The War Bride

The chapel bells rang like war drums.

I stood beneath the arch of the ancient cathedral, her silk veil trembling in the wind. The scent of old stone and incense cling in the air. I gripped my bouquet and fixed my eyes on the long aisle that led to my husband.

General Darrell Storm.

He stood tall in his ceremonial armor, dark green cloak trimmed in the colours of house Storm. His jaw was set in stone, gaze unreadable. The boy I'd once known, the one who teased me and taught me how to fish — was gone. In his place was a man shaped by war and power.

My heart thudded like hooves on dry land.

This was not a matrimony of love but an arranged one. It was a treaty signed  for peace between two names bound by bitter history. The Storms and Valdemonts. Their father's had once fought side by side, then turned on each other after a failed murder attempt. The kingdom never healed from the divide.

Now, with unrest rising again, the high council had found an answer in old bloodlines and public displays of unity. A marriage to bring the two old generals together and help quickly calm the unrest. Bring a hope to the people.

I began walking.

The crowd watched in stiff silence. Nobles, commanders, their faces unreadable. Somewhere near the front my mother sat rigid, lips pressed in a thin line. Darrell's father was absent, reportedly too ill to attend.

Or he was too bitter to watch an enemy's daughter marry in the family.

As i neared the altar, my steps slowed. I remembered the last time I saw Darrell— standing in the garden as my family fled out of their estate at dawn. He had thrown  rocks at my brother, but guards held him. His angry shouting  as he accused my brother of trying to kill his sister, haunted me still.

Now neither of them spoke.

The priest muttered ancient words, invoking gods Clara never believed in. Gold threads in my dress shimmered faintly as the runes on the wedding band were unveiled —symbols as old as the enmity that run between the two families.

"Do you take this man," the priest said. "To be your wedded husband, in unity and honor, until fate claims the both of you."

My throat tightened.

I looked up at Darrell. At his indifference, the shadow in his eyes. Something flickered there. Anger or was it disgust.

He remembered everything and he hadn't forgiven.

"I do," I said.

Darrell's voice was low, steady. "I do."

The rings were exchanged. Hands bound in silver thread. The kiss was brief, cold. On my cheek.

The bells rang again.

_______________________________________

The ballroom of Storm estate gleamed with polished marble, crystal chandelier.

I stood beside Darell a flute of untouched champagne in her hand. My veil had now been removed, my gown dragging behind me. Guests mingled with careful grace —diplomats in navy suit, military officials with tight smiles and aging aristrocrats.

Everyone was happy or pretending to be.

"Do you want a refill?" I whispered to Darell.

He didn't respond. Just placed the empty glass on the table, face unreadable. Clara stole a glance at him. He looked every bit the war hero the country adored— stoic, composed, untouchable.

But i remembered the boy who'd pull my pigtails and grin crookedly whenever he caught a fish.

The boy was long gone.

The string quartet played a hollow waltz. Servants in black jackets moved with grace between tight circles of conversation. In one corner, someone laughed too loudly. In another two aides argued quietly in a diplomatic tone.

"I see only your mother attended," Darrell said .

I nodded. "She had to see her only daughter off and she doesn't believe in making scenes,"

"What happened to your sister?"

"She had a complication during childbirth and sadly left for the other realm," I answered, finally taking a sip of the champagne.

"She was the better person out of all of you."

I turned to him slowly, her eyes cool, "Yes, I agree she was."

A flicker passed through his expression and then he quickly masked it with a grunt.

Before either could say more, a booming voice interrupted them.

"General Storm! Lady Clara!"

We turned to see viscount Reeve approaching, arm wide, smile wider. His wife trailed behind him, wrapped in jewel and a rigid kind of grace.

"Congratulations," he said clasping Darrell's hand with both of his. "A union like this gives our kingdom hope."

I smiled, "We're honored."

"We're relieved," Reeve corrected. "We doubted this would happen. But now we can all rest easy after the reunion of war giants."

Darrell's jaw clenched, "The unrest will be over before you know it."

Reeve chuckled, "Ah, always the soldier. May your house be strong and your heirs plenty."

He moved on before either of us could respond, his wife nodding with elegance only a swan could maintain.

Darell exhaled slowly, "Do they think will be breeding heirs and heiresses before dessert?"

I looked at him and smiled. A little of the boy she knew was still in him. Maybe getting married to him wasn't a bad idea.

"Do you think this will work?" Darrell asked, still stoic.

I shrugged.

"It won't." He said picking a glass of whiskey from a passing servant. "Don't expect me to perform any duties as your husband in private."

A pause. Music floated back in. Then the master of ceremonies called for the first dance. All eyes turned to us.

Darrell didn't offer his arm.

He turned and walked away.

The silence was defeaning. Shame spread through me like spilled ink.

I stood beneath the chandelier, nauseous, heart pounding,skin hot.

The music continued.

But I remained still— frozen in the center.