THE KING'S POSSESSION

Chapter 48

Chapter 48: The Wedding

The most awaited day had finally arrived. Although the weather had been particularly cold recently, this day felt different. The sun was warm, casting a golden hue over the snow-covered village, and the birds chirped merrily as if the heavens themselves were celebrating Isabel and Tristan's union.

Inside the small, cozy chapel, the air buzzed with quiet anticipation. The few guests—close friends and family—whispered among themselves, their breath visible in the chilly air. The soft light filtering through the stained glass windows bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, adding to the mild atmosphere.

Tristan stood at the altar as his heart pounded in his chest. His eyes kept darting to the door with each second feeling like an eternity. The priest, Teressa, Mrs. Hawthorne, and the gathered guests all watched him with varying degrees of curiosity and concern.

Minutes ticked by, and Tristan's anxiety grew. Where was Isabel? Had she gotten cold feet? Doubts gnawed at him, and the murmurs from the guests only intensified his worry. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing, but the fear was overwhelming. What if she decided not to come?

Although he would have understood if she did not want to marry him—after all, he was not the man she loved—thinking about that fact made Tristan tremble with worry. There was a part of him that almost begged and prayed for Isabel not to turn back.

But then, the priest stepped forward with a look of gentle concern on his face. "Where is the bride?" he asked softly, yet his voice carried through the quiet chapel.

Tristan's heart lurched. The question seemed to echo in the silent space, amplifying his fears. Panic surged through him, and he felt a desperate urge to find Isabel. He wanted to reassure himself that she was still there, that she was still willing to marry him.

Just as he was about to bolt from the altar, the heavy wooden doors creaked open. The sudden noise drew everyone's attention, and Tristan's breath caught in his throat.

There she was, standing in the doorway. Isabel looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Her hair was elegantly tied into a bun, and her face was covered with a delicate veil that gave her an ethereal, almost angelic appearance. The winter light streaming through the door cast a soft glow around her, making her look like a vision.

Tristan's fear melted away and it was replaced by an overwhelming surge of relief. He could hardly believe his eyes. Isabel stepped forward. Her movements were graceful and sure, and as she walked down the aisle, every eye in the chapel was on her.

Teressa and Mrs. Hawthorne exchanged looks of pride and joy, their earlier concerns forgotten. The guests fell silent as their murmurs were replaced by awe.

Isabel reached the altar, and Tristan took her hands in his, feeling the warmth and reassurance of her touch.

"I thought..." Tristan began, his voice choked with emotion. "I thought you weren't coming."

Isabel's eyes softened, and she smiled, a smile that reached deep into his heart. "Why would I not? My groom is here looking most dashing," she playfully whispered. "I had a slight bout of morning sickness to contend with. I am terribly sorry." She added apologetically.

Tears glistened in Tristan's eyes as he gazed at her. He could not find the right words to articulate the profound relief and joy he felt at that moment. It was as if he was so glad she came—no, he 'was' glad she came. And that feeling made him acknowledge to himself that he actually... loved her. But he dismissed the thought. He did not have the right to claim her for himself. The only thing that kept him standing beside her was his sense of duty.

And yet, there was still a part of him that fervently hoped that all of this was real.

The priest's voice brought him back to the present as the ceremony commenced. As they exchanged vows, Tristan clung to every word, every solemn promise. Isabel's voice was steady, and he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope that perhaps, in time, she might come to love him too.

When it was his turn, he took a deep breath and looked into Isabel's eyes. "I, Tristan, take thee, Isabel, to be my lawfully wedded wife," he began, his voice strong despite the nerves swirling within him. "To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, from this day forward until death do us part."

When he concluded, the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Tristan gently lifted Isabel's veil, his heart pounding. But before he did anything else, he looked at her with concern and worry.

"Would you let me kiss you?"

Isabel tilted her head and chuckled. "Of course."

Tristan hummed, a hint of dissatisfaction in his expression, and cupped her cheeks. Isabel, expecting a kiss on the lips, was taken aback when Tristan leaned in and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

The chapel instantly erupted in applause, but for Tristan, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them. As they turned to face their friends and family, hand in hand, Tristan allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that their union was not merely a duty, but the beginning of a true and lasting love.

However, Isabel was quite confused. She leaned in closer to Tristan, still smiling at the congregation. "Why the forehead?" she asked, referring to the kiss.

Tristan wrapped his hand around her waist and answered discreetly, "You are not mine to start with. And second, you seemed reluctant to give me your consent."

"I don't understand," she stated, making Tristan look at her intently. He leaned down and whispered to her ear, "A kiss on the lips is the most intimate kiss a couple can share. It shows their affection for each other, and I am quite certain I am not the one you want to give that kind of kiss."

Tristan forced a smile, but it came across as more bitter than he intended. Isabel looked down slightly, feeling disheartened and disappointed by his words.

As they walked down the aisle, the joy of the moment was tinged with an undercurrent of unspoken emotions. The reality of their complex relationship weighed heavily on both of them. Though surrounded by well-wishers, they each felt a personal struggle within their hearts.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Tristan squeezed Isabel’s hand gently. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice soft, hoping to bridge the gap that his words had inadvertently widened.

Isabel nodded, managing a smile. “Yes, let us.”