The Secrets We Keep

Episode 18: The Marital Declaration

The room where we were to be married felt more like a cell than a place where two people were supposed to join their lives together. There were no flowers, no music, no friends or family gathered to witness the ceremony. Just me, Cyrus, and a guard standing beside a dusty desk, watching us with the disinterest of someone overseeing a chore. The room was dim, and on the desk sat a candle highlighting a single piece of parchment– the contract that would bind us together in name but not in choice.

The room was too cold, the walls too bare, and the silence too loud. As we stood there, side by side, I could feel the weight of this moment pressing down on me. This wasn't a real marriage. This was an act of survival.

Yes, Cyrus and I grew up together, always knowing we were to be married eventually– maybe even have our own children... but, we never expected a wedding ceremony this grim.

I was anxious. Sweat was beading on my forehead from my nervousness and soaking into my newly made, military uniform. Neither of us even got to change into something nice.

But nice ceremonies weren't for Mongrels, they were only for pure-bloods.

A grand or happy ceremony wouldn't have changed our moods anyway. I certainly did not want Cyrus to marry me against his will, and the look on his face said that he didn't want it either. Of course he didn't. I was broken now, unable to give him the one thing that could have brought some happiness to our union.

I let my mind wonder if he would have enjoyed being a father– wonder if I could have been a good mother.

No parent is perfect, but the good parents always do what they think is best for their child at the moment. My mother thought it would be best to let the guards brand me when I was seven, thinking that a lifetime of pain was better than a short life snuffed out by the King's cruelty. Serf Seraphiel allowed Cyrus to be brutally whipped by a King's guard because, had he stepped in, it could have been worse for both of them.

Even if given a chance to go back in time and change the events, most parents would end up making the same decision based on the circumstances. Most just want their child to survive... to hope that their children's future will be better than their own life.

It was always about surviving, about doing what needed to be done to ensure that we kept living, no matter the cost.

That parental sacrifice was something I would never experience, and now, neither would Cyrus.

But, as I stood in the room, preparing to sign my name on a piece of paper against my will, I couldn't help but wonder if this, too, was just as similar as one of those parental choices. Was this what was best for Cyrus and me? Would we look back and justify this moment as something we had to do to survive, even though it wasn't what we wanted?

Would we look back and realize that this was something that we did want?

I glanced at Cyrus, his face set with that quiet determination I had come to know so well. There was no joy in his eyes, only resignation. A look that meant he was doing his duty, and nothing more. He was here because he thought it was best for me, just as I was here because I thought it was best for him; to play along with the King's demands until we could fight back. We were both trapped, doing what we had to do because the alternative was unthinkable. We didn't have the luxury of a real wedding, of making promises based on love and hope for the future. All we had was survival.

The guard grunted impatiently, shoving the contract closer to us. I hesitated, staring down at the paper. My hand hovered over the quill, and for a brief moment, I thought about what might happen if I refused to sign. But I knew the answer. The King wouldn't hesitate to punish us, to make an example of us. What good would our defiance do if we didn't live to see another day?