Chapter 43
Puddles
“The heir to Whimcastor Hold is soon to wed the Princess of Castivian. A daunting match they will be.”
— The Castivian Chronicle
As promised, the wedding had been arranged swiftly.
Three days had gone by in a blur before I was standing emotionless in a plain, long-sleeved white gown.
A silver veil had been placed on my head at some point, as well as silver flats on my feet.
I hadn’t said a word since sunrise, not that most people bothered saying much to me outside of instruction.
Aside from Avan. He had already so graciously informed me that Riven had been in his cups since sunrise.
I wished I was vowing myself to him today instead, but we’d both known that was not in the cards. But Riven had no need to fear losing me. I wouldn’t let that happen.
Ansel’s intentions were apparent. He was going to fuck who he wanted to fuck, as he’d already stooped so low as to bed Delaina. I would take no questions or judgment from him.
Ansel and I stood between two pillars on the stone floor of the House of Sterling. An evening breeze blew in through the open windows, a welcome moment of air between us.
His wedding suit was his family’s notorious light blue and grey. His father was present alongside other prominent members of Whimcastor Hold, while Xavian and our council stood behind me.
While most royals usually wed in temples, Xavian had made an example out of my ceremony.
There would be no more worshiping the Fates by force.
He’d declared the people of Castivian free to follow their own religions and practices, and could gather in their temples and churches.
As long as they paid their taxes, he couldn’t care less.
Xavian would no longer involve the Crown in religion. It was a message to Drakington.
“I refuse to worship any God who stands idle as atrocities are committed against children and the innocent,” he’d declared. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Clayvarie or myself as a child, or both. Either way, he made a compelling argument.
Arthur Pos had put up a fuss, per usual.
“The people will call you heretics!”
“Let them,” I’d replied, defending my brother. It made no difference to my sex life, sleeping arrangements, or dinner plans if the Crown were attached to the Gods. Plenty of people prayed in the Waywards, yet they were still caged. I stood by Xavian’s decision.
Time crawled as Lord Draven recited our titles and read off our traditional vows, officiating the match.
Ansel avoided meeting my gaze, his attention drifting to the darkening sky outside the open window.
His father, on the other hand, smiled proudly at his son.
Satisfied with their family’s role in shaping this fledgling kingdom.
For a moment, I felt sympathetic for Ansel. This wasn’t something he’d wanted either. Luckily for him, I would require very little, if anything, from our marriage.
“Do you, Lord Ansel Whimcastor of Dreamsoul, vow to bind yourself to Princess Elorengail Steele of Blackheart?”
They’d left my mother and father’s last names out, only claiming my Castivian bastard title. Ansel’s shoulders tensed, but that was the only sign of his hesitation.
“I do,” he said, quiet and sharp.
A sire approached with a silver tasselled pillow, holding on it two rings.
Lord Draven eyed me. “Do you, Princess Elorengail Steele of Blackheart, accept this ring, binding yourself to Lord Ansel Whimcastor?”
The ring was a thin silver band with an embedded light blue stone. It glinted in the soft torchlight.
“I do,” I said faintly.
Lord Draven exhaled, as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders.
With his jaw tight, Ansel picked up the dainty ring. His hand was twice the size of mine. He held me gently, similarly to the way he had all those months ago in the Waywards, when he’d checked my palms for a leak.
I swallowed nervously as he slid the ring onto my finger, tension running through me like lightning.
I did the same for him, quickly placing the silver band on his finger.
Lord Draven cleared his throat. “By the privilege vested in me by King Xavian Steele, I pronounce you Prince Ansel and Princess Elorengail Whimcastor, husband and wife. You may seal your bond with a kiss.”
With my hands clasped together at my navel, I barely lifted my gaze to meet Ansel’s. His sharp eyes were resolved to see the task through.
He glanced away briefly before sliding his hand around my waist, tipping me back and pulling me into a kiss. He smelled like the air just before a storm.
He pulled away, and I looked down at my feet as the entire hall cheered for our matrimony.
An extravagant dinner commenced at Lady Jocelynn and Lord Draven’s home, just for our council and the Whimcastor family. Ansel and I sat next to each other in silence at the head of the long, black table while a quartet played in the corner of the ballroom-sized dining room.
Lady Jocelynn gossiped with Ansel’s mother, a tiny, dark-haired woman named Kyomi, about the happenings of Whimcastor Hold, while Xavian and Avan played a relentless drinking game.
Arthur Pos was pleasant for once, happy I’d gone through with the wedding. He and Lord Draven sat a few seats down, going over supply plans for my trip to Drakington. While they both thought it was a terrible idea, they at least hoped I’d become with child during the time spent with my new husband.
I highly doubted I’d be taking part in any marital activities in the Waywards, unless it was with Riven.
Ansel’s father, Lord Eiren, walked by as others enjoyed their wine and roasted chicken, and placed his hand on Ansel’s shoulder.
“Don’t forget the consummation ceremony after dinner. Eat light.”
Xavian interrupted from his seat. “I don’t think an audience is necessary.”
I blinked. If I tried to escape the ceremony, my future children’s paternity could be questioned. My entire marriage’s legitimacy could be thrown out, or worse, the Whimcastor’s could pull out of their end of the deal. It would be too easy for them to claim our marriage was never legitimate.
“Let them watch,” I said with a sparkling smile. I mustered up every bit of charisma I could as I grabbed my glass and took a healthy sip of wine. “My… handmaidens, and Lady Jocelynn of course, have prepared me for the ceremony,” I lied.
Jocelynn rolled her eyes as Lord Eiren smiled in approval of the “virgin” princess his son had wed. Ansel shook his head, grabbing his fork and taking a bite of roast. Xavian was plainly disgusted, waving us off and returning to his game.
Once Lord Eiren returned to his seat at the other end of the table, and as the festivities continued on, I turned to Ansel.
“I have very low expectations for tonight. All you need to do is—”
“I’m a grown man,” Ansel said harshly. “I know what to do.”
I held my hands up in defense.
He laughed to himself.
“What?” I asked.
“You do know an orgasm is caused by electricity sent to your brain, right?”
Barely able to keep my jaw off the floor, my face went hot. “Interesting.”
I wished he hadn’t told me that. In fact, I hated my rising curiosity.
I spent the rest of the evening in silence, not daring to taunt Ansel again.
Xavian seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, celebrating and drinking with his friends, while Lady Jocelynn was completely in her element, effortlessly hosting the event.
The shadows of banter, raised glasses, and boisterous laughter danced along the gothic wallpaper in the chandelier-lit space.
Was this how things were before the kingdoms had begun to fall apart?
Since the Wrenavia’s were hosting the Whimcastor’s in their small castle, the consummation was expected to happen upstairs, in the room made for Ansel.
I had no plans of sleeping in the manor. After the deed was done, I’d go find Riven, hopefully not drunkenly passed out.
As dinner came to an end, Lady Jocelynn took me in her arm, guiding me through her home.
“My consummation was also witnessed,” she said. “I understand you may feel modest or—”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
I’d been forced to be naked in front of several Drakers during my check-in process for the Waywards.
I’d stood nude in front of an entire village with poison running down my legs.
Countless men had seen me bare in my life.
I didn’t give a shit about councilmen watching me.
In fact, I wanted them to see, to know I endured a loveless fuck for the sake of Castivian.
No one would ever be able to question me, my loyalty, nor my future children.
Prepping me in the large bedroom first, Lady Jocelynn gave me a soft white nightgown with a thin purple bow on the front. It was meant to keep my modesty for the viewing.
I laughed. All of this was so ridiculous. Maybe it was my way of coping, but I couldn’t be nervous. It was Ansel for Fate’s sake. He should be nervous. I couldn’t wait to lay there, expressionless, while he tried to prove his manhood by claiming a wife.
I periodically giggled while Lady Jocelynn gave me concerned glances.
Seated on the bed, I leaned against large pillows with dark grey cases.
The entire room had a similar color scheme, dull and dark.
The windows were ceiling high, the open curtains revealing the moon clouded over the ocean in the distance.
There was no point in closing them. I’d have an audience either way, and I doubted the sea cared much for intimacy.
There was a knock at the door.
“You don’t have to do this,” Lady Jocelynn whispered, keeping the door locked. “We can say the alcohol has made you sick. You can consummate another night, in private.”
She, a noblewoman who had endured this same scenario, was concerned about me. I was bred into this world tough as any shield, and raised tougher.
“This is my duty,” I declared adamantly, any trace of amusement gone. “And I am perfectly capable of enduring it.”
Lady Jocelynn straightened her posture, composing herself. “Good. We’ll talk tomorrow.”