Sibylla's Wedding Day

The joyous cheers of the crowds were deafening to him as he sat watching the pair, her hand on his arm, as they made their way down the long pathway. He found himself cursing this day, this day that should have been so happy—no, no, any man but him, anyone but Guy, why did Guy have to be the one to take her away? He knew her marriage would come someday, but to this man? It was an abomination! Oh, his sweet sister, his friend, his confidante! How could such a crude man have stolen her heart?

It was not fair, Baldwin thought bitterly, it was not fair that Guy should be so lucky as to get a princess as his wife. Baldwin could see nothing but conquest in the cruel man's eyes whenever he saw him looking at Sibylla. She was nothing to him but a trophy, nothing but another thing to posses, just as a rare jewel or a valuable scroll of the enemy might be. Why had Baldwin been so foolish as to let her slip through his fingers like a grain of sand? Why had he not warned her Guy was such a vile and vicious man?

He turned his masked face away as they passed him, but when they had passed, he glanced up again and saw the back of her head, covered by her elaborate wedding veil. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. The little sequins on it gleamed, and beneath the gauze, the sun sent streaks through her raven hair when she moved, like the ripples of an inky nighttime lake are edged in silver by the moonlight. He found his heart beginning to race—loathing for Guy bubbled up within him as much as he tried to oppress it, and Baldwin could not allow himself to come to grips with the horror that tonight, behind closed doors, such a beautiful creature would be tainted for the first time by that battle-hardened brute . . . How dare he take her away from him!

Sibylla was his confidante, she was his friend, and, most of all, she was the only woman who did not shy away from him—she had touched his gloved hands more than once, she had smiled at him, she had kissed his mask; though it had been of a sisterly affection and he had not even been able to feel it, it had been the only kiss Baldwin had ever received from a woman, and he clung to it; it meant the world to him. Tears filled his sapphire eyes. Perhaps these conflicting emotions were why he was damned with this curse, but . . . she was the only one, the only woman who dared even get close to him. The tears spilled, unseen, hidden by the stoic silver mask.

"My beautiful sister . . ."

They had reached the end of the long walkway that led into the palace and turned back to face and wave at the crowds. She caught her brother's gaze and he tried to suppress his tears and make his eyes dance with joyousness, but in truth, he could feel a dagger being thrust in his heart and twisted, exacerbating the pain and the wound. They turned to the crowd's cheering and walked inside the palace. The tears resumed.

"I love you . . ."