Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 15
Continued
A trumpet was blown, and slowly, the crowd quieted. There came the gentle music of a harpsichord, more flowers were strewn along the aisle, and the royal procession began to walk down, couples arm-in-arm. Gareth was tugged by Helena, and he began marching down the aisle with her.
Gareth felt more conspicuous, more awkward than ever, hardly knowing how to make his love seem genuine. He felt hundreds of eyes on him, and couldn’t help but feel as if they were all evaluating him, though he knew they were not. The aisle could not be short enough; he could not wait to reach the end, stand near his sister at the altar, and get this over with. He also could not stop thinking about his meeting with his father, and he wondered if all these onlookers already knew the news.
“I received ill news today,” he whispered to Helena as they finally reached the end, and the eyes were off him.
“Do you think I don’t know that already?” she snapped.
He turned and looked at her, surprised.
She looked back with contempt. “I have my spies,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes, wanting to hurt her. How could she be so nonchalant?
“If I am not king, then you shall never be queen,” he said.
“I never expected to be queen,” she answered.
That surprised him even more.
“I never expected him to name you,” she added. “Why would he? You are not a leader. You are a lover. But not my lover.”
Gareth felt himself reddening.
“Nor are you mine,” he said to her.
It was her turn to redden. She was not the only one who had a secret lover. Gareth had spies of his own who told him of her exploits. He had let her get away with it so far—as long as she kept it quiet, and left him alone.
“It’s not like you give me a choice,” she answered. “Do you expect me to remain celibate the rest of my life?”
“You knew who I was,” he answered. “Yet you chose to marry me. You chose power, not love. Don’t act surprised.”
“Our marriage was arranged,” she said. “I did not choose a thing.”
“But you did not protest,” he answered.
Gareth lacked the energy to argue with her today. She was a useful prop, a puppet wife. He could tolerate her, and she could be useful on occasion—as long as she did not annoy him too much.
Gareth watched with supreme cynicism as everyone turned to watch his eldest sister being walked down the aisle by his father, that creature. The gall of him—he even had the nerve to feign sadness, wiping a tear as he walked her. An actor to the last. But in Gareth’s eyes, he was just a bumbling fool. He couldn’t imagine his father felt any genuine sadness for marrying off his daughter, who, after all, he was throwing to the wolves of the McCloud kingdom. Gareth felt an equal disdain for Luanda, who seemed to be enjoying the whole thing. She seemed to hardly care that she was being married off to a lesser people. She, too, was after power. Cold-blooded. Calculated. In this way, she, of all his siblings, was most like him. In some ways he could relate to her, though they never had much warmth for each other.
Gareth shifted on his feet, impatient, waiting for it all to end.
He suffered through the ceremony, Argon presiding over the blessings, reciting the spells, performing the rituals. It was all a charade, and it made him sick. It was just the union of two families for political reasons. Why couldn’t they just call it what it was?
Soon enough, thank heavens, it was over. The crowd rose up in a huge cheer as the two kissed. A great horn was blown, and the perfect order of the wedding dissolved into controlled chaos. The royal family all made their way back down the aisle and over to the reception area.
Even Gareth, as cynical as he was, was impressed by the sight; his father had spared no expense this time. Stretching out before them were all manner of tables, banquets, vats of wine, an endless array of roasting pigs and sheep and lamb.
Behind them, they were already preparing for the main event: the games. There were targets being prepared for stone-hurling, spear-throwing, archery—and, at the center of it all, the jousting lane. Already, the masses were crowding around it.
Crowds were already parting for the knights on both sides. For the MacGils, the first to enter, of course, was Kendrick, mounted on his horse and bedecked in armor, followed by dozens of the Silver. But it was not until Erec arrived, set back from the others on his white horse, that the crowd quieted in awe. He was like a magnet for attention; even Helena leaned forward, and Gareth noted her lust for him, like all the other women.
“He’s nearly of selection age, yet he’s not married. Any woman in the kingdom would marry him. Why does he choose none of us?”
“And what do you care?” Gareth asked, feeling jealous despite himself. He too, wanted to be up there in armor, on a horse, jousting for his father’s name. But he was not a warrior. And everyone knew it.
Helena ignored him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You are not a man,” she said, derisively. “You do not understand these things.”
Gareth blushed. He wanted to let her have it, but now was not the time. Instead, he accompanied her as she took a seat in the stands with the others to watch the day’s festivities. This day was going from worse to worse, and Gareth already felt a pit in his stomach. It would be a very long day, a day of endless chivalry, of pomp, of pretense. Of men wounding or killing each other. A day he was completely excluded from. A day that represented everything he hated.
As he sat there, he brooded. He wished silently that the festivities would erupt into a full-fledged battle, that there would be full-scale bloodshed before him, that everything good about this place be destroyed, torn to bits.
One day he would have his way. One day he would be King.
One day.
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