What a Beautiful Wedding, What a Beautiful wedding

It was a beautiful sight to see, his royal highness standing in front of the mirror, veiled in white; Pearls and diamonds scattered across her collarbones. Her dress, although big, did not drown her; if anything, it accentuated her charm. Honey-tinted curls cascading down her back, sun-kissed skin, and freckles covering her body. She was like his own personal angel. It killed him to see her like this, knowing he could never have it. He would not be the one standing at the altar, waiting for her, but the man guarding the doors, while weighed down with chainmail, holding his sword with the grip he wished he had on her.

“Roman,” she spoke softly, her eyes meeting his in the reflection. “How do I look?”

He couldn't find the words at first; too many filled his mind. “You make a lovely bride, your highness,” his eyes tore away from hers as he spoke. It was true, she truly did. He was a lucky man; Roman envied him more than anything in the world; he would crawl into his skin and take his place if he could. He could be her prince, the man she could have and rule with when she finally became queen. He could be more than a stolen gaze or secret touch in the dark of night.

“I do, don't I?” she smiled, and Roman felt his heart melt. She turned around, finally facing him. It was so different to actually look at her, rather than just the reflection of her features; it was painful.

“Yes, you do.”

She reached out, soft hands grabbing rough, calloused ones. She rubbed her thumb over the scars adorning his knuckles, pulling them up to leave a kiss over them. His eyes couldn't bear the sight, but his body couldn't help but bask in it; he would never feel the softness of her lips after tonight, a right now reserved for her husband.

“Oh, don't look so miserable, it is my wedding day after all,” she chuckled, the smile not meeting her eyes this time. The devastation she held was tucked deep into her heart. “It isn't like I'm going away forever, I’ll still be here, and so will you.”

“But aren't you?” he couldn't help it; the broken words falling out of his mouth pathetically. “You may be here, but you wouldn't be-”

She cupped his cheek, the warmth of her hand burning through his skin and seeping to his bones, his face leaning into it instinctively.

“-you wouldn't be mine,” he finally whispered. “You will be his.”

A part of him knew she was never truly his in the first place, even in their small private moments together. He so badly wished to whisk her away, and maybe with more courage, he would have, but this man was rich, this man was royalty. He could give his highness the world, and all he could give her were stolen kisses and damnation.

“Roman..I will always be yours. He may become my husband, but you will always be my protector, my knight,” he could see now, the shine of unfallen tears in her eyes.

“Cordelia,” he finally reached out, fingers caressing the fabric of her sleeve before settling a palm on her arm.

“Nothing will have to change,” she urged, but he shook his head, pulling away from her completely, already missing the warmth that seemed to radiate from her very being. “We managed before, we will manage now.”

“No,” he whispered painfully, a word he should never have to say to her.

“But-”

“Cordelia, we mustn't, it's not right.” The words burned like bile in the back of his throat. He hated the expression on her face, her mouth scrunched up, and her eyes darting away. He hated that he was the reason she had that look; how could he deny her of anything she desired?

“I do not love him.” Cordelia's head shook, the tears that had now fallen glistening as the sun his her face. God, she was still so beautiful. “I will never love him. I may not be yours anymore, but you will always be mine,” she gritted out. It was a statement of authority. A princess and her knight, every aspect of his body and soul belonged to her.

“Of course I will be,” he couldn't look her in the eyes, his cowardice winning.

Silence fell between them. In less than an hour, she would be a bride and next in line for the throne. The only daughter, the future queen, his royal highness. They stood, looking away from each other, counting the seconds until everything they had together was crumbled into pieces.

“You know.. When we were kids,” she began, fingers fiddling with a stray piece of lace on her dress. “I would imagine you and me running away somewhere. You would come to my window and pull me away from all of this, save us both from the shackles of this kingdom.” Her voice cracked with a sad fondness, and Roman felt like he was going to collapse any moment. “You would be a poet, spending all your time in a study with a quill and parchment while I tend to the farm we keep.”

Her childish fantasy hurt something deep inside of him; her sweetness could be cruel at times, but never unwelcomed. She could plunge his own sword into his chest, and he would thank her for it.

“Because of course you would insist that you have to be the one to do it.” his throat was dry, and his chest ached. The pain only worsened the more he was around her now, but he loved the way her words ached in his chest.

She giggled, her tears still streaming down her face. He reached out, his thumb wiping them away. They lingered like that for far longer than they should have, the door suddenly opening, and Roman's hand suddenly ripping away from her tear-stained face.

“Your royal highness!” the maid who had opened the door fussed. “Only ten minutes until-” she noticed her wet eyes and red nose, instantly trying to come to her aid. “Whatever could be wrong? You are about to be married.”

She stared for a moment, trying to think of anything she could possibly say.

“Nerves, they are getting the best of her today,” Roman blurted out, saving Cordelia the embarrassment of trying to lie. “She wants everything to be perfect. I tried to tell her to stop fretting so much.”

The maid stepped farther into the room, Roman moving aside, not realizing they were still so close together.

“Oh, you poor thing, all will be well, I assure you, ma’am. Everything will be perfect,” the maid said to her, trying to offer a comforting smile.

But they both knew, nothing about this day was perfect.