Violent Delights (Violent Delights Book 1)

Chapter 4: "Civil blood makes civil hands unclean"

The wedding is awful.
It's not really awful it's beautiful. The cathedral is just beautiful. I'd like it better without all the people in it but that's there. I'm layered in fine silks, and have to have my eyes down cast when I'd rather be memorizing the faces of my enemies.
Edward smiles encouragingly, that's nice, and he looks as through with it as I am. Ever the prince, though, he plays the part well. He's learnt to be king from a young age, the bowing and smiling and all is like breathing to him now. He enters a room and expects everyone to look at him.
But there are loads of people and I don't get to talk properly to any of them and I'm sure my head is going to burst. I'm bored enough to be going over sums while I'm standing at the alter, just to keep myself awake.
Once the ceremony is done Edward kisses me on the mouth for the first time. I'm expecting it to be longer than it is but he kisses me quite quickly then moves his head away. I wonder if he really wants me.
The music and the merriment afterwards is splendid. I'm starving by the time we get to eat and Edward is amused that I'm as enthused about the food as he is. Then we smile at each other, it's too loud to talk for the most part though we get out a couple of quick pleasantries such as him asking if I want more roast duck or me telling him he's about to hit his wine with his arm. Queen Isabela and Mortimer are there, quite front and center.
"You'd think it was them getting married," Edward mutters, in my ear.
"Nothing wrong with the shadows," I say, quietly. I do not want them to notice me. Not yet. They can know I'm in the game once it's too late. For now I need to be the quiet bride.
Finally evening dawns and I'm whisked away. I try to look a little out of place, but I was expecting it. Queen Isabela looks at me, as though watching for my discomfort. I am disquieted enough by the people and the noise little acting is required. Though I'm more than a little disgusted she'd so casually set me up to be unaware of my husband's intentions.
My ladies get me ready, changed into a nice clean night shirt, and skin oiled and hair brushed out. All that takes the better part of an hour. I don't think Edward is getting half as much of a ordeal and won't be half as clean. But when he does come in his hair is damp and brushed and he looks more embarrassed than any person alive.
The priest blesses the marriage bed, and then quickly we are left alone.
Edward is standing where they left him.
"Aimee came by, she's quite nice, today felt like forever didn't it? Do you want some wine?" I ask, going to find some by the bed. It' s not the room I was in last night but it should be set up similar?
"Oh, god yes—um," Edward rubs his face.
"Here," I get him a cup, "Sit down, we've got a minute to talk. I need to know what we're up against."
"Right um—can we not talk for a minute?" He asks, draining the wine then rubbing his face. He's sat down on the edge of the bed.
"That's what I thought we were doing?" I say, leaning against the bed post, "About the crown, and keeping it which is significant to us both now."
"No about—this," he sighs, rubbing his face, then looking up at me, "I haven't seen you all day and that—this. Are you okay?"
"What?" I laugh a little.
"We got shoved in here, you've not been in England a full day, barely, are you sure you're all right?" He asks.
"Yes, yes, I am," I say, nodding.
"Despite—mess?"
"Yes. Despite mess," I laugh a little, "I want to do this. Together. If you'll let me."
"Yes," he says, quietly, "Just—sit down a minute—not crown, related—is there anything you want to ask me?"
"No, you getting deposed or dying is quite significant. Why?" I ask.
"I don't know, I last saw you two years ago nearly and it's—different. I think I wept in front of you. And I've not wept since," he says.
"You wept a couple of times," I say, nicely.
"Oh. Good."
"Why does that matter?" I ask.
"I haven't seen you cry."
"Why does that matter? Anyway I wept when you left," I point out.
"I thought that was fake," he says.
I nod, "It was."
He smiles.
I do too.
"Why didn't you kiss me in the church?" I ask.
"I hadn't kissed you before. And that was fake," he says.
"And?" I frown. I know I'm not pretty. But he could at least kiss me.
"I didn't want it to be fake," he says, "When I went to kiss you then—I wanted it to be real. And I didn't want the world to see that. I think it's quite obvious the world doesn't deserve what's real."
"What's a real kiss then?" I ask.
"It's this," He says, rising and coming over to me. He tips his head down to meet my lips, his strong and sure. He hovers his hands before my sides before deciding on gripping my arms to anchor himself.
I am not sure on how to kiss him back properly so I just fumble my lips along his. It feels a bit odd then something rises in my chest and I feel heat deep in my belly. I put my hands on his thick shoulders and find my way about kissing my back.
"That was real," he says, parting his lips from mine.
I nod, a little out of breath and surprised how ready I am to let him do it again.
"So that's all," he says, "I don't—know what we were talking about."
"That was it," I say, dipping my head, feeling his kiss still in my mouth.
"Goodnight," he says, backing away, "I should—probably go."
"Goodnight," I say, and I don't know how to say I no longer want him to leave.