The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 9
Darrick stood in a small, wood-paneled room being fussed over by his mother, while his father sat quietly in the corner. His Presentation was due to start in just a few minutes, and the three of them were waiting in the antechamber of the central Hall for the signal to begin the ceremony. In the meantime, Cynthia was drilling him on his performance while she made the final adjustments to what he had been told were traditional Atlantean formal garments. A finely-embroidered tunic covered his torso, navy blue with green highlights, the highlights matching the leather belt clenching it around his waist. On the breast of the tunic was a geometric pattern Cynthia had told him was the sigil of their House. His trousers were white, and brown leather boots covered his feet and calves. Over it all was a long white coat with gold buttons, open at the front. All of it fit like a glove, even the boots; Cynthia had admitted to having sent his measurements earlier that week, and Jessica had sewn the clothes herself as a Presentation gift.
Now that ceremony was just a few minutes away, and Darrick could barely hear his mother’s instructions over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. Darrick was sure of what he was feeling – anxiety, certainly, and nervousness, as well as a fair amount of anger of having to go through with this charade, but mixed in with the darker feelings was also a small measure of true anticipation. Just one room and a few minutes away was the girl his mother had chosen for him to marry, and have even magically bound him to, and even though he had no desire to go through with it, he couldn’t help but be curious as to what she was like. Probably just like her mother, he thought, and she seems a bit flighty to me. Or maybe she’s just like my mother, and that’s why Mom chose her. That was a chilling thought; Darrick loved his mother, but had no desire to spend his life with someone just like her. No, it doesn’t matter, he thought, steeling his resolve to carry through with the decision to which he had already come. Still, his heart skipped a beat every time he thought of his potential bride.
“Darrick, pay attention!” Cynthia snapped. “Now, Richard is going to ask you a series of questions. The answer to each one is ‘yes’. I know it will be hard to concentrate at the moment, but you need to remember that. Just say ‘yes’, and everything will be fine.”
“And what if I think the answer should be ‘no’?” Darrick asked. He knew the answer, but wanted his mother to remember that she had promised him the right to refuse.
“Just say ‘yes’,” she said in a tone that brooked no denial. “We’ll worry about any other details later.”
“Don’t listen to her, son,” John said, placing his hand on Darrick’s shoulder from behind. The unexpected contact made him jump. “This is your future we’re talking about. Do what you think is best.” Cynthia pulled Darrick away from his father’s touch, almost knocking Darrick off-balance in the process.
“He’s not yours to advise anymore, John,” she said in a voice like ice. “He’s not part of your world any longer. And I am confident he will fulfill his responsibilities.” She smiled at Darrick, but it felt to him more like a weapon directed at his father than any particular pride or confidence in him. He felt like sinking into his new boots as John opened his mouth to reply, but the incipient row was cut short by a knocking at the entranceway into the Hall. Cynthia gave one final tug at his collar, and turned him towards the door at his slowly opened to the large chamber beyond. Cynthia nudged him forward and his feet took their first steps, feeling to Darrick as though they moved of their own volition.
They entered the Hall from the side, walking towards Richard standing in the middle of the room. The room was lit by multiple chandeliers, casting light shadows in several directions, giving the space a fluid, ever-shifting quality. The floor was covered in thick, crimson carpeting, silencing the sound of his footfalls, as well as those of his parents following him. Not that he could have heard his steps over his own heartbeat anyway. He felt oppressed by the size of the Hall, one small man – right now he felt more like a boy – swallowed up by an enormous structure; not just the physical structure that surrounded him, but the oh-so-fragile construct that was the Atlantean attempt to keep a grip on their ancient and nearly-dead culture. It all felt so much bigger than him; how could he possibly resist? He was vaguely aware of a figure walking towards him, trailed by three others he recognized as Jessica, Anthony, and Patrick, but he kept his eyes averted until he was standing in front of the beaming priest. I can’t avoid her forever. He turned his eyes to see the woman standing directly in front of him, and his world stopped.
Objectively, others would see Abigail Martin as maybe being a little too tall, her features a little too angular, her frame a little too delicate, but what Darrick saw before him was a vision of perfect beauty. Even standing at rest, she bore herself with such grace that Darrick felt clumsy in comparison. Her eyes held his adoringly, and Darrick could sense that she was as enraptured by him as he was by her, and he felt simultaneously unworthy and exhilarated. He wanted to stare into those eyes forever; he didn’t think he could turn away if he wanted. His head swam, and it took a pain in his chest for him to realize that he wasn’t breathing; time had been suspended for him, so what need had he of air? His body forced him to take a gulp of air, and her smile grew larger, and she tilted her eyes down demurely. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to get away, that he was being caught in their nets, but he didn’t care any longer; this girl could tangle him in any net she could throw and he would be happy to be caught. The voice screamed that it wasn’t rational, that he didn’t even know her, but even this very sensible argument couldn’t make itself heard. He knew he was lost, that from this moment on, he could only be happy with this woman at his side. It was instinct, like a bird flying south for the winter even though it didn’t know why. He knew he had found what he had always been looking for, and to his absolute delight, there was no doubt in his mind that she knew it too.
A nudge from the back brought him a little way back into the real world, and he realized that Richard had been speaking to him. With an effort, he jerked his eyes away from the goddess before him to the priest, who was now visibly suppressing a laugh. Darrick could hear that not everyone in the room was so successful, but he didn’t mind, not at the moment. Richard repeated himself with a friendly smile.
“I said,” he began, and paused to let the statement sink in. Darrick blushed, and he continued. “Is your betrothed fair in your eyes?”
The first question. In the moment, he would never have been able to remember his mother’s instructions, but it didn’t matter. He knew his answer.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, the answer bursting out of him with far more force than he intended. Richard arched an eyebrow, and Darrick recovered himself enough to answer with a bit more dignity. “Yes, she is indeed.” He turned his eyes back to Abigail, whose own eyes were shining, though with a twinkle of amusement, which was reflected in her grin. But through it all was pure love. His next words he spoke for her alone. “Far beyond all I could imagine.” Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Abigail’s mouth was covering it as she threw herself onto him. The feel of her lips on his and of her body in his arms nearly drove him mad, but the moment only lasted for an instant before they were both pulled backwards. The separation was almost painful, but Abigail’s mischievous grin alleviated the pain. Darrick felt Cynthia’s hand let him go as Anthony released Abigail, but neither of them looked back to see. Darrick did catch a quick glance of Patrick, wearing an expression that could have curdled fresh milk, but in Darrick’s current mood his disapproval simply slid right by him.
“If I may continue?” Richard asked, sarcasm warring with pure amusement in his voice. Abigail gave a sheepish nod, though the look she shot Darrick was anything but. Richard didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I believe Mistress Martin has given her answer, so I will move on. Darrick, do you accept the bond which has been established between you, promising to uphold it until completion?” Suddenly, the euphoria drained out of Darrick like a hole had been drilled into him. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for, before. This was when he was going to make his announcement, reject the betrothal and demand to be released. I can’t do it. I don’t know about all the rest of it – I don’t think I want anything to do with Atlantis or this entire society – but I can’t turn her down. I can’t break her heart. I can’t break my own. Taking a deep breath, he stated,
“Yes.”
He knew his mother was gloating to his father, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the girl in front of him, and her answer to her upcoming question.
“Abigail, do you accept the bond which has been established between you, promising to uphold it until completion?”
“Well, I certainly can’t say ‘no’ now,” she said with a wink to Darrick. Her voice was high, but musical, with a lilt that turned even her flippant reply into a song to Darrick’s ears.
“That’s probably about as close to a straight ‘yes’ that I’m going to get from you,” Richard said, and Darrick had a feeling that very little of this was coming as much of a surprise to him or to her family. He raised his voice then, and addressed both families. “The bond has been acknowledged. The wedding will go forth. Rejoice and be glad!” Claps and cheers went up from both sides, but Darrick barely noticed. All he saw was the twinkle in Abigail’s eye.
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 9
Darrick stood in a small, wood-paneled room being fussed over by his mother, while his father sat quietly in the corner. His Presentation was due to start in just a few minutes, and the three of them were waiting in the antechamber of the central Hall for the signal to begin the ceremony. In the meantime, Cynthia was drilling him on his performance while she made the final adjustments to what he had been told were traditional Atlantean formal garments. A finely-embroidered tunic covered his torso, navy blue with green highlights, the highlights matching the leather belt clenching it around his waist. On the breast of the tunic was a geometric pattern Cynthia had told him was the sigil of their House. His trousers were white, and brown leather boots covered his feet and calves. Over it all was a long white coat with gold buttons, open at the front. All of it fit like a glove, even the boots; Cynthia had admitted to having sent his measurements earlier that week, and Jessica had sewn the clothes herself as a Presentation gift.
Now that ceremony was just a few minutes away, and Darrick could barely hear his mother’s instructions over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. Darrick was sure of what he was feeling – anxiety, certainly, and nervousness, as well as a fair amount of anger of having to go through with this charade, but mixed in with the darker feelings was also a small measure of true anticipation. Just one room and a few minutes away was the girl his mother had chosen for him to marry, and have even magically bound him to, and even though he had no desire to go through with it, he couldn’t help but be curious as to what she was like. Probably just like her mother, he thought, and she seems a bit flighty to me. Or maybe she’s just like my mother, and that’s why Mom chose her. That was a chilling thought; Darrick loved his mother, but had no desire to spend his life with someone just like her. No, it doesn’t matter, he thought, steeling his resolve to carry through with the decision to which he had already come. Still, his heart skipped a beat every time he thought of his potential bride.
“Darrick, pay attention!” Cynthia snapped. “Now, Richard is going to ask you a series of questions. The answer to each one is ‘yes’. I know it will be hard to concentrate at the moment, but you need to remember that. Just say ‘yes’, and everything will be fine.”
“And what if I think the answer should be ‘no’?” Darrick asked. He knew the answer, but wanted his mother to remember that she had promised him the right to refuse.
“Just say ‘yes’,” she said in a tone that brooked no denial. “We’ll worry about any other details later.”
“Don’t listen to her, son,” John said, placing his hand on Darrick’s shoulder from behind. The unexpected contact made him jump. “This is your future we’re talking about. Do what you think is best.” Cynthia pulled Darrick away from his father’s touch, almost knocking Darrick off-balance in the process.
“He’s not yours to advise anymore, John,” she said in a voice like ice. “He’s not part of your world any longer. And I am confident he will fulfill his responsibilities.” She smiled at Darrick, but it felt to him more like a weapon directed at his father than any particular pride or confidence in him. He felt like sinking into his new boots as John opened his mouth to reply, but the incipient row was cut short by a knocking at the entranceway into the Hall. Cynthia gave one final tug at his collar, and turned him towards the door at his slowly opened to the large chamber beyond. Cynthia nudged him forward and his feet took their first steps, feeling to Darrick as though they moved of their own volition.
They entered the Hall from the side, walking towards Richard standing in the middle of the room. The room was lit by multiple chandeliers, casting light shadows in several directions, giving the space a fluid, ever-shifting quality. The floor was covered in thick, crimson carpeting, silencing the sound of his footfalls, as well as those of his parents following him. Not that he could have heard his steps over his own heartbeat anyway. He felt oppressed by the size of the Hall, one small man – right now he felt more like a boy – swallowed up by an enormous structure; not just the physical structure that surrounded him, but the oh-so-fragile construct that was the Atlantean attempt to keep a grip on their ancient and nearly-dead culture. It all felt so much bigger than him; how could he possibly resist? He was vaguely aware of a figure walking towards him, trailed by three others he recognized as Jessica, Anthony, and Patrick, but he kept his eyes averted until he was standing in front of the beaming priest. I can’t avoid her forever. He turned his eyes to see the woman standing directly in front of him, and his world stopped.
Objectively, others would see Abigail Martin as maybe being a little too tall, her features a little too angular, her frame a little too delicate, but what Darrick saw before him was a vision of perfect beauty. Even standing at rest, she bore herself with such grace that Darrick felt clumsy in comparison. Her eyes held his adoringly, and Darrick could sense that she was as enraptured by him as he was by her, and he felt simultaneously unworthy and exhilarated. He wanted to stare into those eyes forever; he didn’t think he could turn away if he wanted. His head swam, and it took a pain in his chest for him to realize that he wasn’t breathing; time had been suspended for him, so what need had he of air? His body forced him to take a gulp of air, and her smile grew larger, and she tilted her eyes down demurely. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to get away, that he was being caught in their nets, but he didn’t care any longer; this girl could tangle him in any net she could throw and he would be happy to be caught. The voice screamed that it wasn’t rational, that he didn’t even know her, but even this very sensible argument couldn’t make itself heard. He knew he was lost, that from this moment on, he could only be happy with this woman at his side. It was instinct, like a bird flying south for the winter even though it didn’t know why. He knew he had found what he had always been looking for, and to his absolute delight, there was no doubt in his mind that she knew it too.
A nudge from the back brought him a little way back into the real world, and he realized that Richard had been speaking to him. With an effort, he jerked his eyes away from the goddess before him to the priest, who was now visibly suppressing a laugh. Darrick could hear that not everyone in the room was so successful, but he didn’t mind, not at the moment. Richard repeated himself with a friendly smile.
“I said,” he began, and paused to let the statement sink in. Darrick blushed, and he continued. “Is your betrothed fair in your eyes?”
The first question. In the moment, he would never have been able to remember his mother’s instructions, but it didn’t matter. He knew his answer.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, the answer bursting out of him with far more force than he intended. Richard arched an eyebrow, and Darrick recovered himself enough to answer with a bit more dignity. “Yes, she is indeed.” He turned his eyes back to Abigail, whose own eyes were shining, though with a twinkle of amusement, which was reflected in her grin. But through it all was pure love. His next words he spoke for her alone. “Far beyond all I could imagine.” Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Abigail’s mouth was covering it as she threw herself onto him. The feel of her lips on his and of her body in his arms nearly drove him mad, but the moment only lasted for an instant before they were both pulled backwards. The separation was almost painful, but Abigail’s mischievous grin alleviated the pain. Darrick felt Cynthia’s hand let him go as Anthony released Abigail, but neither of them looked back to see. Darrick did catch a quick glance of Patrick, wearing an expression that could have curdled fresh milk, but in Darrick’s current mood his disapproval simply slid right by him.
“If I may continue?” Richard asked, sarcasm warring with pure amusement in his voice. Abigail gave a sheepish nod, though the look she shot Darrick was anything but. Richard didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I believe Mistress Martin has given her answer, so I will move on. Darrick, do you accept the bond which has been established between you, promising to uphold it until completion?” Suddenly, the euphoria drained out of Darrick like a hole had been drilled into him. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for, before. This was when he was going to make his announcement, reject the betrothal and demand to be released. I can’t do it. I don’t know about all the rest of it – I don’t think I want anything to do with Atlantis or this entire society – but I can’t turn her down. I can’t break her heart. I can’t break my own. Taking a deep breath, he stated,
“Yes.”
He knew his mother was gloating to his father, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the girl in front of him, and her answer to her upcoming question.
“Abigail, do you accept the bond which has been established between you, promising to uphold it until completion?”
“Well, I certainly can’t say ‘no’ now,” she said with a wink to Darrick. Her voice was high, but musical, with a lilt that turned even her flippant reply into a song to Darrick’s ears.
“That’s probably about as close to a straight ‘yes’ that I’m going to get from you,” Richard said, and Darrick had a feeling that very little of this was coming as much of a surprise to him or to her family. He raised his voice then, and addressed both families. “The bond has been acknowledged. The wedding will go forth. Rejoice and be glad!” Claps and cheers went up from both sides, but Darrick barely noticed. All he saw was the twinkle in Abigail’s eye.
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