Chapter Eight: Desperate Times

Vivenne spent most of her evening with Lord Nikol, as she had promised her mother. She felt a small sense of security, knowing that if he was with her, he certainly wasn't speaking to her father about a marriage contract.

They sat together at one of the tables in the library: she wrote a letter as they conversed. She kept her face impassive and her paper from his sight as best she could while he droned on about his estate and all the luxuries it afforded.

For the most part it was a quiet evening. Other guests came in and out of the room, searching for particular books or simply a quiet place to hold a conversation. Nikol scowled every time someone entered the room; he was obviously hoping for time alone with Vivenne. She was grateful for each interruption, and for the men who sat reading in one corner for over an hour.

When they were finally alone, he moved his chair closer to hers. She slid her finished letter under another sheet of paper.

"You have seemed so skittish this evening, Vivenne," Nikol said, taking her hand.

"I – I am sorry, I've been rather distracted today."

"Are you wishing you were elsewhere?" His eyes searched hers, and she felt her face flush.

"I shouldn't be alone with you, my lord," she said, her voice low. "Even though you are a family friend, it would be indecent if anyone knew we were not chaperoned."

"Then we'll do our best to make sure no one knows." He swiftly closed the space between them, roughly covering her mouth with his own.

She pushed him away, wanting nothing more than to run from the room. "Please don't."

"You are unaccustomed to stolen kisses in empty rooms, aren't you?" He gave an arrogant smile. "I assure you that there is nothing to worry about. I think you will learn to like it."

"Kisses are for couples who are betrothed," she said, her voice flat.

"And I'm hoping that we could be in the near future," he explained. "If you will have me."

"I-I can't," she replied. "I'm flattered at your attention, but this isn't something I would want."

"I can wait until you do. I would be a very patient man, were I waiting for you." He pulled her close for another kiss, this time much deeper than before. She did not like the way he held her by her wrists, or pulled her closer every time she shied away.

"I must go," she murmured against his mouth, shoving him away and rising to her feet. She grabbed her papers and left the room in a rush, her head down.

In the main hall she was stopped by a commanding voice. "Lady Vivenne, are you all right?"

She looked up to see Prince Jonathan coming toward her, concern etched on his face.

"I – I'm not feeling well," she explained. "I'm going to head to my rooms for the night – but would you be willing to do me a favor, your highness?"

"Anything," he replied.

Vivenne folded her letter swiftly. "Could you please deliver this to Sir Wyldon? I was in the library when I found some historical information about Tusaine he had been asking me about, so I copied it out for him."

If the prince suspected a lie, he did not show it. He graciously took the paper from her and bowed. "I will deliver it immediately," he said. "Sleep well, my lady – I hope you are feeling better in the morning."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a low curtsey before she headed up the stairs.

***

She spent the next morning with her sisters, quietly embroidering delicate handkerchiefs that were to be Margarethe's when she started her new home with Gavrel. It was tedious work, but Vivenne needed something to keep her hands and mind occupied. After a quiet lunch in the ladies' drawing room, she stretched and stood. "I need a break," she announced. "If you need me, I'll be in the gardens."

Margarethe looked up at her knowingly, a playful smirk tugging at her mouth. "I'm sure we'll do fine without you. Enjoy your walk," she said.

Vivenne retreated to her room before leaving the castle. She looked over herself in her mirror, pleased with her unadorned afternoon dress. She had specifically chosen to wear her thinnest cotton overgown; it was the color of wheat, and lighter than any other frock she owned. Keeping cool would be important today. She twisted her hair up into a chignon, fastening it with a jeweled pin. Satisfied with her appearance, she ran down the stairs and out to the gardens.

She was glad to find very few people in the gardens, and none of them family members or servants who would report her whereabouts to her mother. She made her way to the pavilion where she had spoken with her siblings the night before, and within minutes Wyldon was in sight, wearing a bewildered expression. "I followed your instructions," he said with a smile, gesturing to the thin cotton shirt and breeches he wore, as opposed to his usual tunics. "I'm hoping you will explain."

"You'll have to trust me. Close your eyes," she said, taking him by the hand. She led him around the pavilion to a small stone and glass building. Upon entering, she was overwhelmed by humidity and heat. She guided him over a gravel path and paused in the middle of a narrow footbridge.

"You may open your eyes now," she whispered.

He did so, and she reveled in the surprise and awe on his face as he took in all the tropical vines and flowers throughout the greenhouse. Trees towered up two stories, their branches thick with coiled moss. Ferns and flowers carpeted the ground, flanking the narrow stream beneath them. "I've never seen anything like this," he murmured, reaching out to touch one of the creepers hanging over their path.

"Lady Fanette was raised in the Copper Isles," Vivenne explained. "When Father proposed to her, he promised her a garden - nobles of Tusaine love their gardens, you know. So he found a way to give her the tropical jungles of her youth."

"And what did his other wives say when he built such a tribute to one woman?"

Vivenne laughed. "When he married Lady Colinne, he expanded the stables to more than twice their size. When he proposed to my mother, this castle did not exist – it was merely a hunting lodge. The men of Tusaine do not tend to show affection for one wife over another. There is no jealousy that I know of among my father's wives."

He shook his head, clearly unable to comprehend the notion. But instead of pressing the issue, he changed the subject. "Are all of these plants native to the Copper Isles?"

"I believe so," she answered, leading him further down their path. "Though some may be indigenous to other regions as well."

They walked through the greenhouse in silence, taking in the large ferns and lush trees. Toward the center of the building there was a koi pond surrounded by orchids and palms of varying sizes.

"It's beautiful here," he said, gazing up at the tall trees that grew to the peak of the glass structure.

"I thought you might like it," she said.

"It's almost," he said, stressing the word playfully, "as beautiful as you." He leaned down to kiss her thoroughly, one hand on the small of her back, the other at the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair.

He withdrew his hand only to pull the delicate pin from her hair altogether, and untwisted the coil of hair so it hung down her back. "Mithros, but I love your hair," he murmured in her ear, following up with more kisses.

"You're making me dizzy," she said, her voice low and shaking. She led him to the low retaining wall, urging him to sit down. "I wanted to discuss something with you, but I don't even know where to begin," she fretted, standing before him.

He rested his hands on her waist and looked at her with such calmness that she relaxed. "Whatever it is cannot be so terrible," he said, his brown eyes affectionate.

She took a deep breath. "Lord Nikol intends to ask my father for my hand, and he may do it as soon as today. I would beg you to speak as soon as possible, but I'm afraid it won't do any good. My mother adores Nikol, and will take up his case."

"And what about your opinion? Would it sway your father?" Wyldon asked, his face unreadable.

"My mother's heart is set so much on this match that I fear my father will listen to her pleading over mine."

Wyldon digested her words slowly, dropping his hands to his side and clutching the stones beneath him. "I can speak with him today," he decided. "I wanted to wait until the peace talks were over, but I can ask him as soon as I see him."

"But that could jeopardize the entire conference," Vivenne said. "How long do we have until the treaty is finalized?"

"As little as two days. If we can't reconcile a few key issues, it may be as long as a week."

"We cannot wait so long as that," she said with a sigh.

"I would marry you right now if I could." He gazed up at her with such earnestness that it pained her. His expression shifted, as though he had come to a decision. "Marry me, Vivenne," he urged. "Right now."

"You would risk my father's wrath?" she asked.

"Yes," he said firmly. "Would you be willing to leave this very night if necessary?"

She nodded. "I can't bear the thought of not being married to you," she said, resting her arms upon his shoulders and leaning her forehead against his. "You would have me as your wife?"

"If you will have me," he answered.

She kissed him lightly, then began searching through her pockets. "I don't have any ribbon," she muttered. "Of course this would be the one day I don't braid my hair."

Wyldon stood, holding out the pale yellow ribbon she had bestowed upon him after his successful tilting.

"You've been carrying it in your pocket?" she asked, surprised.

"You gave it to me," he replied, an incredulous look on his face. "Of course I carry it with me."

She took the ribbon and kissed him swiftly. She took his right hand in her left – handfastings were done with primary hands, and Wyldon was right-handed – and laced her fingers through his.

"I bind myself to you of my own free will, to take you as my husband," Vivenne said shakily, beginning the traditional vows for a marriage in the Goddess's temple.

"As I bind myself to you, I promise that I will never intentionally cause you pain," he whispered, caressing her cheek with his free hand. She felt as though her joy might choke her. She'd not yet imagined those words in his voice.

She wrapped the ribbon around their wrists with her right hand. "I will share our burdens, so our spirits may grow in this union."

"And I will take the heat of our anger and use it to temper the strength of our bond." He wrapped the cord around their wrists a second time.

His eyes were hot and intense on hers and she almost lost her voice. "We will never give cause to break the honor we promise each other," she whispered.

"We will dream together to create new realities and new hopes."

Together they wrapped the ribbon one final time.

"We will look for the brightness in life and the positive in each other," Vivenne recited.

"And so the binding is made, for as long as we love each other," Wyldon affirmed. Let it be forever, Vivenne wished.

With her help, he tied the ribbon and knotted it. A shimmer of silver gleamed from the pale yellow thread - the Goddess's blessing, Vivenne suspected. She beamed up at Wyldon and stood on her toes to kiss him.

"So mote it be," they murmured against one another's mouths.

She moved to untie the knotted cord, but he stopped her with his free hand. "In Tortall we have a tradition that should be easy to follow," he said with a wicked grin. "The knot cannot be untied until the union is consummated."

"I would hate to start this marriage on the wrong foot," she acknowledged with a throaty laugh, pulling him close to her.