Enemy's Woman

Chapter 25 - Wedding feast

   

    The prince helped her into the carriage, and Chitrangada climbed up accordingly, no small feat, given the heavy saari and pieces of jewellery she had to arrange on her. It was here, unfortunately, that her thoughts began to drift to the hollow and forlorn emptiness which she felt in her heart.

   

    Once they finished seating themselves, the carriage was off, jostling merrily out of the courtyard at a modest pace. The grinding of the wheels served to camouflage her turmoil.

   

    "Yes, we shouldn't keep your people waiting," she echoed distractedly, not quite listening to what he was saying as she gazed listlessly out into the courtyard.

    She felt his hand curl around her arm, drawing her close - mindful of all the layers of silk and gold.

    "Are you still mad at me?" He whispered.

   

    She shrugged her arm away, "don't talk to me."

   

    He laughed, as he leaned back and made himself comfortable. An easy action, considering the plush and velvety seat that cushioned them.

   

    The heavy wheels were soon not the only source of the noise.

    The distant cry of the crowds could be made out, plus the professional noise-makers. As soon as they emerged from the castle, they began their job in earnest, and loud brass and heavy drumming echoed into the sky.

   

    A full bevvy of the Chevaliers rode with them too, protecting the royal couple by horse and steel.

   

    "What do they know about me?" she asked, having to raise her voice to be heard above the din.

   

    "Very little." He spoke into her ear, instead of competing with the music. "Except that, I was enamoured enough to steal you away."

   

    He grinned at the thought as if finding it infinitely amusing. "Touching, isn't it?"

   

  She glared at him. The din of the city hit first and it was a wonder that the road was not blocked, but the King seemed to have accounted for that in advance: more guards lined the streets so that the carriages had a clear path forward.

   

The trumpeting fanfare at the forefront was soon joined in by the myriad cries, her new city was captivating, in its way.

    The first flower to reach their chariot struck her squarely on the nose. Several other buds struck ground shy of the carriage wheels, others bouncing off the armour of their escorts, some fell in her lap.

   

    Chitra lifted the daisy off her saari and looked at it tucking it behind her ear as a show of her acceptance of their gifts. No later than that did the head of a rose land upon her lap, other petals eventually fluttering their way over her hair.

   

    As for herself, she did not allow a single crack in her airs of decorum and grace. Even if on the inside, she was closer to crying and whining and rolling about on the bottom of the carriage in tears.