The handmaidens didn't say a word when they arrived and cleaned up the makeup her tears had ruined.
They didn't even seem to notice it, or if they did, they didn't care enough to mention it.
She felt numb. Detached from herself. As though she was watching everything from afar. She couldn't feel anything, couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except let them work on her face and body. Let them fix her hair and dress, and paint her lips again.
When they were done, she was led to a carriage, which would take her to the temple where the ceremony would be held.
The ride was short, and silent. She sat alone in the carriage, staring out the window at the passing landscape. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was clear. It was a beautiful day. A perfect day for a wedding.
For Sidera, there was no question why they picked this day.
It was as if Aurania's sunlight blessed the nation for this occasion.
But it was a lie.
The sunlight was as cold as the pouring rain.
She felt sick to her stomach. Nauseous. Dizzy. Her head was pounding, and she couldn't stop shaking.
She wanted to scream.
To cry.
To run away.
But she couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but sit there, trapped in the carriage, waiting for her fate to arrive.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the carriage stopped. The door opened, and she was helped out by a servant. She was escorted into the temple, and down a long hallway. At the end of it, there was a large door, which opened as they approached.
Inside was a massive room filled with people. They were all dressed in their finest clothes, and they were talking amongst themselves. Some were laughing, others were smiling, and still others looked nervous or uncomfortable.
She felt like she was going to throw up. Her heart raced in her chest, and her breathing became shallow. She couldn't focus on anything else besides the fact that she was about to be married to Donncahd.
The crowd parted as she approached the altar, where the priestess stood. She was an older woman, dressed in white robes, and her hair was gray. Her eyes were kind, but there was a hardness to them that made Rache uneasy.
She turned her attention back to the room. Everyone was watching her now. Some had curious expressions on their faces, while others seemed bored. A few even had pity in their eyes.
Even Sidera knew their prince was a beast.
The thought made her want to laugh hysterically, but she held it back. She needed to remain calm. To keep her composure. If she lost control now, she'd never be able to regain it later.
She reached the altar and knelt down before the priestess.
The woman placed her hand on Rache's head, and began speaking in a language that sounded strange to her ears.
She didn't understand what she said, but she knew it was the old tongue of Sidera. Marriages in most nations involved blessings spoken in that nation's ancient tongue.
She wondered, briefly, if the woman really was speaking a blessing, or a curse.
It didn't really matter.
She was going to be married to a man who would kill her. It didn't matter if the priestess cursed her or not.
The ceremony went on for what felt like hours. The priestess continued to speak in the ancient language, and Rache tried to listen, to understand, but she couldn't.
Her mind was too foggy, her thoughts too scattered. She couldn't concentrate on anything except the fact that she was going to die soon.
Finally, the priestess finished speaking, and Rache rose to her feet. She turned around and faced the crowd. They were all staring at her expectantly. Some had smiles on their faces, others had frowns. A few looked angry. Most looked bored.
She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.
A firm hand grabbed hers.
Donncahd lifted her hand up as the priestess tied a red string between their wrists, knotting it several times.
"May this thread be as unbreakable as the bond between our prince and princess."
The words were in the modern tongue.
Rache felt her stomach drop.
She was going to vomit.
She was going to faint.
She was going to die.
This was it. Her life was over.
There was nothing left for her now except death.
Nothing but being married to a man who would kill her, and then dying at his hands.
She looked up at him. His face was unreadable. He didn't seem happy or sad. Angry or pleased. Just...blank.
Empty.
As though he was just going through the motions of this ceremony without any emotion whatsoever.
He turned his head to look at her, and their gazes met. His eyes were cold and distant. Unfeeling. Uncaring. As though she was nothing more than a piece of furniture to him.
She felt sick again, but she forced herself to meet his red-eyed gaze.
In that empty gaze, for a moment, she saw a flicker of something.
It was gone before she could decide what it was, and his gaze turned ahead.
Trumpets sounded. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Confetti fell from the ceiling, and the room filled with laughter and music.
She was married now.
And yet.
She wasn't.
Princess Airie was married. She, Rache, was nothing more than a frail body meant to take the fall when Donncahd turned his blade on his bride.
The prince's hand remained firm in her grasp, and he led her down the aisle toward the door.
The crowd parted before them, bowing as they passed. Some even threw flowers at their feet.
She didn't know what to do. Should she smile? Wave? Nod her head in acknowledgment?
She didn't have time to think about it. Donncahd led her out of the room and down the hallway.
They walked in silence until they reached the carriage waiting outside. He helped her inside, and then climbed in after her.
The carriage started off down the road.
A flash of metal caught her eye, and she instinctively jerked away.
She was much too slow.
The small dagger in his hand sliced cleanly through the thread at her wrist, and the frayed thread fell from her skin.
The thread left a faint red mark on her wrist where it had been.
Donncahd casually sliced the thread from his own, and flicked the fabric down to the ground of the carriage.
...He didn't say a word.