I've never felt more weighted down in my entire life. My ladies have left me alone in a suffocating room. I've stared at this window for minutes on end, wondering the possibilities I would have if I fell through. My thoughts are silly, and they most definitely would upset my father if he heard them. But in a way, I don't care.
My crinoline feels like a cage, and my petticoats are chains that pin me to the ground. The lies and anxiety are the weights that keep the chains in place.
A bride is supposed to be happy on her wedding day. So why am I so full of dread?
Returning to O'Khasis only continued to remind me of the life I'd be leaving. Carriages held my belongings, following in tow of my own. Each mile forward earned another cycle of churning in my stomach. I felt this day even after the carriage ride.
Servants were quick to unpack my belongings, placing them scattered across my chambers. I wished to collapse onto the ground when they finished, crying into a handkerchief. My closet was filled with dresses from home and much finer, newer ones, I hadn't seen before. The queen walked in, reaching for my hand as she guided me to a room I hadn't been in a month prior. The sight of my very own wedding dress pricked tears against my eyes.
Now, I stand here foolishly in front of the window, my hand pressed against its pane. There are so many things I could do at this moment. I could scream. I could cry. I could go hysterical and break this window and everything in the room. I could run off. I could plead for an escape.
"My child."
Father has entered the room, but I can't bring myself to turn to him. I've watched carriage after carriage ride along the entryway, stopping below and people stepping out. I've done this so long, my vision has blurred.
"Turn, let me see you. Let me see my daughter on her wedding day."
My head is first to turn, and my body slowly follows. He walks towards me, and his touch is hesitant when he reaches for my hand. I can feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of my gloves, but it isn't enough comfort for me to swallow the sadness deep within me.
We stand in front of the mirror together, and he adjusts the white moire Anglaise fabric of my gown, mumbling to himself what a prize I am for a fine young man. I can't help but to stand there, and he moves onto the Honiton lace that hangs by my bust. His words are like knives to my ears, branding themselves into my memory.
"My beautiful daughter is tearing up from happiness," he says, smiling down at me. His thumb glides across my cheek, wiping the tear that fell from my eye. It's now I wish my veil was covering my face to hide the tears that wish to stream down my cheeks.
I reach for his hand, holding it in between both of mine. "Father, please, do not make me marry him. To marry into this family. I will willingly live a life of lonesomeness if it means my hand is free from his."
He listens to my desperate pleas in a new tone. His shoulders visibly slump in posture, and his head heads momentarily. "Alex, I understand the sense of nerves. Your sister felt the same way when it was only us two those few years ago. Look at her now! She's happy with a baby. You'll be there too. You simply need to have trust in me when I say I know what is best for you."
Despite my feelings, his remain unchanged. And when I explain of this family's deceit, his mind remains cemented in his decision. Though, that is little to say that there are now concerns for my future. It's too late to call off a wedding, and we both know that I will live a life of lonesomeness if he does not take my hand in marriage.
"Oh, how I wish you would've told me of this news before now," father says, shaking his head towards me. His expression is disappointed, and we share the same saddened smile when three knocks occur at the door, alarming us that it is nearly time to show my face to the public. He sighs, "My little princess has grown up and is leaving my nest. Come, let's walk you to the carriage."
"Yes, father."
A kiss is pressed firmly against my forehead, and the veil is dropped over my face. Our saddened smiles remain, but father's turns into his skilled stoic expression. Together, my arm and hand wrapped around his arm, we walk out of the room. Behind us, my doubts were heard but unchanged.
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Cadenza has told me the story of how she felt when it was her wedding day. She told me how she remembered every moment as if it had only happened the day before. There were empty doubts, she felt alone in her dressing room. But, Cadenza has always been above me through listening to a female's role in an arranged marriage. She took her duty with pride. I take mine with regret.
I don't remember much of my own ceremony. I remember the anger I felt when we locked eyes with one another at the end of the aisle. The fakest smile I could've mustered when there was a new ring on my finger and announcement of a change in my name. A lie of how happy I was to the king and queen regarding the change in my marital status. How I disliked my wedding night.
I only remember key moments of large emotion after walking with my father. Not a play by play like Cadenza.
