Bjorg Knaast watched his girl walk down the aisle on a bright sunny morning the following year. The handmade path connected the terraces behind the manor to the lake.
Sylvia Knaast wanted to represent her lineage and the groom's nationality. So famous artisans used white roses from a flower-prize winner and giant Brazilian orchids to create an extravagant decoration. The cost would feed a small town for a year. Where the arch reached the pond, there was an open stage. Many yards of silver, translucent fabric worked to turn it into a puff of mist. From the distance, it looked about to sink into the peaceful green waters.
The Prince of England had the delicate bride's palm resting on his wrist and seemed to stroll in heaven. Sylvia Knaast in her wedding gown was a fairy-tale princess. And the old man marveled at her beauty.
Victor Falcone watched his bride walk towards him mesmerized. Under the tuxedo, Victor's wide shoulders and muscled chest bore her nail marks and a few whip slashes. Also, his bride's breasts were tender from his teeth. For good luck, he said. She made him breathless.
Thanks to Bjorg's amused interference, the bruises disappeared for the ceremony. "You've got yourself a rough lover, daughter," he commented as he snapped his fingers to heal her abused skin.
"Just the way I like," she giggled.
Now, layers of silk lace over marble satin wrapped around her torso and displayed her bosom in two low cups. Hugging her slender neck, a white gold choker had red drops all over it. It was Sylvia Knaast's touch on the traditional ceremony; the bride had demanded it. Such a virginal attire became something else. More glittering red tears sprinkled over the lengthy skirt and trail. The couture piece would become the cover of every fashion magazine for a long while.
However, the unexpected bold colors weren't the only shock. Rich and arrogant, the Knaast woman dared.
Skilled hands produced the bridal bouquet with black silk orchids in a bright platinum mesh.
A few thin braids spotted with black diamonds sparkled under the setting sun. A net of sparkling black diamonds gathered her shiny silver golden tresses in a loose knot.
Victor's mom stared daggers into her offspring, whispering in her husband's ear. "Look at her, Paulo! She is ready for the bordello party."
The man ran his fingers through his splendid mane of hair as thick and shiny as his son's.
"The papers are signed, Valeria. Our boy got richer and his bride is fascinating. We will have gorgeous grandchildren. Calm down."
"I will talk to Victor. He needs to control this filly. He will listen to me."
"Don't bother. There's nothing we can do. Look at him. He is in love."
Valeria Falcone clucked her tongue.
"Don't be nonsensical. There's no sentiment in our son's heart but for his dream of becoming the President. That's all he talks about. She is a noblewoman. The granddaughter of a Duke. A great alliance for Brazil. A decisive step to make his career a success. And blah blah blah," Valeria recited with derision.
"She's lovely too," Paulo Falcone mumbled. He was so bewitched by the Knaast sex appeal he neglected to notice it was his wife beside him.
"You too!" She hissed.
On the stage, Victor Falcone received his bride from the English prince with a neck bow.
"Thank you, Your Royal Highness."
"You are a lucky young man, Mister Falcone. Do not take our rose away for good."
Sylvia turned her royal-blue eyes to the Prince and bent her knees and head in a profound courtesy. "You are exceedingly kind to me, Your Royal Highness."
Following the protocol, he kissed her fingers and took his place beside Bjorg Knaast. "She was doing a remarkable job with the tourist tours of the manor, Bjorg. See that she continues doing it. Her handsome husband must lend her to England for a few weeks a year."
Bjorg smiled.
"I am confident he will, sir. And thank you for your kindness in coming for the wedding."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world. My cousin is very grumpy today because his only granddaughter did not walk the aisle with him." The prince's smirk was full of mischief.
"It is the protocol. He understands."
"You don't seem to mind."
"Sylvia is honored you came. She would never want otherwise. As her father, I want her happy."
"She is striking. Her mother was lovely, but she is sublime. It is impossible not to marvel at her. Who had the idea of rubies on the garment and black orchids in her bridal bouquet? I imagine the headlines in the fashion magazines tomorrow. Blood and darkness on a wedding day."
Nodding, Bjorg said, "Sylvia chose them. She is opinionated."
"She can be. Gorgeous women do whatever they determine, dear Bjorg. I thought the last large rubies were in the London Tower."
Smiling, the proud father shrugged. "I am in the business, Your Highness. Offers come to me every day and when I put out my daughter wanted rubies, many got to my hands."
"What about the black diamonds? Do you extract them?"
"Yes, sir. Our mines in Africa bear a few. I keep them in an appropriate vault."
Then the prince's sly smile meant a fast mind. "You control the market. I guess they are not that rare."
"Oh, no, sir. They are rather extraordinary. They are the gift of royalty."
The bride turned to the two men and as Sylvia smiled at the old Prince and he smiled back, the bewitched man forgot the protocol. So, because the wedding priest should wait until the Prince told him to continue the service, everything halted.
Amused, Bjorg waved at the chair behind them. "Let's have a seat, Your Highness."
"Yes, sure," he answered, and with a slight nod to the bishop in charge of the ceremony, ordered him to go on.
The religious man was one of Sylvia's demands.
Months before, at the wedding plans meeting, Sylvia had been adamant about that detail.
"I am the granddaughter of a duke, and my mother was a princess. I have the right of a bishop to officiate my wedding and I will have one," she cried at her grandmother, then turned to her father. "Buy me one, dad! People say horrid things about me! I want a bishop! I want London on their knees and I will have it."
Except for the day Bjorg told her the truth about himself and the family, her father had always bowed to Sylvia's wishes. In the cold Knaast way, he loved her. Maybe she was the only person to rise feelings in his heart.
He brought her up alone. No Knaast could have nannies because they were never ordinary children. Thus, the Knaast priest had her along in the office, in his travels, and most of her life she was by his side. Only she knew how to behave so that the peculiarities of her lineage were never in sight he allowed her to be with other people.
So as his mother-in-law comforted a crying Sylvia, Bjorg took the landline and did the phone call.
The old saying, "Where there is money, dreams come true," was perfect. Sylvia demanded a bishop to marry her. So there he was after a fat donation from the Knaasts' coffers.
Hazug's pets made a limited guest list. Only three hundred people received an invitation to the cocktail party in the gardens and the evening ball. Yet the banquet party-list counted only fifty guests.
On the wedding evening, Victor walked Sylvia into the dining room. Polite clapping greeted them.
"Thank you," he said, smiling and kissing her knuckles. "The race was hard, but I won it. She is mine now."
Chuckles received his joke.
The bride's dark blue dress swished when she sat at the table and icy diamonds sparkled in her ears and wrist. However, her engagement ring was a black diamond surrounded by pink ones. The simple wedding band was not about to crash with the other, much more precious jewel. The fallen angel himself produced the ring, establishing his connection with the couple. A Knaast warlock was in the finest jewel business and offered it to the Brazilian mogul. The low price and the quality of the piece appalled him. However, he could never guess a demon General made it.
Bjorg Knaast invited presidents, Prime Ministers, and dignitaries. They came from countries where the Knaast industries had a representation. The ones left out of that prestigious list knew their business was in danger.
Sylvia kissed Victor's ear and whispered, "Watch how I will make you Brazil's President and become your First Lady."
She got to her feet.
The conversation stopped.
Spread all over the room, the Renegade angels chuckled. The Knaast had their cunning.
"You know gems are the force behind the Knaast fortune. Well, besides weapons and many other things I don't know, but dad controls like a hawk."
Some chuckled at her honesty, and she continued. "Today I married my dream." She smiled at Victor.
His shrewd green eyes watched her with attention, but he smiled. After their afternoon BDSM session in the mansion's dungeon, he was quite aware of how dangerous his sylphlike bride was.
"We both did, my love," he replied.
"My wedding dress cost 300 million pounds," she declared.
People gasped and she shrugged. "I have expensive taste. But not only taste made me choose those gems. I asked my father which ones were the most expensive and I chose black diamonds and rubies on purpose. I wanted my dress worth a fortune."
People exchanged glances. Telling prices was not polite, and even the enamored prince frowned. She continued, unfazed by the surrounding criticism.
"I am not blind to other people's needs, as many accused me all my life long."
People whispered. Sylvia Knaast was rude. Nobody ever talked about gossip. Even somebody that rich and influential. The young woman reveled in the discomfort she caused.
Her smile got brighter, "I want my dream shared by as many as possible. So my wedding attire will become less expensive. Right now the fashion designer and his team are working to rid it of all the rubies and diamonds. The gems and the dress will go to Christie's for auction in separate lots. The taxes belong to England, but the money will go to Brazil. I chose an architect and requested a project to build 1000 homes for the homeless. My portfolio will cover the remaining cost if the auction profit does not suffice. Also, because my father would not want the market flooded with so many rare items, I am bidding some gems to gift to you."
She giggled at Victor's stupid open mouth. She closed it with her elegant fingers. The audience followed her gesture and scoffed.
"The biggest ruby will be yours, Eminence, set in a ring, as it is due, and the largest black diamonds will grace the crown jewels. If you give me the honor, my Prince."
The prince beamed at her. "How thoughtful, my dear. I will make it happen. They will have a special display in the tower."
Sylvia smiled at Bjorg.
"Sorry dad, but I could not tell you before. I know you never said no to me, and you would have helped me, but I needed to do it myself."
The President of Brazil stood up. "I can only thank you for your generosity, Mrs. Knaast-Falcone."
She lifted a hand. "That is not all. I am starting an international foundation. The name will be Knaast-Falcone Foundation to study and protect the Amazon rain forest within Brazil's borders. People told me about it when I chose the black orchids and I want to help. As for the flowers we used here today, they will go to nursing homes and hospitals to brighten up people's day. They did it to me and you, right? I also sent London's children's hospital a few gifts. I want everyone to celebrate with me."
Sylvia tapped Victor's hand. He reacted and got to his feet, kissing her lips. "You are a treasure."
"Oh no. The dress was the veritable treasure. I was the filling."
"And what a filling," one male voice mumbled, and some snorted.
Bjorg walked to Sylvia and took her hands. "You make me proud, Sylvia."
In her mind, she heard him say, "You started well. How did you do it without me? I am surprised."
"General Hazug helped me."
"Great. Soon Victor will be closer to our goal."
Unaware of the truth, people admired father and daughter. Everyone thought they were so beautiful, good, and generous.
Sitting as straight as a statue, Valeria Falcone grabbed her husband's hand. "I am sorry I was so wrong," she murmured, and her husband nodded.
Sylvia Knaast was pretty worse than Bjorg Knaast because she knew how to make her victims adore her.
That night, the couple was not in bed yet, and the news was everywhere. Famous magazines called the Knaast-Falcone wedding the most expensive of the century. The bride's generosity and kindness for her groom's people received public praise. The donation for the children's hospital was online. Nurses, parents, and doctors made videos and happy grins were on everyone's faces. People covered the property's gates with flowers and thank-you cards for weeks. Stories about the pricey gifts and how good they were for the children rose from everywhere. England's and Brazil's representatives at UNO praised the Knaasts.
The demons laughed. How gullible humans were.
Victor's race for Brazil's Presidency started in that dining room of an Elizabethan mansion in rural England on the dainty little feet of a Knaast.