Emilia Rosier stood on the raised dais, looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She licked her lips nervously and watched as seamstresses and personal maids fussed around her.
"Tighter around the waist!" Vinda Rosier ordered in a stern voice.
"Certainly, Lady Rosier."
Emilia's breath hitched when the corset pinched her ribs. She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably but immediately received a smack across her back.
"Stay still, Emilia," her grandaunt muttered tersely.
"Yes, sorry," Emilia murmured, straightening her back.
To distract herself from the possibility of fainting, she spared a glance at her wedding dress.
It was an ivory white gown lined with luxurious mulberry silk. Silver threads were delicately embroidered along the hem, forming an unwinding pattern of the Rosier's signature flower – the English rose. Polished pearls were carefully sewn as buttons, forming a single row down the bodice. The pearls were gifts from the Prince family in preparation for the wedding.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Vinda murmured softly by her grandniece's side.
The corners of Emilia's lips tugged into a brief smile. "Very much so."
"Shall we put it on now?"
Emilia nodded. "Yes, please."
With a swirl of Vinda's finger, the gown was lifted from its mannequin and transported to the bride. She raised her arms and allowed the dress to glide into her body. Immediately, the gown adjusted to measure up to her slim waist, before flowing naturally down the shape of her hips.
Several gasps were heard around her as the heavy train of her gown settled with a low thud.
Vinda's lips curved into a wide smile, the lines around her eyes crinkled. It was years since Emilia caught her Grandaunt smiling.
"Oh, dearest," Vinda began.
Emilia chewed on her lower lips, uncertain of how her grandaunt would appraise her.
"You look lovely, Emilia," Vinda remarked, smoothing out the faint crease on her dress.
Emilia smiled, her cheeks blushed profusely. "Do you think His Grace would like it?" She asked quietly.
She had never met her soon-to-be husband. She had recently found out that they were promised to each other as children due to the meddling of their fathers. The only news she heard of her betrothed was his accomplishments in prestigious Hogwarts and… the rumours surrounding his illicit love affair with a Muggleborn commoner.
"Oh, without a doubt, love," Vinda cooed.
Her brows arched into a small frown. "Really? Because –"
The smile faded, turning into a scowl that Emilia was rather familiar with.
"Whatever senseless talk you've been listening to young lady is none of your concern. Tell me, who has been dirtying your ears," she snapped, her brown eyes lighted with fury.
"No one, Grandaunt," Emilia mumbled.
"Really?" Vinda raised a sceptical eyebrow.
Emilia chuckled nervously. "Yes, really. Besides, I only thought that my hairdo is not appropriate for the wedding. Nothing more."
Grandaunt Vinda simmered down quickly. She huffed out a breath. "Leave us," she murmured icily to the servants, who promptly scurried out the door, afraid that The Vinda Rosier would unleash her formidable powers. She was after all Grindlewald's acolyte once upon a time.
"Come down. Take a seat here, Emilia," Vinda called, patting on the plush vanity chair.
"I might need some help. The dress is quite heavy."
Vinda chuckled. "Now, now, Emilia. I'll not be around Prince Manor for you to command," she chided lightly.
"I know," Emilia said rather sadly.
Emilia's mother had passed away when she was barely six and her father, Lord Rosier, had been aloof and absent most of her life. Only her grandaunt cared enough to properly train and bring up the witch she is today. Vinda was tough most of the time, showing only hints of love and favour when Emilia truly pleased her.
"Come now," Vinda murmured, taking her grandniece's hand and helping her down the dais.
Emilia took her seat, facing the oval mirror of her vanity. Quietly, as always, Vinda took her time to brush her grandniece's long, brown hair. Emilia gazed at her Grandaunt's reflection, her brows were similar scrunched as she concentrated on brushing out the curls of her hair.
According to Vinda, Rosier women were always cursed with wavy, unruly hair which was viewed as unsightly by the upper-class society.
Emilia winced when Vinda tugged a particular knot in her hair. "Stay still, Emilia. You wish to be beautiful, yes?"
"Yes."
Although Emilia would never admit that she adore her hair in its untamed state. She wondered if the Duke would mind.
"What's on your mind, my dear girl?" Vinda hummed. Clearly, this was their favourite pastime.
Emilia shook her head. Her eyes cast downwards; her cheeks were flushed. "Nothing."
Vinda snorted softly, putting the brush down. Her finger followed a circular movement that helped entwine Emilia's hair into an elegant French twist.
"Emilia, I've known you since you're a child. I know when you're keeping something from me."
A slow silence overtook them.
Emilia glanced up, meeting her grandaunt's eyes with a sheepish smile that looked entirely endearing.
Vinda softened slightly, remembering the young child she met fifteen years ago has now transformed into a magnificent lady, of marrying age.
She patted her grandniece's shoulders.
"What is it, love?"
"I've been reading the books you said I have to before the wedding," Emilia began, licking her lips anxiously.
Everything she had read was definitely not for the eyes of the unmarried but her grandaunt had insisted she be duly informed.
"Ah," Vinda smirked. "Well?"
Emilia swallowed. "I understand that it will hurt?"
Her grandaunt had a contemplative look. "Not necessarily so. If he prepares you."
"How so?"
Vinda smiled. With a swirl of two fingers, she produced silver-coloured rosettes on the vanity table.
"He has to be gentle, my sweet," Vinda murmured softly. She picked up several rosettes, inserting them into her hair.
"Gentle," Emilia repeated absentmindedly.
Vinda continued her work, carefully placing the rosettes to form a crown. "He has to take his time. He will touch you softly. Caress and stroke your body."
Vinda noticed that heat rose up Emilia's face. Her cheeks were two spots of crimson. She chuckled. "Ah, I shouldn't divulge any more. We could save a little on the rouge, looking at how scarlet you are."
"Grandaunt!" She exclaimed, embarrassed.
Vinda laughed softly. "I shall not tease you further, Emilia."
She pressed her cheeks against Emilia's.
"You do look like your mother, my dear. The eyes especially."
"I miss her. Terribly so," Emilia mumbled. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes.
"Hush now. Your mother would've been very proud of you. She would have admired your dress, hmm?"
Emilia nodded her head, rapidly blinking away her tears. "It's very lovely."
"Only because you're lovelier, my dear. I'm certain His Grace would swoon over you. Trust me."
Emilia placed a hand over Vinda's. "Thank you, grandaunt. Thank you for everything."
The wedding was a muted affair.
The only parties present were Vinda Rosier, Eileen Prince and the marriage official, Albus Dumbledore.
Severus Prince looked entirely solemn and foreboding with his all-black ensemble. He had not smiled ever since he watched his bride enter the room.
His dark eyes scanned her form.
Severus noted that his betrothed was indeed beautiful. Her taste in the gown was excellent; demure and befitting of a Duchess. Though, he assumed that the Rosier family had better clothe their last chance at redemption in the best of silks and most expensive jewellery.
Severus hated the day he found that he was promised to another. He never had a choice in the decision made by his idler of a father who lost his bet to Lord Rosier. He had to disregard his true love, Lily Evans, to marry a possibly snobbish pureblood heiress.
So, when Emilia Rosier stood in front of him with dazzling honeyed eyes and a soft smile, Severus Prince disliked her more than ever.
"Your Grace," Dumbledore acknowledged.
"May we begin?"
Severus nodded curtly.
Dumbledore turned to Emilia. "Miss Rosier?"
"Yes, please."
Dumbledore nodded. "Join your hands."
Emilia wore a nervous smile before she carefully slipped her hands into his waiting palms. She gently squeezed their conjoined hands, earning a look of surprise from the Duke.
Severus would not admit that his pulse quickened when he caught the sparkle in the honey swirls of her eyes and the way her tongue darted out to wet her pink lips.
She was indeed easy on the eye.
Dumbledore's arms followed circular patterns, creating thin golden ribbons that wound around their ring fingers.
"Speak of your vows," Dumbledore murmured.
Severus nodded. He chose to recite the same promise that every Prince had declared.
"I, Severus Prince, will cherish my wife and dedicate proper care for her well-being even after my death. The children I sired will bear the Prince name and will be duly educated to uphold the family values."
Emilia's smile faltered at his words.
There was no mention of love.
Severus stopped, seeing her eyes dim.
He frowned.
"Your Grace?" Dumbledore interrupted softly.
Severus cleared his throat. "I…I would discharge my duties as the Lord of Prince Manor, husband to Emilia Rosier and father to our children."
The golden ribbon glowed before hardening into a wedding band, sealing his vow.
"Miss Rosier?"
Emilia exhaled a shallow breath. She had some semblance of what a magically binding marriage vow entailed and she was determined to lavish all her affections for the wizard before her.
"I, Emilia Rosier, will love my husband, Severus Prince, unconditionally."
Severus' eyes widened.
Unconditionally?
"I would prioritise and care for my husband, as a loving and dutiful wife would. I would remain steadfast in my affection and execute my role as Duchess. May our children be the testimony of our devotion," Emilia finished with a sad smile.
She hoped she would not regret the last sentence of her vow. A loveless marriage would destroy her eventually.
The ribbon around Emilia's finger tightened and solidified into a gold ring.
Dumbeldore smiled courteously and waved his hands as though orchestrating. "Si vis amari, ama," he murmured, straying away from the usual discourse.
Neither realised except for their mother figures who afforded a knowing glance at each other.
A spark of gold shot into the sky before cascading down, bathing the newlywed couple in golden showers.
"You may kiss your bride, Your Grace."
Severus was nonplussed by his wife's vow. He wondered if his assessment of her had been inaccurate.
He was not one to be wrong. The indent between his brows deepened.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Your Grace?"
Severus snapped out of his thoughts, bending down to her height. He pressed his lips firmly on hers before pulling away just as quickly.
Emilia followed his mouth, wanting a little more. She withdrew, a little embarrassed.
Dumbledore coughed awkwardly.
"May I present you – His Grace and Her Grace, Duke and Duchess of Glastonbury."
A/N: Si vis amari, ama – If you wish to be loved, love. This is Dumbledore's reminder to Severus.
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