Authors: Nicole Williams
Once the seven Councilmen seated themselves, the remaining guests sat in one loud eminent sounding thud, followed by the screeching slide of hundreds of chairs positioning forward.
I hardly noticed the following fanfare brought out by the dozens of servers. I think there was some kind of a salad, followed by a soup, and then some kind of fancy looking appetizer hidden within the shell of a crustacean; but none of it held any interest to me. I didn’t touch a bite of it.
I didn’t touch the crystal glasses in front of me, colored with the light purplish red of fine pinot noir, or the gold-tinged effervescent yellow of the champagne; and while the goblet of water might have superficially extinguished the flames that scalded my throat, I couldn’t muster up the strength to reach for the glass and lift it to my lips.
My body felt utterly spent and held no desire to expend unneeded energy unless that energy was focused on William, and given the company surrounding us and Patrick’s careful stares shifting between the two of us, there was no immediate future of being with him.
The main course was served, and while I hadn’t paid attention to John’s silence throughout the meal, I jolted when his voice broke through the buzz of dulled echoes.
“Is the food not to your liking this evening?” he questioned, eyeing over my untouched meal.
I was ever conscious of the brooding man two seats down and across from me, and as soon as John addressed me, I saw him thrust his seat back roughly. Patrick placed a firm hand on William’s shoulder, stalling him enough so he could whisper something to him.
“It’s fine, thank you,” I said flatly. “I’m not very hungry I guess.”
My answer seemed to appease John, for he went back to massacring the bleeding flank of meat on his plate, but not before blessing me with another one of his impure looks.
My eyes left John and scanned over the surrounding guests, quite sure William’s nearly explosive exchange had not gone unnoticed, but to my great relief, no one paid any special attention to the two Hayward brothers. I could only imagine the agony ripping William apart being so close to me, yet unable to protect me—to save me from the imposing edict.
If only I could get away from the careful eyes of those around us. I was sure William would follow and then we could escape together. Before my very soul and the rest of my eternity was tied to the man who sat grinning malevolently before me—to a man I wouldn’t want to spend thirty seconds alone with in an elevator, let alone all that came with the relationship of a husband and wife for the millennia to come.
A sheer piece of fabric whipping in the wind caught my attention. It was one of the sheer panels adorning the French doors . . . the
open
French doors that led outside and away from this doomed event.
A moment before I opened my mouth to excuse myself for a breath of fresh air, Draco stood ceremoniously, confirming I was too late to make an escape now. He sealed my fate with the clearing of his throat and the slow smile that spread across his lips. I could hear the heavy metal door slamming shut and the vault lever locking my dreams and love away forever. Hope left me that moment, and I slumped forward in my seat, looking down at my clasped hands that trembled in my lap.
“This is it, Bryn,” a female voice purred to my left, followed by her grabbing one of my hands in hers.
I hadn’t noticed there was anyone seated to my left, let alone who it was, so I was surprised to find Stella glowing beside me. Her level, cool demeanor was no longer present, and beside me sat a gushing, nearly exuberant woman. If only she knew I was the reason her hopes for becoming John’s blushing bride would never come to fruition, I’m sure her hand wouldn’t still be holding mine . . . or maybe she would have left it there and crushed every bone instead. Either would have been preferred to the awkward enthusiasm she was sharing with me now.
“They’re going to make the announcement of the Betrothals and then the orchestra will immediately break into the Ballad of the Betrothed,” she whispered with overwhelming emotion.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention again,” Draco commenced, beginning the journey to sealing away my heart. I didn’t care about anyone seeing, so I turned my eyes to the man destiny was carrying me away from with every passing second, and let them fill with everything I couldn’t speak out loud.
“The time has come to reveal the very reason we’ve all gathered here tonight—the time to announce the Betrothals.”
I listened to Draco’s damning speech with one ear, and with everything else I gave to William. His eyes closed for a moment and he let out a heavy sign, as if admitting what was coming at us before he lifted his eyes to mine, and then held them there with the same intensity of emotion radiating in mine.
“If you will, Gentlemen.” The six men surrounding him stood formally and silently. Draco drew a thick piece of parchment from the inside pocket of his tuxedo, unfolded it, and prepared to read the binding commitments.
I didn’t notice if John was watching the intimate exchange between William and me, or if Stella had pulled herself from her self-absorbed shell to notice anything happening around her, and I didn’t care about either. I didn’t care about anything but this last private moment William and I would ever have.
He smiled warmly, and there was no longer any hint of the anguish or anger that had contorted his face earlier. Like me, he was not allowing anything to ruin our last moments where we still belonged to one another and no one else.
As if to remind everyone for something no one needed to be reminded of (for I’m sure every Immortal in this room was aware of the severe penalty for breaking the sacred ties the Council ordered), Draco re-quoted one of the most revered of Immortal proverbs, “What the Council wills, may no Immortal or Mortal break.” He let a minute pass before continuing, letting the significance of the proverb settle amongst the crowd.
“The first of the five Betrothals we will be announcing tonight goes to . . .”
I didn’t listen anymore, I didn’t need to. I knew he would save John’s name for last; like some sort of grand finale.
I heard the congratulatory murmurs and hoots from the crowd as Draco announced the couples. Everyone seemed to be excited and an air of celebration flowed around us.
It felt more like a funeral to me—my own funeral. My soul would soon be placed in the dark confines of a wooden coffin, the rusty nails sealing it with finality. There were only seconds until the final nail was pounded in.
Without thinking, I mouthed, “I love you,” to the man still staring at me with a fondness that took my breath away.
His smile spread and he whispered back, “Forever.”
I nodded my head in one final bit of bravery, confirming my reciprocation of his vow to me. I would love him forever, regardless of us spending our lives apart.
I could almost feel the final nail being positioned against the wood top of my coffin.
“And finally, a man very important to all of us.” Draco motioned to the man that stood at the right far end of the standing Councilmen. “Mr. John Townsend is hereby and forever Betrothed to Miss . . .”
Several gentle taps of the hammer on the nail-head, driving it in the hard wood enough so it would stand on its own, righting itself for the final, condemning pound . . .
“Miss Bryn Dawson.”
A thunderous pound. The nail driven into its final resting place—my soul forever dead, damned, and sealed away.
There were several separate and succinct reactions that took place around the final announced couple. The one I was most attuned to was William’s face breaking, his eyes falling into pits of despair, perhaps never to look into mine with the same adoration they had just moments ago. His agony would have killed me where I sat had death been attainable.
There was Stella, whose hand urgently unwrapped itself from mine at the same moment she leaned as far back and away from me in her chair possible without actually falling off it. She muttered some sort of belligerent tirade, intertwined with carefully selected curse words, but I didn’t really hear a single thing she said.
And there was the crowd of well-wishers around John, patting him on the back or extending a hand in a congratulatory shake. He looked like the lead singer of a rock band being thwarted with raving fans.
I was grateful for the size of the crowd around him so he wouldn’t be able to immediately see the deadness that shadowed my face, and would now remain there forever. I doubted if another smile would find its way to my lips, and knew if one was possible in this nightmare filled world of mine, it would only be from the fond memories I would have of the only man I’d ever loved.
Right on cue, I heard the first staccato note of the orchestra as they prepared to break into their ballad, where the five newly announced couples would dance the first dance of their forever. I doubted my strength to hold myself upright, let alone my ability to dance a waltz in front of several hundred Immortals . . . in front of the man I knew whose insides would twist and contort into permanent scars if he watched.
I made one final wish and prayer to anyone that might be up above listening, that Patrick would remove him from the room before he had to watch me in John’s arms gliding over the dance floor.
A hand reached out from behind me, and a familiar voice murmured, “May I have this dance?”
I didn’t need to look at the now empty seat two down and across from me, nor see the vehement disapproval on Patrick’s face, nor the shock on Stella’s face, to know that the man requesting my presence on the dance floor was not the one I’d just been promised an eternity to.
My hands stopped trembling and I reached one up and fastened it securely over his, answering his question silently. My knees no longer weak, my head no longer clouded by despair, I stood up gracefully and he led me out onto the dance floor before any of the other four couples.
We were making our statement, and its deafening silence saturated the room.
At first, the faces of those observing the spectacle looked confused—as if they were questioning the name they’d heard read alongside mine—but when the low rumble of whispers began, those confused faces turned to ones of disbelief or disapproval.
William walked me to the center of the floor. His eyes held mine, and there was a look of bittersweet triumph on his face. The hand that held mine felt warmer and more electric than my memory had done it justice, and I knew this was because I’d recently surrendered all hopes of ever touching him again and also knowing this would all be over soon. I cherished every fraction of a second of it.
“I lied, you know,” he whispered. I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes from my confusion.
“You shine
brighter
than a star,” he said, with more love in his voice than the room would hold—spilling into the foyer and out the French doors.
He turned and wrapped one arm around me to place his hand over my lower back and drew me close to him—closer than a formal waltz called for. I raised one of my arms and placed it on the side of his and my hand gripped tightly to the top of his shoulder. My heart was racing, and I could hear and feel his doing the same. His other hand grabbed mine and pulled it up, and then he led me across the floor.
The grace and fluidity with which he moved would have held my attention any other day, with the exception of the finality of tonight and wanting to be surrounded and aware of nothing but being in his arms for the last time. A few other couples had joined us on the floor, eyeing us carefully and dancing their own, less animate, waltzes—wary to keep their distance from the enamored duo that remained the silent eye of the storm.
The crowd around John must have diminished enough to the point John could now view what was happening on the dance floor. The tension in the room increased exponentially when I noticed John begin shoving his way through the thinned circle of well wishers.
I gripped my hands tighter on him, willing my mind to cement every line, muscle and plane of his face. We had only seconds remaining before John would be on us, prying me away from the perfect future I should have known better than to covet.
“Go, William . . . please,” I pleaded, breaking our silence.
He must have noticed John’s approach too, for he broke our stare to lean his head next to mine, lowering his voice to near silence, “I will not let him have you, Bryn. I will
die
before I let him claim you.” The shudder that ran through my body was stilled from his hold on me. “I love you. I will get you out of here—”
John had just stepped onto the dance floor when Patrick raced up behind William and placed a hand over his shoulder. “We need to get you out of here, Brother. Now.” He said with finality, taking a quick glance back at the fast approaching figure of John.
“Get him out of here, Patrick.” My words and eyes begged my beloved’s little brother, before they flashed back to the tortured eyes before me. “Please, go,” I whispered to him. My pleas had no affect on the determination blazing on his face.
“You won’t be able to save her if you die here tonight,” Patrick coaxed more urgently, when William’s hold only strengthened around me.
Reason flashed into his eyes. It looked like it took every bit of willpower in him to release his hold on me and take one step back. Patrick had to practically pull him backwards as he guided him towards the doors.