by Lilia Ford
She watched him closely. He was clearly reluctant to leave her, which she found a little disappointing. Did he think her that fickle?
But Damian had been watching her as well: he gave her a rueful smile that seemed to ask for forgiveness and then rose. “Of course, we’re almost finished. Please, ladies, take our places.” He gave an authoritative nod at his brothers that silenced all protests.
“Oh,” Mama said anxiously, “if you’re sure you’ve had enough—I could pack something up….”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Miran,” he said in the soothing tone that worked wonders with her mother. “We must meet our men at the tavern in a short while anyway.”
“You’ve plenty to do without worrying about them, Mrs. Miran. They’re grown men, they’ll take care of themselves,” Sally added with a triumphant smirk.
Damian shot her a wary glance, while Sally raised her eyebrows in friendly challenge. Genevieve couldn’t help chuckling at the little battle of wills taking place between them, but her laugh caught in her throat when Damian turned on her with a dangerous smile.
Before she could protest, he bent and gave her a kiss—a lingering, open-mouthed kiss that left her breathless. His message was clear: while he might have yielded to Sally’s bold demand, Genevieve should not expect the same.
“Until later then,” he said and took his leave with his brothers.
There was a moment of shocked silence, which Mama quickly covered by fussing over her new guests, rushing about to collect the used plates and fetch new ones from the kitchen.
Emily and Jane began tittering and whispering to each other, while Genevieve slumped in her seat, trying to recover herself.
Sally took Damian’s place and said in a low voice, “I had to make sure you were all right after that business at the picnic. Damian Black. That man is a piece of work.”
“I’m fine, Sally, honestly.”
“I can tell. This is the best I’ve seen you in years, and good thing too. He must be treating you decently.”
“He is.”
“He should—you deserve it. I see you’ve had to take on the brothers as well.”
Sally’s gaze was so penetrating, Genevieve didn’t even try to deny anything. “They are to live with us,” she admitted.
“Of course they are. I hope he at least asked you,” she said shrewdly.
“He did. If I’d said no, he would have accepted my decision,” Genevieve insisted.
“No risk of that with you, though,” Sally sniffed. “You’re too sweet by half, and he knows it. It’s going to be uphill work managing men like those, but I suppose you’ll figure something out.”
Genevieve could only marvel that Sally grasped so much, infinitely more than Mama, who seemed completely awestruck by her new in-laws. She grasped Sally’s hand and said feelingly, “Thank you for coming—I’m really glad you did.”
“You’ve a friend when you need one. Don’t forget that, Genevieve. And anyway, we all owe you for taking on Damian Black.”
Sally wasted no time living up to her words. She took charge of the wedding preparations, ordering up a bath, selecting perfumes, and forcing Genevieve to submit to various beauty treatments for her hands and feet. All the girls were full of gossip about the Bridal Week. Apparently, two girls’ boxes had changed color the previous day.
“How is Peter?” Genevieve asked Sally.
“Week’s not over,” she answered. From the way Sally’s eyes sparkled, Genevieve was sure it was just a matter of time.
“Sally’s playing hard to get,” Emily said.
“No man will rush me,” Sally said firmly. “My box will change when it’s good and ready.”
“Not like Genevieve here,” Jane teased. “I own we were all stunned. The shyest girl in town was the one whose box changed first, and for a man like Damian Black.”
“Careful with those flowers, Jane. There’s no getting pollen out of silk,” Sally said, taking charge of both the flowers and the conversation. “Shyest girl in town?” she said in a low voice to Genevieve. “You’re something, Genevieve Miran, though I don’t know if it’s shy.”
Genevieve laughed, grateful for Sally’s supportive presence. She genuinely liked the woman Sally had grown into. The day passed faster than she could have imagined, and before she knew it, it was time to get dressed.
There was a moment of respectful silence as Genevieve’s wedding dress was taken out and unwrapped. All three girls looked stunned, Emily covered her mouth, and Jane sighed.
Genevieve felt a rush of pleasure at the girls’ reaction: Mama deserved it. Her mother was an artist with a needle, and she’d expended every bit of her skill on her beloved daughter’s gown.
Rather than the expected tight bodice with a full skirt, they’d decided on an A-line: a plain white silk sheath, with lightly-puffed cap sleeves and a square neck that was overlaid with a silk gauze overdress embroidered with tiny sprigs of flowers. It was deceptively simple, but the other women easily appreciated the consummate design skill and exquisite workmanship necessary to make it.
The girls handled the dress with reverent care as they helped Genevieve put it on. Looking at herself in the glass, even Genevieve could feel how beautiful it was—and how perfectly it suited her.
Jane handed her a bouquet of baby’s breath, which matched the little sprigs on the dress. The final touch was a coronet of the same flowers, which Sally placed on top of her head.
“Oh Jenny!” Mama gushed. “You were right about skipping the veil—this is better.” Genevieve had insisted on leaving her hair to hang down naturally in preference to some elaborate hair-do.
“It’s the prettiest dress I’ve every seen, and that’s no exaggeration. You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Miran,” Sally said with her usual bluntness. “It’s perfect, Genevieve. Damian Black is one lucky man.”
“Oh, my beautiful little girl,” Mama cried. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“No tears, any of you!” Sally ordered firmly. “Not you either, Genevieve. We didn’t spend all day getting you so pretty for you to blubber it all away at the last minute.”
It was well-timed. At that moment, her father called up the stairs to say it was time to go. All four girls looked at each other and then let out a loud squeal. Sally squeezed her hand, and Genevieve smiled back at her.
It was her wedding day, and she’d never been happier.
Chapter Nine
For the third time in as many days, Genevieve began the short walk to Titania’s Altar, this time accompanied by her parents and bridesmaids. It was a fitting culmination to the three most momentous days of her life so far. As they walked through the main street of the village, their small party was joined by neighbors. By the time they passed the tents on the green, almost the whole town was walking in the joyous procession.
Genevieve felt the rightness of it. A wedding wasn’t just for the couple involved. It was a chance for everyone to pay tribute to Titania and thank her again for the blessing of the heartwood she’d bestowed on their people so many generations ago.
Genevieve couldn’t help a slight hesitation when she saw Damian standing with his brothers next to the plain stone altar. All three of them were dressed in their uniforms, which were surprisingly sober, consisting of a long, straight-cut black jacket and matching trousers, unadorned except for the trim, which was dark green braid.
The most striking feature of their attire was the silver sword each of them wore. Something in the way the swords glowed convinced Genevieve that they must be Fae-made.
Damian did not take his eyes off her once. She was a little awed by how attractive she found him. She’d been told her whole life that it was improper to stare at a man or dwell on how handsome he was. She’d thought Damian good-looking in an obvious way, but now that handsomeness felt more dangerous, as if he were luring her in, enticing her to come closer so he could pounce on her. She feared she was blushing like a fool, but his gaze was so intense and possessive she
felt a sudden alarm at what it would mean to be his.
Sally’s light touch on her shoulder made her realize she’d stopped walking. Damian gave her an encouraging nod, which made her wonder if she’d just imagined his earlier expression. She clutched her father’s arm a bit tightly, but she did manage to walk the rest of the way to the altar.
As soon as she was in place, everyone’s attention turned to the small grove of rowan trees directly behind the altar. The priestess emerged, walking with a tall man who could only be Declan. From a distance, Declan looked hardly older than the Black brothers, who resembled him very closely.
But as he came closer, Genevieve saw that his skin had a flawless smoothness and subtle glow that could not be human. Only the ancient expression in his eyes betrayed the fact that he was centuries old. To her surprise, he smiled warmly at her, his face full of good-humor and even joy. Somehow she’d imagined such a great warrior would be fierce and stern even at a wedding.
Her nervousness eased a bit under his reassuring expression. Perhaps a miracle would occur and she would be able to get through her own wedding without humiliating herself by fainting, bursting into tears, or fleeing like a cowardly rabbit. Her courage did not come a moment too soon, as the ceremony began right when the two reached the altar.
The priestess said something about Titania and blessings and sacred unions which Genevieve couldn’t pretend to follow, and then her father was leading her forward to stand before Damian.
“Sir…Damian,” her father said gruffly. “In accordance with Titania’s will I hereby entrust you with the key to my daughter’s heartwood box, and with it I entrust you with her happiness and well-being.”
Damian answered, “I vow upon my honor always to cherish and protect her and pray Titania’s help that I may be worthy of this trust.”
The traditional words said, her father handed Damian a small gold key, which hung from a simple chain. Damian kissed the key and hung it around his neck. Her father kissed her cheek and took her hand and put it in Damian’s.
They both knelt and exchanged the age-old vows, Genevieve “to love, honor, and obey,” and Damian “to love, honor, and protect.” The priestess gave the blessing and then nodded to her to rise.
To her surprise, Damian remained kneeling and was joined by his brothers.
Declan stepped forward. “Damian has spoken his marriage vows before this company, but in taking a bride, my descendants have ever made greater vows than are even demanded by the priestess of Titania, vows to me. Derek and Donal, you have both indicated that you wish to follow in the tradition of our family and pledge yourselves to protect and care for Damian’s bride.”
“We do, sire,” both said.
“This vow can only be given with an open heart and clear conscience, free of any envy or malice. Can you both swear upon your honor that you so give the vow?”
“We can.”
“Damian, such pledges likewise must be accepted with an open heart, free of any jealous suspicions, unselfishly, for the good of your bride and the Black Family. Can you with honor accept your brothers’ pledges?”
“I can, sire.”
“Queen Titania has ever understood what it means to my family when a Black marries. By her order, you three are released from the vows you made when you first took up arms for her sake. I would have your vow that from this moment forward, your first priority at all times will be the safety and well-being of the Black bride. Do you so swear?”
Donal, then Derek, and finally Damian said, “I swear.” Afterwards Donal and Derek stood and took a step back.
“Damian, I restate now the values that rule our family and comprise its honor, so that Genevieve and all assembled may hear them. It has ever been my belief that there can be no true happiness in marriage without trust between husband and wife. I am proud but not surprised that no descendant of mine has ever been guilty of infidelity. As you value your honor and your family, so long as Genevieve lives you will not touch another female. You will never lie to her or deceive her for any reason. You will never mock or belittle her or give her cause to fear revealing her true nature or feelings to you. At all times you will conduct yourself so that she may feel secure in your devotion and affection, no matter what conflicts arise between you. You will never forget that the fates have vouchsafed to you a great blessing—the greatest that can be given to our family.”
“It will be the study of my life to live by these precepts, sire. On my honor I swear it.” Declan nodded, and Damian stood again.
Genevieve almost fainted when Declan turned next to her.
“Have no fear, daughter,” he said in a gentler tone. “You have given your vows, and I know they were spoken in all sincerity. I see already that you and Damian have the makings of a strong bond that will lead to your happiness. Still, all marriages have trials and conflicts. When they should arise, I ask only that you recall the vows Damian has made today and the precepts he has sworn to live by.”
He paused, and she nodded, unable to find her voice. He nodded back at her and then to her surprise addressed Donal.
“Donal in particular, I charge you with helping your sister understand the import of these precepts. I ask that you be a friend to her and actively take it upon yourself to rectify any misunderstandings and reconcile any differences that may arise between your brother and Genevieve.”
Donal looked surprised by this and said with a seriousness that was unlike him, “I promise to, sire.”
Declan nodded, and suddenly Damian was before her with a smile that made her shiver.
“You are truly mine now, my love,” he said so only she could hear and then leaned her over one arm so he could give her a passionate kiss. Genevieve batted his arms, mortified to be kissed like that before Declan, the priestess, her parents…. But Damian deepened the kiss, until she could only cling to him lest she collapse.
The crowd erupted in loud cheers and whistles. When he finally pulled her up, she was breathless and red-faced. She covered her face with her hands and then slapped at his arm, which led to loud guffaws from Donal and the other men.
Damian pulled out the key and gave it another kiss. The last task before the party on the green was the unlocking of her heartwood box, which still sat in the little parlor at the cottage. He took her hand in his, and they started back to the town.
The trip home went much more slowly as innumerable neighbors stopped to wish them joy. Everyone’s tone was warm and friendly. Genevieve knew part of it was due to the staggering amount of ale the Blacks had provided, which Emily and Jane had spoken of as a great marvel, but she felt an unexpected burst of satisfaction that everyone seemed happy for her. Somehow in finding Damian, she had ended her long isolation.
They were close to home when Declan and the priestess overtook them. The priestess took her arm and said, “Genevieve, child, truly I have never seen you so happy. I knew from the beginning that you were bringing great joy to the Blacks, but I find now that they are bringing you the same happiness. I rejoice for it—you deserve it.” The priestess glanced at Declan. “Genevieve, for most couples, I am present to bless the unlocking of the heartwood box, but Declan prefers to perform this for his own family. I hope you don’t mind.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened. Unlike the other parts of the marriage ceremony, that part was never spoken of, so she’d had no expectations of who would be present.
The priestess gave her a wry look, silently acknowledging that no matter what either of them felt, it would be unthinkable to refuse a request from the Black Prince.
“Of course,” she said shyly.
She looked to Damian, but his expression was suddenly closed and careful. They’d reached her home. The priestess gave her hand a gentle squeeze and left them.
The door was unlocked, and the three of them stepped into the parlor where all of her trunks were waiting. As soon as they were done, servants from the fortress were going to load everything into a cart to bring to her new home.
; The heartwood box would go as well, but for now it stood in its spot in the middle of the parlor. She wondered if she would ever become used to the sight of it. No paint or stain could produce such a deep, unreflecting black—the shade of Declan’s hair.
Damian made a low cough, and Genevieve recalled tardily that she was hostess. “Forgive me…. Please, welcome…. Make yourselves at home…” she stammered.
She pressed her lips together lest she make a greater fool of herself—and before Declan of all people. Damian held her by the chin and kissed her forehead.
“Please don’t distress yourself, daughter,” Declan said kindly. “There is nothing for you to fear in this—it will take only a moment. I would ask you to kneel down.”
She couldn’t help looking to Damian for reassurance as she obeyed. In her wildest imaginings, she never would have dreamt that she’d be kneeling on the floor of her parents’ parlor before a Fae Prince.
Declan nodded to Damian, who without further ado took the key from his neck, turned the lock, and opened the box. The box was turned so she could see nothing of its contents. Damian and Declan looked for only a few seconds, and then Damian closed the box, relocked it, and replaced the key around his neck.
Declan then said, “As your husband, Damian has become guardian of your box and its contents. I have always believed that a bride of our family must learn to rely upon her husband absolutely—trust that he knows best what she needs to ensure her happiness. For that reason, she is almost never allowed to look within her heartwood box. I have recommended that Damian follow this, and he has agreed. As head of this family, your family now, I forbid you to look within the box; likewise I forbid you to question Damian about it, or try by any direct or indirect means to find out what is within. Most brides chafe at this restriction at first, but you will find as they did, that you may trust your husband to understand what you need to be happy in this marriage.”
Genevieve tried to hold them back, but tears started streaming down her face. As Declan spoke an image had arisen in her mind: Declan staring down at her with cold fury because of some unforgivable action of hers, Damian looking at her with a mixture of disgust and dismay that he should be cursed with her for a bride.