The closer she gets towards the altar, the harder it is to remain detached from the proceedings as she had originally planned.
France had counseled calm, duty, honor, though she has to wonder sometimes what he knows of the last, and assured her rather cheekily that the King of Baron is very easy on the eyes. Spain had smiled at her sympathetically but also encouragingly, took her hands in his and kissed her cheek, wishing her a good marriage and that she may grow to love her royal husband eventually. Her friend's well wishes do not steady her now the closer she gets to the altar. There's that instinctual uneasiness. She's a black eagle about to be caged against her will and there is that instinct for fight and flight.
Her grip on her bouquet tightens as she walks steadily closer, towards her future, towards a husband she never wanted, willing her knees not to buckle. Willing her feet not to turn and run. Willing herself to be strong and do this for her sister. She has faced down armies and won. It will be most disgraceful if she runs from something so (seemingly) simple as marriage and at the risk of endangering a delicate political alliance. With another deep, steadying breath, she vows that she will go through with this. The Nation of Prussia has never been a coward and she will not start being one now.
She takes the final step, amazing herself that she's able to do it, and finally, stands before the altar beside the King of Baron. The veil covers her face and it obstructs her vision, which is a shame as she currently wants nothing more than to focus her gaze on something else other than the bouquet in her hands. Besides, without the veil, she would have been able to see the King of Baron and confirm France's words. At the very least, she wishes her soon-to-be husband is indeed pleasant to look at.
The Mysidian Elder clears his throat quietly to get Cecil's attention and the paladin ruler turns back to him for the proceedings. He can't tell if the palpable tension in the air between him and his bride is real or imagined though and he continues to glance at her throughout the ceremony. As they sit and rise over and over throughout it, Cecil only just manages to follow along with what's happening, distracted from fully focusing because he's contemplating how best to apologize to the woman beside him for this unfair turn of events.
Cecil hates war and this is certainly a perfect example of why; people die and people sacrifice more than they have twice as much as they do during times of peace. Baron is a peaceful nation, but even peaceful nations have to defend themselves and this alliance is nearly as crucial for them as it is for Prussia; Baron may not be near dissolution, but they were in danger and helping other countries is just as good as protecting his own.
Finally, the proceedings near their end. The vows are exchanged and the rings slipped on. He's surprised to find that her hand, while small and feminine, is worn like a soldier's. Like a knight's. Like his hands.
The ceremony proceeds smoothly, Prussia able to go through the motions without any problems. She has been informed beforehand of what would transpire and thankfully she makes no mistakes. Along with the orientation about the ceremony, she has also been reminded of the severity of her duty to make sure everything is done flawlessly. She is not to make a spectacle of herself and an embarrassment of Germany. They all remember well how she can easily stir up trouble. There will be no place for her usual shenanigans in this ceremony and she best remember that.
Such dire lectures tempt her even more to cause a raucous, to raise hell, to stick it to this unwanted marriage but she stays herself. Nothing good will come out of doing such a thing and her sister needed this. If there is any weakness she has, it is her utter love and devotion to the sister she has practically raised herself. And so she behaves, carries herself like the queen she is to be at least for the sake of the start of good relations between the two Nations within this union.
It doesn't take long before the ceremony is almost at the end. The vows are spoken and she finally hears the King's voice. It's a calm, soothing voice, a voice that she can associate with a priest, which is both strange and comforting. The rings come next and she silently curses about not wearing gloves. How will he react to her calloused, unladylike hands? He'll have to touch them eventually, but for now, wouldn't it be better to give the illusion of a proper, docile noblewoman (they could have just married him to Österreich. He's even more ladylike than I am.)?
And then it's time for the kiss and the great reveal. On the outside, she is calm, collected, but in her head and in her heart, she flutters and shrinks into herself. A wave of nervousness has taken her, though she knows it doesn't matter how she looks and she shouldn't feel as such. She's married to him now and he'll have to take her as she is. She can somehow deduce from hearing his voice that what France says of the King is true. How will he accept a scarred knight as his queen?
The veil is slowly lifted. She shuts her eyes momentarily against the sudden onslaught of sunlight, slowly blinking a moment later to try and open her eyes. To finally set eyes on her husband. Violet eyes slowly flutter open, looking up at the King of Baron's face.
Cecil sets his own pale blue-violet gaze on his wife at last, carefully pinning the blusher back so that it does not fall again over her face. His eyes meet hers briefly before they're drawn to the long, thin scar that stretches up her jaw and across her cheek. It becomes, in that moment, very obvious to him that she is no ordinary woman - he recognizes the look of a soldier and she fits every trait almost flawlessly. Needless to say, he's stunned, but he's not repulsed; on the contrary, Cecil finds himself intrigued by her. Suddenly, her agreement to this marriage makes all the more sense to him. If she was a knight, she would feel an obligation to her country more strongly than most others, exactly as he did, no matter how personally she may have objected to it with her very essence.
The Baron monarch raises his hand to cup her chin gently, his thumb tempted to brush along her scar with empathy and solidarity for his fellow soldier, but he stills his hand. Neither of them are knights anymore; they are king and queen, husband and wife. Cecil briefly considers walking away in an effort to save her from this life, his thoughts likely reflected in how he hesitates now to kiss her, in the entire way he looks at her with so much remorse. Regardless of how he believes she deserves better than this though, he concedes that it would be an insult to leave her here when she has come so far and fought so hard for the preservation of all she holds dear. He must carry on with the ceremony, even if all that drives him is respect for her despite how he didn't think clinging to his will would be so difficult when he saw her.
Slowly, he lowers his face to hers and presses his mouth chastely to her lovely lips. He kisses her warmly, though he's mindful not to be too insistent. His bride is beautiful and soft, and though they are technically strangers, he feels close to this woman, pouring his silent promises to somehow bring her happiness into the way he kisses her.
He's beautiful, so very beautiful and she wonders why he doesn't take one look at her and leave her standing there. She's no regal, graceful queen whom he could proudly stand with before the world. She's not even a lady and she's pretty sure he'll hear all sorts of stories about her soon enough. Prussia, who waged war for the German Empire and reveled in it. Prussia, brash, rude and arrogant, a woman only in body and looks but hardly in anything else. Gott, why did they choose her to do this?
There's no turning back now; she's bound to this beautiful King, cecil Harvey of Baron, for better or worse, 'til death do they part. She's taken on this duty and she will carry on.
Again, at least, her husband is good looking.
Also quite gentle, kind, if she can put trust on how he touches at her now and looks at her with his expressive blue-violet eyes. He looks at her with sympathy, understanding, though she can't understand how he could ever understand her. She hardly knows anything about him, which is probably stupid of her, but the days leading to the wedding had been spent more on trying to psyche herself up for this moment to do anything else. Well, and besides, she'll have the rest of her lifetime getting to know him. They're married now. She'll have a lot of time.
He kisses her and it's soft, unassuming, chaste. A good kiss for a groom to a bride he hardly knows. It's a good kiss, simple as it is, and it pretty much sealed the impression that he will be good to her. For now, that's enough. That's the most she can ask for.
The kiss ends eventually and she opens her eyes to look at him. This close, she's able to see more of him and what she sees makes her smile, probably her first smile in days. It's as if a certain weight has been lifted and since she is Prussia, she says something that definitely leaves an impression,
France had counseled calm, duty, honor, though she has to wonder sometimes what he knows of the last, and assured her rather cheekily that the King of Baron is very easy on the eyes. Spain had smiled at her sympathetically but also encouragingly, took her hands in his and kissed her cheek, wishing her a good marriage and that she may grow to love her royal husband eventually. Her friend's well wishes do not steady her now the closer she gets to the altar. There's that instinctual uneasiness. She's a black eagle about to be caged against her will and there is that instinct for fight and flight.
Her grip on her bouquet tightens as she walks steadily closer, towards her future, towards a husband she never wanted, willing her knees not to buckle. Willing her feet not to turn and run. Willing herself to be strong and do this for her sister. She has faced down armies and won. It will be most disgraceful if she runs from something so (seemingly) simple as marriage and at the risk of endangering a delicate political alliance. With another deep, steadying breath, she vows that she will go through with this. The Nation of Prussia has never been a coward and she will not start being one now.
She takes the final step, amazing herself that she's able to do it, and finally, stands before the altar beside the King of Baron. The veil covers her face and it obstructs her vision, which is a shame as she currently wants nothing more than to focus her gaze on something else other than the bouquet in her hands. Besides, without the veil, she would have been able to see the King of Baron and confirm France's words. At the very least, she wishes her soon-to-be husband is indeed pleasant to look at.
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Cecil hates war and this is certainly a perfect example of why; people die and people sacrifice more than they have twice as much as they do during times of peace. Baron is a peaceful nation, but even peaceful nations have to defend themselves and this alliance is nearly as crucial for them as it is for Prussia; Baron may not be near dissolution, but they were in danger and helping other countries is just as good as protecting his own.
Finally, the proceedings near their end. The vows are exchanged and the rings slipped on. He's surprised to find that her hand, while small and feminine, is worn like a soldier's. Like a knight's. Like his hands.
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Such dire lectures tempt her even more to cause a raucous, to raise hell, to stick it to this unwanted marriage but she stays herself. Nothing good will come out of doing such a thing and her sister needed this. If there is any weakness she has, it is her utter love and devotion to the sister she has practically raised herself. And so she behaves, carries herself like the queen she is to be at least for the sake of the start of good relations between the two Nations within this union.
It doesn't take long before the ceremony is almost at the end. The vows are spoken and she finally hears the King's voice. It's a calm, soothing voice, a voice that she can associate with a priest, which is both strange and comforting. The rings come next and she silently curses about not wearing gloves. How will he react to her calloused, unladylike hands? He'll have to touch them eventually, but for now, wouldn't it be better to give the illusion of a proper, docile noblewoman (they could have just married him to Österreich. He's even more ladylike than I am.)?
And then it's time for the kiss and the great reveal. On the outside, she is calm, collected, but in her head and in her heart, she flutters and shrinks into herself. A wave of nervousness has taken her, though she knows it doesn't matter how she looks and she shouldn't feel as such. She's married to him now and he'll have to take her as she is. She can somehow deduce from hearing his voice that what France says of the King is true. How will he accept a scarred knight as his queen?
The veil is slowly lifted. She shuts her eyes momentarily against the sudden onslaught of sunlight, slowly blinking a moment later to try and open her eyes. To finally set eyes on her husband. Violet eyes slowly flutter open, looking up at the King of Baron's face.
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The Baron monarch raises his hand to cup her chin gently, his thumb tempted to brush along her scar with empathy and solidarity for his fellow soldier, but he stills his hand. Neither of them are knights anymore; they are king and queen, husband and wife. Cecil briefly considers walking away in an effort to save her from this life, his thoughts likely reflected in how he hesitates now to kiss her, in the entire way he looks at her with so much remorse. Regardless of how he believes she deserves better than this though, he concedes that it would be an insult to leave her here when she has come so far and fought so hard for the preservation of all she holds dear. He must carry on with the ceremony, even if all that drives him is respect for her despite how he didn't think clinging to his will would be so difficult when he saw her.
Slowly, he lowers his face to hers and presses his mouth chastely to her lovely lips. He kisses her warmly, though he's mindful not to be too insistent. His bride is beautiful and soft, and though they are technically strangers, he feels close to this woman, pouring his silent promises to somehow bring her happiness into the way he kisses her.
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There's no turning back now; she's bound to this beautiful King, cecil Harvey of Baron, for better or worse, 'til death do they part. She's taken on this duty and she will carry on.
Again, at least, her husband is good looking.
Also quite gentle, kind, if she can put trust on how he touches at her now and looks at her with his expressive blue-violet eyes. He looks at her with sympathy, understanding, though she can't understand how he could ever understand her. She hardly knows anything about him, which is probably stupid of her, but the days leading to the wedding had been spent more on trying to psyche herself up for this moment to do anything else. Well, and besides, she'll have the rest of her lifetime getting to know him. They're married now. She'll have a lot of time.
He kisses her and it's soft, unassuming, chaste. A good kiss for a groom to a bride he hardly knows. It's a good kiss, simple as it is, and it pretty much sealed the impression that he will be good to her. For now, that's enough. That's the most she can ask for.
The kiss ends eventually and she opens her eyes to look at him. This close, she's able to see more of him and what she sees makes her smile, probably her first smile in days. It's as if a certain weight has been lifted and since she is Prussia, she says something that definitely leaves an impression,
"Hello, Engel."
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