Vows And Veil

Dear Lord, The Nightmare.

Adela found herself amidst the chaos, her breaths ragged and her lungs burning with effort. Disoriented, she surveyed her surroundings, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. Groans and cries filled the air, punctuated by the sound of desperate pleas and agonized yelps. Her heart pounded as she struggled to make sense of the scene unfolding before her. Where was she? Why wasn't she at home?

With trembling hands, she wiped her eyes, trying to clear the haze that obscured her vision. The murky surroundings gradually came into focus, revealing a landscape tainted with shades of pink and brown, stained by dust and blood. Panic surged within her as she frantically searched for answers. How had she ended up here, just after her wedding, when she was supposed to depart for her new home in Adorea?

A sudden touch at her ankle startled her, and she recoiled with a gasp, dislodging the hand that had grasped her. Her eyes fell upon a man sprawled on the ground before her, his body drenched in blood. Despite the armor he wore, he appeared grievously wounded, with cuts marring his arms and face, and a gaping slit visible on his neck. His eyes were dark, covered with golden shimmer. They were wide with fear, locked with hers as he struggled to draw breath, his desperate gaze imploring her for help. Adela recoiled at the sight, overwhelmed by the stench of blood and the horror of the scene unfolding before her.

The man lay before her, gasping for breath, while Adela stood frozen, her mind reeling with shock and disbelief. His wide eyes shifted from her face to her left hand, and Adela followed his gaze with growing horror. There, clasped tightly in her grasp, was a bloodied sword. Had she... had she killed this man?

Adela's attire was incongruous with her identity—a stark contrast to the delicate gowns and graceful demeanor expected of a lady. Instead, she was clad in white trousers and a shirt, her chest protected by a coat of mail, and her limbs adorned with armor plates. Around her waist, a metal harness held knives and another sword. It was a garb fit for battle, yet Adela had never been a fighter. She had been raised with the belief that ladies must never engage in combat—that such tasks were reserved for men. And yet, here she stood, amidst the chaos of the battlefield, wielding deadly weapons and confronting the harsh reality of violence. This was not who she was. Adelaide of Loveria was not a warrior.

She let out a piercing cry as she hurled the sword away, recoiling from the lifeless figure before her. The man lay motionless, his once vibrant eyes now vacant and soulless. Adela's entire body trembled with shock and fear, her mind racing as she struggled to comprehend the grisly scene before her.

"Gerald!" she screamed out, her voice echoing with desperation and terror. She didn't know why she called out for him, but at that moment, she needed him more than ever. "Gerald!" she cried out again, tears streaming down her cheeks, her vision blurred by the overwhelming rush of emotions.

...

Gerald had chosen to distance himself from his wife, opting to sleep in a separate room. No one dared to question his decision. Adelaide hadn't shown her face to him since their confrontation with his brother, and he welcomed the solitude.

Lovaria's warmth enveloped Gerald as he shed his shirt, relishing the rare comfort it offered, absent in his own chilly homeland of Adorea. He left his trousers fastened, a precaution against unexpected interruptions in this unfamiliar kingdom.

Stretching out on the bed, he ignored the sheet, finding the ambient warmth more than sufficient for slumber. Gazing up at the ceiling, its plainness mirrored the simplicity of the kingdom. Tomorrow, he would depart for Adorea, a thought that filled him with a mix of relief and dread. The unwanted burden of a wife awaited him upon his return, a prospect that left him uneasy.