The Vampire & Her Witch

It was all happening too fast, Charlotte thought. That was the thing that bothered her most. Ashlynn’s memorial had been just two days ago. The ashes from the pyre were barely cold, and Owain was already standing at the altar, waiting for the next Blackwell sister to take the place of the first.

Charlotte didn’t know what kind of man Lord Owain truly was behind the charming smile and the demon-slayer’s reputation, but she knew what it looked like when a man was in too much of a hurry, and she didn’t like what she saw.

Adala had added more to it when they spoke last night. She’d noticed a steady stream of knights and servants from Blackwell coming to see Jocelynn while she was having tea with them, and each time, the servants seemed reluctant to leave, even though Jocelynn had only given them a simple errand.

The most damning thing had been the letter of introduction that Jocelynn asked for to help Sir Elgon find ’reliable men’ for the carriage service Jocelynn wanted to start through Otker Canyon. Charlotte hadn’t thought anything of it, and she was glad that Lady Jocelynn was in such a hurry to make it happen.

It had been Adala who pointed out that there was no reason to rush so much in the middle of winter, and there was even less reason to send a knight like Elgon east to Otker Canyon when demons were massing in the west... Unless it had never been about a carriage service at all, but a way for Jocelynn’s people to escape Lothian March.

But Jocelynn didn’t seem to have any intention of going with them. It was more like she was sending her household away, which made Charlotte sadder and made Adala nervous.

Charlotte’s musings were interrupted when the doors at the far end of the hall finally opened, and Jocelynn appeared.

A murmur rippled through the assembled court as the bride stepped into the hall on Captain Albyn’s arm. The cerulean blue of her gown drew every eye in the room, and the whispers started immediately, hissing between the tables like wind through dry grass.

”Blue,” a noblewoman at the next table said to her husband, loud enough for Charlotte to hear. ”She’s wearing blue. On her wedding day. Does that mean Lord Owain has already made her his own? Is that why they’re rushing so much?”

”Hush,” her husband replied sharply, his brow furrowing. ”Just because she isn’t wearing white doesn’t mean anything. That’s the blue of the Blackwell crest,” he pointed out as sweat beaded on his brow. ”She’s probably just doing it to honor her house since her parents couldn’t be here for this.”

”That’s not right either,” the woman said, clicking her tongue in disapproval. ”I know Lord Owain is in a hurry to become the Marquis, but this could have waited...”

”If he waited, then Lady Jocelynn would only become a consort, not the Marchioness,” someone else at the table pointed out. ”He has to marry her before he takes the throne. That’s why he has to hurry.”

It sounded plausible. Reasonable, even, but Adala had pointed out last night that there was no need for Owain to take the throne immediately. As the heir apparent, Owain could act as the Marquis in every way that mattered while he waited an appropriate amount of time before his coronation. Invitations to this event should have been sent to all of the marches and duchies... The king himself was unlikely to attend, but one of the princes should have been present to bestow the title of Marquis on Owain in the name of the king.

Instead, Owain had asked the Church to take up that responsibility, and while there was nothing wrong with having High Priest Aubin conduct the ceremony, there was also no clear reason for the haste, unless the rumors were really true and Lord Loman was out there somewhere, plotting to seize the throne for himself after his father’s death.

These things were all important observations to Adala, who had been trying to figure out what was happening ever since she arrived in Lothian City. To Charlotte, however, they were just more signs that her friend wasn’t walking towards a happy marriage or a bright future today.

Charlotte watched Jocelynn move down the aisle with the measured, unhurried steps of a woman who knew exactly what she was walking toward, and the tears that had been building behind her eyes since she sat down finally spilled over.

”Oh, for the love of Light,” Serge muttered, reaching for the nearest decanter. ”Charlotte, it’s a wedding. Women are supposed to cry at weddings, but you look like someone died,” he said thoughtlessly. They’d just left Bors Lothian’s funeral a few hours ago, and Ashlynn’s memorial hadn’t been all that long ago either. People had died, but that didn’t seem to bother Serge at all.

He poured her a goblet of wine so full that it nearly overflowed, then refilled his own with considerably less care, sloshing a few drops onto the white linen.

Charlotte didn’t touch the wine. She kept her eyes on Jocelynn, watching the way the candlelight caught the pearls at her throat and ears, and she tried to tell herself that everything would be fine. That Jocelynn was stronger than she looked. That the plans they’d discussed yesterday were real, and that the future still held something worth hoping for.

She almost believed it. She wanted to, more than anything.

But the cerulean dress said something that hope couldn’t answer, and the steadiness in Jocelynn’s step said something worse, and Charlotte Otker sat at her table with untouched wine and running tears and prayed to the Holy Lord of Light that Adala was wrong about what all of it meant.

Because if Adala’s suspicions were correct, as they so often were, then this wedding was a tragedy... One that was either just beginning or one that was coming to an end, and Charlotte didn’t know which would be worse.