"I thee wed, in sickness and in health, in curses and...what?!" (w/ ƒeral)

[Fruit]

"Preposterous!". The maiden's voice echoed across the halls like a war siren; high pitched and utterly annoying. All the attendants in the Florent Palace were covering their ears by that time. They had heard the argument when it had started at dawn when they had been curious, now they wished it would stop. All the intelligent arguments got reduced to jabs of mockery and threats. Whenever she argued that she is a highborn, a princess of House Lyran, a woman of stature and beauty whom lords and prices would fight over, her father shoot down the argument with one stupid excuse or the other. "We need the money" he said, "we are at war", he had a habit of pointing the obvious. All her feelings were dismissed, and she felt like a pawn in a chessboard her father was playing. With volcanic rage she threw a vase his way and missed, then stormed out of the throne room with great dismay and apparent disbelief.

Leah was the seventh daughter of King Kyllar Lyran, ruler of the prosperous city of Vyllam. She stood before the mirror, her large blue eyes peering into her own soul looking for truth. Was this her destiny? To be wed into a merchant family for a mere pot of gold. All of her three her true-born sisters were married into royal houses. They bore children with golden crowns who ruled over provinces and fiefs as far as the eye can see. Even her base-born sisters, albeit illegitimate, were fortunate enough to be taken by knights of high esteem and gentry of great renown. To be sold for money like a common prostitute, forced to live in a merchant's house and bed a commoner was a grand insult.

She had curly brown hair that went in spirals and waves around her head effortlessly. When the sun rose, her hair would match its golden shade. Her soft facial features and gentle smile were enough to soothe a dying man's last coughs, and her voice could calm babes and rally men alike. A lean body with small yet perky breasts and hips that spared no mercy. It was no wonder that men looked at her with lustful eyes and wives burned with rage whenever their husbands swooned at her shadow. She was an angel shy only of a golden crown. A tear ran down her rosy cheeks like dew on rose petals, and she undressed herself and stepped in the bath her handmaidens prepared.

"If only mother was alive.." she thought as they scrubbed her back with soaps and oils. One maiden handled her hair, washing it with honey water mixed with white and pink roses. Another bint brushed Leah's chest with saffron and gold water, then massaged her back with a soap made with milk and vanilla. She smelled wonderful when she emerged and with a finger pointed at the door, she sent the servants away. "That would be enough. Thank you" she simply said and sat down patting her body dry with a silken towel. Her face was a challenge; whenever she dried it, her tears would water it again. Eventually she ran out of tears, and shade of pink flush painted her face. Simple eye shadow and nothing else, she wore that blush like a champion and elected not to hide it. She wore a baby blue dress, light as a feather and adorned with a golden floral pattern and the sigil of her house embroidered at her back. No matter how sad she was, she still had to look nice. It was how her mother had raised. "You're a proud lady, Leah, dress and act like it. Cover your lips when you laugh, and look down when you talk" she used to say, "One day you'll bear children with crowns of gold and scepters of silver" she lied.

She sat later on the dining table like a new widow about to get married again. "What will the people think of me?" she thought as she stared blankly at the corn soup in front of her. "Am I lesser than other women? Are my sisters better than me?" she questioned more, and each question brought her closer to tears. Around her sat her family, her father and two of her brothers, as well as her younger unmarried sister. The rest of her siblings were either too busy or too proud to eat with a commoner no matter how rich they maybe. "He will buy you everything you want, dear. He is a good lad with a good heart, he'll make a fine husband" her father tried to assure her but she shook her head. "He still can't see it.." she pondered as she looked at the other side of the table still shy of guests and her betrothed. "He didn't even bother showing up on time.." she sighed.

"Leah, sweetheart. There are many merchants in the city, and even more around throughout the land. If you didn't like this one, we'll find you another one. Just.. smile. It pains me to see you on the verge of tears like this" her father continued, his hands patting her shoulder and rubbing her back. She sighed, and nodded with a fake smile, then started to drink the soup.

"I'll turn him down. And the next. And the one other that. Maybe the war will be over by then.."

​

 

[ƒeral]

The times were changing, and even the monarchs were not immune.

To be sure, the seeming endless stretches of farm lands remained, peasant mulling away over the dredge of daily life, slaving away to provide the drinks and roasted lamb of their lords. But in the city center, in the bustle and hustle of merchant square, the health of a city was not measured by how many acres of land it possessed, but by how many galleons. Gold was the lifeblood of a city, and those who controlled it had a hand directly on the pulse of its heartbeat. Cross a thug, or even a woman, the saying went, but do not cross a merchant-prince. Of course, the nobility could not distinguish between the merchants even if they tried, the title only an honorary one bestowed by the humble people upon other humble people. Or not so humble, as it turned out, for this one dared to imbue his line with royal blood. The dowry was more than handsome, and the promise of new trade routes more than the king could resist. With aggression at Vyllam's northern borders, gold equaled arms equaled ration equaled safety. And the only price he had to pay was a single daughter.

A sensible deal. A wise decision. But fathers were ever so poor at accounting for the free will of their children.

It was nearly ten minutes after the dinner began that the merchant finally scrambled to the royal palace, child and wife in tow. But if the beads of sweat steadily rolling down his portly face wasn't any indication, but one look at his child, his daughter, was enough to communicate that something was wrong.

"My sincerest apologies, my lord," Erik van Buren was quick to bow, embroidered cloth of rich purple silk trembling and shifting from the unnecessary flourishing. He was richly dressed, adorned with all the attestments of his wealth. Already balding at fifty, he wasn't much to look at beyond the intelligent, calculating gleam in his eyes. His daughter, on the other hand, looked nothing like him. She did not wear his subservient, pup-ish smile, her sharp silver-gray eyes polite enough, but with boredom barely contained. Loose waves of dark hair, nearly black in the absence of light, tumbled down her shoulders in inky tendrils, framing a lightly tanned complexion, features almost too regal and proud for mere merchants. Her outfit was enough to raise brows as well. It was...sort of a dress, but only sort of. The thin leather pauldrons served no purposes a proper lady could think of, and the criss-cross of leather bustier just barely kept her not ungenerous bosom modest. Then there was the belt, adorned with burnished silver buckles, the strip of diagonal leather hanging from it what could have easily been the holster of a weapon. It was a compromise. She wanted to wear pants and she wanted to not be here. But Erik could be quite the persuasive man, so here she was, all feigned affable smile and disinterested eyes.

"My daughter and heir, Raelyn," the merchant-prince gestured, portly face contorting with a too-wide grin, attempting to make up for his obvious problems with exaggerated saccharine cordiality. Raelyn paused as the attention was directed to her, and a flicker of annoyance swept across her features, gone in a heartbeat as if it was never there. "Pleased to make your acquaintances, your lordships and your ladyships," she bowed. Bowed, not curtsied, in a surprisingly well practiced sweep, before directing her gaze at the king. "And my liege, your royal highness." It pained her to say the words, but she didn't show it on her face. All the while she kept shooting curious glances at the princess in question, gazes of half-dread and half-inquiry, certainly not the worshipful, lustful stares she was probably used to being directed at her comely face.

There would be questions, of course, but her father would be the one to answer those. God knows she's done more than her part already. Raelyn sighed on the inside. Her idiot brother. Whatever and wherever was that damn bastard now to leave her this mess.

 

[Fruit]

Kyllar was the only not growing impatient with the guests' tardiness. "A merchant stalling a king? Gods be damned, van Buren! I'll have your head on a spike!" he should have said when the merchant extended his apologies, Leah thought, but instead she watched her father nod with a confused look and brush his brown beard. He had been drinking merrily, she observed, downing one goblet after the other as they awaited the merchant's arrival. Pure red wine coated his chest like a cobra's venom, yet he kept his composure and focus like a wolf. Drinking came easy to the monarch; they said he used to drink a full keg every morning before he rode for war back in the days when he fought to unite the kingdom under his banner. Others said it was one keg a week while some swore it was a keg every battle. Songs praised his bravery in battle and glorified his skill with his scythe, and others told of his passion for drinking and hunting. "The Warrior King", they called him. He even spoke more like a warrior rather than a sovereign, closer to a commoner than a nobleman. He was from humble origins and climbed the military ranks until he found himself leading an army to unite Vyllam. Spend twenty years with a golden crown on your head, and people will start treating you as if you were highborn.

Long gone were the days of fighting for Kyllar. It has been twenty some years since the last time he was in the front lines. His second son was chief in command now, and Kyllar took to growing a belly and warming a pillow. Whenever he wasn't drinking or eating, he could be found in whorehouses and taverns. Gambling then fucking then gambling whilst fucking. It was not weird that he fathered a handful of bastards scattered across the city. "And they all have their freedom, except me" Leah thought.

"Pleased to finally meet you, Lady Raelyn" the king smiled and his children nodded. Leah said not a word, she sat politely and silently, watching like an owl. However, her eyes weren't silent. They said all sorts of things; they whispered and hissed and screamed. "That's not a lady, father. Scarcely a woman even! She looks like a barbaric savage without a mace, barely any manners with that one. Ladies are much more elegant and fair and gentle; when we speak people listen - when she speaks people ought to laugh at her dress and courtesies. Meera will sooner wed a man!".

Leah's eyes studied the party, they looked around for a son but to no avail, and a puzzled look defied her manners. Her eyes met her older brother's, Baimon, and she could tell he too found it queer that Beric was missing. Tarth only seemed to realize the son was missing when his brother nudged him with his elbow, and little Meera was still working on her soup, perhaps already forgetting what purpose this dinner served. The king had made note of the missing son as soon as the party stood by the doorsteps, and his eyes weren't searching - they were fixed at the bald merchant.

"At ease, my lord and ladies. Have your seats while the food is still warm" The king gestured and the guests soon sat on the table. Food started coming from every angle as the servants emerged from the shadows with warm plates and silver utensils. There was a tray of grilled chicken spiced with lemon, and another of lamb and pork chops cooked with garlic and seasoned with parsley. Centered on the table was an enormous bowl of rice, between another of soup and a third of salad. Each person faced a flagon and servants circled the table with pots of different types of wine; red and white and mead and gods know what. Leah could easily tell her father cared for this family much more than he cared to show. Out of all the merchant houses in the city, it was clear to her that this one was Kyllar's favorite.

The bride-to-be treated herself to a little less than a goblet of white wine and a small bowl of salad with pieces of apple and olives. Her sister tried to imitate her but couldn't dare missing on a piece of the lamb chops. Her brothers went full berserk on the meat and wine, gradually emptying the trays and filling the empty dishes with bones and skin and grease. "I'd expected to meet my future son-in-law tonight, Lord Erik" Kyllar addressed the merchant sitting across the table. "Master, not lord" Leah thought, annoyed that her father was elevating this commoner to their status as nobles after he bought her for his son. "Did something befall our groom?" he asked, "Wasn't Beric his heir?", more and more questions popping up in his mind.

Bamion sat between Tarth and Raelyn, while Leah found herself next to her future mother in law. "You make a lovely sight, Lady Raelyn" Bamion complimented, his knees boorishly brushing against Raelyn from under the table, "You'd make a lovelier sight on my mattress tonight"​