The Lady Penitent

IX. We Two Unhappy

It was, by all accounts, a perfect ceremony. The groom was handsome, the bride beautiful, and both seemed happy. Holland sat through it quietly near the Lord Protector and his wife, her throat knotted closed as a sea of increasingly familiar, conflicted emotions raged muted inside of her. She found herself looking down at her hands for most of it, though she forced a smile and clapped at the appropriate times. A strange tension filled her body, almost expectant, like she was about to go into battle. There was no fight to be had, however.

It couldn't have been over soon enough.

The ceremony gave way to celebration as the wedding party moved back to the palace from the temple district, the sounds of the whole city having a good time riotous and joyous at the same time. It was something to be excited about, if only because it broke up the drudgery. Holland lingered on the fringes of the party, watching with wine in hand. She couldn't help being a grim-faced specter, though she made an effort to smile whenever Seva looked her way.

The foreign delegations approaching didn't really grab her interest at first. The red and gold of Genev, the blue and white of Talin, both passed by her without much notice. The next, however, prompted someone to grab her elbow tightly. Holland looked over to see Cadeyrn looking exactly as grim as she felt. "Holland," he said urgently. "Are those your Imperials?"

She looked over. There were six people approaching, their clothes markedly different from the eastern dress that filled the room. Instead of tunics and tabards, they wore uniform jackets with actual buttons and pants with pockets. Their boots were polished to a shine. There was one woman in the group, out of uniform, wearing the crimson of a painted woman. She was olive skinned and almost painfully beautiful except for the marring brand on one cheek, elven nature plain in the angles of her face. She was curvaceous for an elf, potentially a mark of a touch of human somewhere in her blood. As soon as Holland's mind registered the identity of the man whose arm the painted woman was on, she felt a blistering surge of hate course through her body.

He was a man of proud, aquiline features and a disarmingly handsome smile, dark eyes currently focused on the newlyweds. Instead of the charcoal uniform of his guards, he was wearing a set of armor in the style of Holland's with swirling dark patterns blending with the silver metal as if it had been treated with smoke in particularly aesthetic curls.

"Presenting Immortalis Laenus Nasica and Lady Naris Velane, representing the Princes of Iron," someone announced. Holland didn't even notice who. She just knew that absolutely hated name had just been said in her presence. She thought she'd laid her anger to rest, but apparently it lived on in full spirit.

"Welcome," Fionn said graciously.

"We come bearing good wishes, Your Highness," Laenus said with that smile. "We have heard much of your court in the west and accordingly my liege lords wished to extend an olive branch to you and your kingdom on this happy day."

"Thank you," Seva said, though her answering smile was a cautious one.

The wineglass in Holland's hand shattered when her fist tightened, piercing through the music as a sudden, discordant note. The crystal biting into her hand felt altogether too good. The people who had been murmuring their surprise looked her way, startled. So did Laenus.

He went white. "I did not realize I was in the company of a ghost," he said after a brief moment of stunned silence. "Hail, Invicta."

"Laenus," Holland said curtly. People between them actively moved out of the way. She switched languages seamlessly, her native tongue coming to her as if she'd never stopped speaking it. "Are you the servant now of all of the Seven of Iron, cur? I am certain that the Divine Prince is so pleased."