your father will be here in twenty minutes to escort you," Ariel reminded me, lifting the delicate veil.
I sighed, about to respond when a sharp, urgent tapping sound came from the window. Ariel and I both turned in surprise to see Lysander crouched on the windowsill, still in his wedding suit, his face tight with determination.
"Good heavens!" Ariel gasped, hurrying to the window and pushing it open.
Lysander slipped inside with fluid grace, his movements precise and silent despite the formal attire. Remarkably, his suit remained almost pristine—only a slightly loosened cufflink betrayed his unconventional entrance.
"Mr. Crowley!" Ariel scolded in a hushed voice. "This completely violates tradition! The groom seeing the bride before the wedding is the worst possible omen!"
Lysander acknowledged Ariel with a quick nod, but his eyes were fixed on me. "I had to come."
I rose from my seat, the dress rustling around me. "Have you lost your mind? You're supposed to be waiting at the altar! Everyone is expecting—"
"I'm here to take you away," he interrupted, his voice low and urgent. "I spent all night thinking about what you said at dinner—about being handed over like a parcel. I can't let you walk down that aisle to be transferred to me like property. That's not how our story should begin."
He extended his hand toward me. "We can skip all of this. Leave now. There's a car waiting in the back garden."
I stared at him, momentarily speechless. This disciplined soldier who followed every order, who lived by rules and protocol, was now suggesting we throw tradition to the wind because of a stray comment I'd made?
"Do you realize what this would mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "My father will be furious. Isla will use this against me for years. All the political connections—"
"I don't care," Lysander replied simply, his eyes soft but determined. "I care about you, not their ceremonies, not their political alliances. Just you."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside—my father, most likely, coming to collect his daughter for the handover.
Lysander's hand remained extended between us, steady and certain. "What do you say, Nyx Verdant? Are you ready to write our own rules?"
My heart pounded in my chest as I looked from the door to his outstretched hand and back again. In his eyes, I saw something I'd never expected to find in this arranged marriage: choice.
The footsteps grew louder.
"Ariel?" I whispered, glancing at my faithful companion.
A slow smile spread across her face. "I'll tell them you needed a moment alone. That should buy you five minutes."
I took a deep breath, looked at the traditional gown that suddenly felt so suffocating, then back at Lysander's extended hand.
And I made my choice.