Nonsense

The pale sunlight came filtering through the windows and basked his desk in its benevolent light as he watched speckles dance in the air. The skin on his fingers burned from the sun’s light, but it was a welcome pain, a distracting pain. It kept his mind focused, more on the work and less about matters that weren’t as pressing, such as the state of affairs just two countries over, the winter season just around the corner, and the fact he married someone he barely knew yesterday.

His fist clenched. His mother, that witch, never spoke of such a thing and kept him in the dark about it. Only did she reveal it just before his 24th birthday, and while he would have refused such a union, he had done a little research on his bride-to-be.

She was not a woman of nobility, in fact she first appeared to just be someone of whom his mother picked up off the streets. Her mother had died when she was just nine, and since then she had been living with her uncle while her father worked in Liberin, the neighboring country. He had not gone to visit his dear daughter much, and even seemed to have remarried within Liberin borders.

Her uncle and aunt were prominent businesspeople, and so after some snooping, Vandeleur had found out that his mother had promised a hefty some to go to their business, so long as they gave their niece into marriage with the archduke of Vandelia. Of course they would have consented, one would have to be mad not to accept a deal with a price like that.

He had asked her, before the marriage had been finalized, if this was something she really wanted.

“I am aware of what the Duchess of Wendeland had offered your uncle. I can, perhaps, negotiate something with him.” He offered as his violet gaze swept over her otherworldly figure. She looked like a real princess in such a beautiful dress. The light danced around her as if she were the sun itself, and he’d only shrivel in her presence. “We don’t have to do this.”

Her eyes looked up to him, mulberry eyes sparkling a pleasing pink behind the lace of her veil. The moment her eyes met his he could swear he felt warmth wash over him, dousing him in an unfamiliar, yet pleasant, heat.

And then she smiled. Goodness gracious, her smile. It was so wide and warm and happy and genuine. The idea that she was smiling like that at him nearly had his knees buckling. He griped her dainty gloved hands within his own as he steeled his best resting face.

“It’s okay, Master Vandeleur. This is something I want.” Her voice sounded sweeter than any birdsong, softer than the gentle spring breeze. Her words had his head spinning and his heart pounding. How could she want him? The black stain of Vandelia?

“Are you certain, my lady?” He begged of her. “If this is a monetary issue, please allow me to assist.”

“No, Your Grace, that is not an issue.”

“Is it a stipulation? Did the duchess pin something against your family?”

“Wh- no, Your Gra—“

“If it is a matter of business, I can—“

“Your Grace, please, this is nonsense.” His bride shook her head, light pink curls bouncing at the movement.

“I just don’t understand,” he murmured.

“Don’t understand what, Your Grace?”

“I don’t understand what is keeping you here.”

“That’s a silly notion.” She mused, and that beautiful smile returned as he felt her fingers gently squeeze his own. “You’re what’s keeping me here, my dear husband.”

—-

The same warm, fluttering feeling that he felt in his chest came back in full force. Heat flushed his cheeks as he hid his face in his hands, the cool metal band only offering a small ounce of reprieve and an even greater dose of realization. He married that woman last night, the woman as bright as the sun and yet as soft as moonglow. A woman’s whose smile could bring him to his knees, whose very word had his world pausing to listen. A woman who wanted this, wanted him.

He groaned into his palms. This was a dream. It had to be. The perfect dream. A dream that he would eventually wake up from. A dream conjured by his overactive imagination.

A dream that he didn’t want to end.