Post by Arianna Corelli on Jun 25, 2011 21:12:39 GMT -5
4 months earlier
I sat, straight backed in the saddle, my gaze set before me as we rode through Camlach. We were only a day or two away from Namarre, and I had wanted to delay as long as possible. I was not looking forward to this marriage, but then again, what sane woman forced into it would?
My gaze shifted to the man riding alongside me, my husband to be; Comte Fiacre de Versailles. He was old certainly, only a few years younger than my mother and twice my age besides, though the D'Angeline blood meant that he'd aged gracefully into a weathered handsomeness. I didn't know if he regretted entering this arranged marriage; I suppose he would in time once he realised I was not the dutiful Serinissiman bride my parents had painted for him.
He moved his horse closer to mine. "Are you sure you are up to continuing? We can afford to stop for another day-"
"I'm perfectly fine with it, my lord," I replied in near flawless D'Angeline. Though my tone was polite, I managed to convey a slight sense of my buried resentment. Had he been younger, I imagined he would have blushed at it, but he merely inclined his head.
"Just let me know if there's anything you need."
I had to admit, he'd been kind and solicitous thus far, making sure I was comfortable despite my obvious disdain for the entire situation. Maybe, I might have even welcomed it; might even get used to it, but it seemed too sudden. In light of the death of their monarch, he sought ties with my powerful, foreign family, and we in turn sought his aid in the longstanding feud that hovered over court in La Serinissima.
All in all, a marriage of convenience.
"I know that I might not be the husband you envisioned for yourself," he said, surprising me, as though he would contradict my thoughts. "But I will be good to you. That I promise. And, if you find that you cannot possibly live with me, then I shall release you from any obligation to."
He said this with such conviction that I was forced to look at him anew. It was the first time anyone had actually acknowledged that my feelings mattered. Perhaps I would come to care for this man, even love him, after all.
"My lord-" I began, but before I could continue I was interrupted by the sharp warning of a guardsman.
"We have a Skaldic raiding party upon us!" he yelled.
Chaos ensued as they descended upon us, great burly men in heavy fur cloaks, brutally cutting down our escort, one by one. They looked like they had already pillaged, and were merely adding to their spoils with our party. My heart beat faster with panic as my lady-in-waiting fell from her horse in fright, her neck breaking with a sickening crunch.
"Arianna!"
Fiacre's voice called me out of my frozen state as he came up right beside me and pushed me out of the saddle. I stared up in confusion, wondering what he was about, when a sword ran him straight through.
"NO!" I screamed, my voice trembling with emotion. He was the one person to show me genuine kindness, the one person who seemed like he might actually care about me.
The force of feeling was shocking, even to me, but I couldn't help it. I keened like a madwoman, hysterical at what had just happened, enough to spook the horse of the man who murdered my betrothed. It bucked him off and he fell, hitting the ground hard. He got up immediately though, his sword aimed menacingly at me. I closed my eyes, waiting for the moment of death when everything would stop, but another voice, loud and harsh interceded.
"You," the leader of the raid dismounted and pointed at me, then spoke in rapid Skaldic. I blinked at him in confusion as he ordered his men about, then frantically gesticulated at me, making crude hand movements and slitting movements against his throat.
Before I knew it, I was gagged and bound, hauled onto the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes, borne away to a cold distant land; a captured slave.
I sat, straight backed in the saddle, my gaze set before me as we rode through Camlach. We were only a day or two away from Namarre, and I had wanted to delay as long as possible. I was not looking forward to this marriage, but then again, what sane woman forced into it would?
My gaze shifted to the man riding alongside me, my husband to be; Comte Fiacre de Versailles. He was old certainly, only a few years younger than my mother and twice my age besides, though the D'Angeline blood meant that he'd aged gracefully into a weathered handsomeness. I didn't know if he regretted entering this arranged marriage; I suppose he would in time once he realised I was not the dutiful Serinissiman bride my parents had painted for him.
He moved his horse closer to mine. "Are you sure you are up to continuing? We can afford to stop for another day-"
"I'm perfectly fine with it, my lord," I replied in near flawless D'Angeline. Though my tone was polite, I managed to convey a slight sense of my buried resentment. Had he been younger, I imagined he would have blushed at it, but he merely inclined his head.
"Just let me know if there's anything you need."
I had to admit, he'd been kind and solicitous thus far, making sure I was comfortable despite my obvious disdain for the entire situation. Maybe, I might have even welcomed it; might even get used to it, but it seemed too sudden. In light of the death of their monarch, he sought ties with my powerful, foreign family, and we in turn sought his aid in the longstanding feud that hovered over court in La Serinissima.
All in all, a marriage of convenience.
"I know that I might not be the husband you envisioned for yourself," he said, surprising me, as though he would contradict my thoughts. "But I will be good to you. That I promise. And, if you find that you cannot possibly live with me, then I shall release you from any obligation to."
He said this with such conviction that I was forced to look at him anew. It was the first time anyone had actually acknowledged that my feelings mattered. Perhaps I would come to care for this man, even love him, after all.
"My lord-" I began, but before I could continue I was interrupted by the sharp warning of a guardsman.
"We have a Skaldic raiding party upon us!" he yelled.
Chaos ensued as they descended upon us, great burly men in heavy fur cloaks, brutally cutting down our escort, one by one. They looked like they had already pillaged, and were merely adding to their spoils with our party. My heart beat faster with panic as my lady-in-waiting fell from her horse in fright, her neck breaking with a sickening crunch.
"Arianna!"
Fiacre's voice called me out of my frozen state as he came up right beside me and pushed me out of the saddle. I stared up in confusion, wondering what he was about, when a sword ran him straight through.
"NO!" I screamed, my voice trembling with emotion. He was the one person to show me genuine kindness, the one person who seemed like he might actually care about me.
The force of feeling was shocking, even to me, but I couldn't help it. I keened like a madwoman, hysterical at what had just happened, enough to spook the horse of the man who murdered my betrothed. It bucked him off and he fell, hitting the ground hard. He got up immediately though, his sword aimed menacingly at me. I closed my eyes, waiting for the moment of death when everything would stop, but another voice, loud and harsh interceded.
"You," the leader of the raid dismounted and pointed at me, then spoke in rapid Skaldic. I blinked at him in confusion as he ordered his men about, then frantically gesticulated at me, making crude hand movements and slitting movements against his throat.
Before I knew it, I was gagged and bound, hauled onto the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes, borne away to a cold distant land; a captured slave.