The Vampire's Court

Chapter 22- Awakenings

With wedding now only three days away, the estate was a flurry of activity, with servants darting between topiaries and florists draping garlands around every possible nook. Amidst the chaos, Seraphine stood critically eyeing a floral arrangement in the center of the garden, her fingers tapping impatiently against her arm.

"Do you think the white roses clash with the ivy?" she asked aloud, though it sounded more like a challenge than a question.

Dimitri, who was a few steps away supervising the setting of lanterns, glanced over, his expression one of mild annoyance. "They're fine," he said curtly, his tone suggesting he had little interest in the minutiae of floral aesthetics.

Seraphine bristled at the dismissal. "Fine? Just fine? This is our wedding, Dimitri, not a village fête. Perhaps a bit of effort on your part wouldn't go amiss."

Dimitri's jaw tightened as he approached, his steps measured. "I'm more concerned about practical things, like making sure we have enough seating for all your relatives who seem to have sprung from the woodwork. But by all means, let's spend another hour discussing the flowers."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "At least I'm paying attention to the details that will make the day special, which is more than I can say for you," she retorted, her voice rising slightly.

"Oh, I'm paying attention," Dimitri snapped back, stopping a few feet from her. "To things that actually matter. Not just flowers and ribbons."

Seraphine tossed her head, her red hair catching the light. "Everything about this day should matter! Or is that too much for your lordly brain to take in?"

Dimitri stepped closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous, mocking whisper. "Perhaps if you took your head out of the clouds, you'd realize that not everything has to be a fairy tale."

"Not everyone wants to live in a shadow, Dimitri," she hissed, her green eyes sparking fire.

Their eyes locked in a mutual challenge, the air thick with tension. Before either could hurl another barb, a shout from one of the decorators about a broken vase near the entrance cut through their standoff.

Dimitri broke eye contact first, his lips pressed into a thin line. "This isn't over," he muttered, before turning to address the new crisis, leaving Seraphine to stew among the roses and ivy.

As he walked away, Seraphine's heart pounded with a cocktail of frustration and something dangerously close to excitement. "Together, huh?" she thought bitterly, watching his retreating back. "More like at each other's throats."

Their exchanges, though heated, carried an undercurrent of passion—a volatile prelude to a marriage neither was entering lightly. Each barbed word, each sharp retort, was a dance around deeper fears and desires, a tumultuous march toward a union that promised as much storm as sanctuary.

With the wedding so few days away, Seraphine's stress seemed to multiply with each passing hour. The manor, usually a quiet refuge, now buzzed incessantly with the sounds of preparation and occasional disputes. Her mind was a whirlwind of to-do lists and worries that tangled like the ivy climbing the dark stone walls of the estate.

Letters from distant relatives piled up on her desk, each one voicing concerns about the unconventional choice to hold the wedding in the manor's gardens instead of a church. Their words echoed the traditional sentiments of her family, steeped in propriety and the unspoken rules of society. Each envelope she opened only served to deepen her sense of dread—not just about the day itself but about the myriad ways it could deviate from expected norms.

Dress fittings were a particular kind of torment. The gown, while breathtaking, felt like a suit of armor rather than a bridal dress. Each session with the seamstress was a reminder of the role she was about to step into—a role she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for. The tight corset, the heavy layers of fabric, and the endless pins and tucks seemed to not only reshape her body but also her identity.