To Marry a Dragon

18. A Royal Wedding

It was a glorious day for a wedding.

The village that Raul patronized, was settled by fishermen and goat herders, quiet people. The Hall of Light was a longhouse with heavy doors, someone carved over with fishermen's and goat herder's daily labors under the rays of the rising sun. On one panel, Elvira's father and mother still extended protective hands in blessing, crowns shining, it was so old.

She couldn't help but love the place. After she found Ferrante, maybe they could trek the coastline for a few days to put the ordeal behind them. They couldn't stop here, for an obvious reason, but there were other villages just as lovely.

Alas, she couldn't be as happy about her own appearance. In the daylight and after the lengthy ride from the mountain stronghold on the secret trails, her patchwork dress barely held together, not to mention the dust bunnies peeping from every seam.

"Don't judge the book by its cover," she told her horse. "I am marrying a prince."

Next to her, Sigvart scoffed. He stared at the Hall of Light, his arms crossed on his chest, still as princely as they came. House Oest was making a grave mistake shunning him.

She tugged the skirts straight when the priest came out to greet Sigvart and her.

The holy man who was so old, he was toothless. His pink gums though were prominently on display when he beamed happily at them. "It's a joy to see happiness bloom in our troubled times. Such joy, yes, yes. I can see immediately that the questions the law demands I ask you are but a formality, but let us walk a little and talk."

The priest pointed to the trail through the graveyard overhung by acacia trees with fluffy pink flowers.

"Marriage is a beautiful thing, my children, but it is also an obligation. Particularly on the groom who is to become the protector of his wife and his children."

Sigvart smiled, showing a full set of even white teeth between his beautifully shaped lips. "I understand that, Holy Father. I've been betrothed to Elvira for many years, and I am prepared to accept every responsibility she wishes me to assume."

She was glad he could lie so pleasantly and without actually lying, just not telling the whole truth. It wouldn't do for them to disappoint the sweet old man. Let him think he was binding them for a life of happiness together.

The old priest went on about being blessed with children, patience and forbearance if that blessing didn't come. Sigvart's face showed both virtues, which was also a blessing.

After a while, she stopped listening. Stopped worrying. It was happening. This afternoon. Tonight.

She would be free to leave Gallicia the next morning and extricate Ferrante. She imagined him walking down the beach she could see from the graveyard, running toward him, pushing back his windswept hair, jumping into his arms...

"Elvira, the ever-renewing joy of my heart?" Sigvart's saccharine voice returned her back to the present moment. "Do you also believe that the third hour in the afternoon is a good time for our nuptials? You are not otherwise engaged?"

Caught out in the middle of her exceedingly exciting dream, Elvira suspected that even the tips of her ears turned red. She hastily agreed that three hours past noon was perfectly wonderful. Her enthusiasm made the priest smile all the more, lisping good naturedly about the blushing brides. If only he could overhear her plans regarding Sigvart's smug grin!

Three hours past noon meant four hours of waiting and neither bickering with her bride-groom, nor dreaming up Ferrante's features in her mind, didn't make it go any faster. She nearly tapped her foot watching the bandits and the villagers fill up the Hall, while she and Cerne waited for their entrance.