Chapter Fifty Four: Objection

Carnen resented most bitterly taking Clara’s advice this day and not wearing a full set of armor to his wedding. He was nearly stabbed through the heart the second he stepped out of that armored carriage in nothing but a flimsy silk shirt and embroidered jacket. He at least had his sword at the ready though, drawn out from under his seat the moment those first gunshots echoed through the streets. His father had most rightfully seized this city over four months past, but no matter the strength of Yuri’s hold or the legitimacy of his claim, these damn rebels still refused to keep the peace. And they hated the warlord’s last surviving son just as much as they did Yuri.

“I though this marriage was supposed to calm them, Clara,” he muttered beneath his breath, as he shouldered his way in through the chapel doors with a comatose Charlotte lying cradled in his arms.

The queen was nowhere near enough to hear his angry griping however. She was stood by her seat right at the end of the aisle in that eye-catching crimson dress. He was shocked his father had permitted her to wear such a flattering, attention grabbing garment. Then again, he supposed Clara stood out in a room no matter what she might be wearing. This dress was quite modest after all. It had no corset, and it hung loose enough beneath her breasts that it showed nothing of her rounding stomach. Still, Carnen found the lace right up to her chin did nothing to conceal the curves of that perfect, ample chest. If his father caught sight of his son even looking at that for an instant, he was going to kill him.

His eyes darted instantly to the armored northman at Clara’s side, but that was not Yuri. It was just one of their regular soldiers. Yuri was nowhere to be seen in fact, and that alarming development only deepened Carnen’s dread.

The lords of Stalis crammed into every row of benches in this chapel were all already on their feet, milling about in panic and murmuring questions about the commotion outside, and Clara was giving Carnen a most clear and pointed look that he take action to calm them.

“Take your seats!” Carnen ordered, striding inside. The chapel doors boomed shut the second he was clear. His men would keep most vigilant watch outside, and no one would be allowed to leave this church, until the ceremony was concluded and Charlotte Marseir was bound to him alone. “This wedding will proceed…” Even with his father absent? And his bride unconscious? And the people rioting right outside…

The questions were already pouring in, as the nearest lords looked uneasily to the prince’s carried-in bride. “What happened?”

“What’s happening?”

“Open those doors right this--!”

The demands ran over one another in a chaos of angry noise, until Carnen raised his sword and the men flinched back in fear.

Charlotte’s eyes were fluttering open now, and Carnen looked to her in tender prompt. “You fainted, my love, when those awful agents of your father fired bullets at your head. Do you remember?”

Charlotte flushed, stammering. “I… I… Sorry.”

It was good enough that she did not refute his statement. The lords were taking in this news with wide eyes and expressions of outrage over the horrid behavior of Etienne Marseir.

“My foul cousin will set fire to this entire church rather than see his daughter married to the man she loves!” Clara most passionately declared. “My step son’s men shall stand guard over us this day however, and keep us safe from all such petty attacks. Those who fired upon his bride have already been dealt with, I am sure.”

“That pathetically small band of rebels has been executed for their treason,” Carnen took up the narrative, setting down Charlotte on the long carpet that had been rolled out for her to walk up in her bridal procession.

“So take your seats, and we will see this ceremony completed with the proper respect and reverence,” Clara declared, starting right toward the chapel doors. “I shall go outside myself and quiet the concerns of our citizens…” Carnen caught her arm, giving a clear stare of warning that she would do no such thing. “Right after the ceremony,” she amended, turning her eyes to Charlotte. “Now, you just wait back here, Charlotte, and do your proper walk up to the altar once the music starts.”

The girl gave a self conscious smoothing of her gown and a nervous nod, but Carnen was not at all in agreement with his aunt. “We should withdraw back to the castle--”

“No,” Clara silenced him. Remarkably, she could speak without ever moving her mouth, keeping a tightly framed smile as she voiced that fiercest order.

Carnen lowered his voice appropriately as she led him up toward the altar. “It is not enough that the soldiers are dead. The citizens themselves joined in attacking me. This city is going to riot, so now is not the time for a drawn out wedding ceremony!”

“Indeed not. The bishop shall speak a much abbreviated version of vows and rings and nothing else,” Clara offered, with eyes straight ahead and smile never faltering.

“Are you not worried for your king?” he hissed. “Where is he? Why isn’t he here--?”

“He is not here, because he is selfish,” Clara supplied, and Carnen fell silent in shock at the criticism. “He was sleeping after an exhausting night and morning, as I earlier told you, and he ordered the servants not disturb him. As a result, he has most clearly overslept, safe back in our castle. That is fortunate for us however, because I can calm my people far better on my own without him here anyhow,” she concluded. “Still, the lords will be agitated if I leave this church now, you have a point with that, so we must show them how happy and willing their Lady Charlotte is to wed you. Then in a great bout of cheering, I will go forth to address our populace with you and the girl they slander as our prisoner stood there at my back as freshly minted man and wife.”

“Charlotte was smiling and waving when they shot at us,” Carnen gave his last protest. “They do not care how willing she is. They do not want this wedding to happen.” And neither did he. He would take almost any excuse at this point, because nothing would calm this horrid little nation packed to the brink with disguised ambushers and poisoners. Really, he just wanted to go home, run away back north.

He should pack his bags this very night, defy his father, and sail home.

Clara gave his hand a forceful squeeze. “Everyone gets wedding day jitters, Carnen. Do you not think Charlotte pretty?”

“Of course she is pretty.”

“Well then, you shall feel better once you have her in your bed this night.” He flushed. “And if she still does not satisfy…” Her voice lowered all the further, tickling in wicked whisper by his ear as she pretended to adjust his collar. “Come to my bedroom, and I will instruct you how to make it better.”

He stiffened, eyes darting to her in uneasy confusion. “What are you saying?”

“Shh. We’ve no more time for this now. Remember your smile.” She patted his arm and left to take her seat in the first row of pews.

Carnen forced an eager grin, fixing his eyes on Charlotte as she accepted a bouquet of blessed lilies from one of the lower tier priests. The music started up from the stringed quartet on the stage at the side of the church, and Charlotte’s own smile most certainly did not seem forced, as she clutched tight her flowers, stared fixedly at her groom, and started the long walk up the aisle to join him at the altar.

As that refrain of mandolin and bass echoed out through this chamber though, all Carnen could think was that these nervous musicians performed with zero artistry.

Aya would have played this song far more beautifully.

Aya would have worn that white wedding dress of Clara’s with a hundred knives and needles hidden throughout its folds, and it would have been a thrill to search them out the second he took her to the marriage bed.

Aya looked exactly the same as Charlotte, according to everyone who saw them. Everyone save Carnen, who could not help but fixate on their every difference in appearance and character alike.

He really would spend this entire wedding night thinking of his assassin, just as Charlotte had earlier accused. His smile appeared genuine to his bride now, solely because he was putting himself in a heady reality of Aya walking up that aisle in her arsenal of a wedding dress. Coming to kill him. Then losing her nerve, declaring she loved him too much to bear the thought of him gone from her life.

Those infuriatingly arousing memories poured into his tone, as the priest finished his brief speech, and Carnen spoke the expected answer, “Yes. I Carnen Gristhm do take you, Charlotte Marseir,” He would take his Charlotte, the Charlotte he’d dreamed about in the rose gardens, the Charlotte he’d wrestled to the ground and lain with in the night… “I take you as my wife.”

Charlotte eyes were glittering with tears, tears of joy Carnen presumed, for women often cried at these events. She took a shaky breath in and summoned her response, “And I… I cannot take you. Sorry--”

All anticipation vanished from his gaze, and he told the priest flatly. “The lady misspoke. Ask her again, and she will answer correctly.”

“I… I want to,” Charlotte gasped, far too quietly for their audience to overhear her, just like her last timid rejection. “But… I can’t.”

Carnen grabbed her by the jaw, and the Stalis lords leapt to their feet in outrage. “If I can force myself to marry you, damn it, then you can most easily wed me! Now say the-!”

A weight dropped down from the rafters and right onto his back, knocking him face first to the stones as a cord jerked tight around his windpipe, and a familiar most seductive voice proclaimed, “She said no, you bastard. This is what rejection feels like. Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Best I’ve felt all day,” he gasped. He had managed to force two fingers beneath the garrote. Now he gave it a fierce yank, jerking Aya forward so hard he felt her teeth slam into the back of his head as he rolled her off of him.

Clara had drawn a pistol out from beneath her dress, but Carnen was too tangled up with Aya to give her a clear shot at the assassin. She soon had other enemies to focus on anyhow, as the doors of the cathedral blew open in an ear-splitting burst and a scimitar wielding warrior of Arakesh barged into their chapel at the head of two dozen rifle wielding soldiers.