The Wedding Getaway

Elaine was drunk. She had not meant to get drunk, but one single goblet of red wine had turned out to be too potent for her. By the time she realized the floor should not be tilting when she walked, she had already finished her cup. Elaine cradled it, empty, and observed the celebration from a corner of the great hall where she'd slid against the wall. She'd folded her long legs to her chest and remained there, getting the occasional odd look from passing servants. Part of their training was not to draw attention onto the peculiarity of nobility, so after ensuring she was not in any danger, they'd left her alone.

Everything was soft blue and pure white and warm gold. Dainty, gossamer clothes covered the tables and chairs and pillars like freshly fallen snow. Hydrangeas reigned at the center of every table in thick, lush bouquets, and wisteria boughs snaked down along the walls from the ceiling, flowery, purple tendrils engulfing everything in a musky, sweet fragrance. Laughter twinkled, cups clinked and voices floated over the serene string music. 

Elaine sported a smile and felt like laughing, though nothing felt particularly funny aside from the fact that her sister was marrying the wrong man. Though, thinking about it, that was definitely not amusing. 

No one would suspect Isolde of being unhappy. She wore her expressions with the same grace she wore her sapphire blue wedding gown. Her pleasant smile pinned as securely in place as her honey brown hair in its updo. Yet Elaine could tell it was all an act. A well-played act, but a masquerade nonetheless.

Elaine wasn't sure whether she should feel happy or sad for her sister. She skewed heavily towards the later, but whenever she tried to voice her concerns her sister insisted she should be the former. That was the problem with older siblings; they never quite let you worry about them.

Getting to dress up for the event had been fun though. Elaine commissioned new garments, as did everyone in the family - it would have been shameful, and an outright insult, to wear something they'd worn before - and loved the results. The light blue doublet hugged her flat, straight figure handsomely. She'd felt so much lighter ever since she got rid of the pair of lumps on her chest, as if shedding a weight she'd been dragging around for a long time.

The crowd parted and Isolde glided through the passage formed for her, moving like a butterfly in her blue silks and shiny ribbons. Elaine pushed herself up to meet her - the lavish world around her spun on its axis - and brushed aside the stray hairs that had come loose from her braid. She was hungry, she realized with a sudden, cruel twist of her stomach. Sadly, her sister was not approaching her with any food. Instead, she never broke her elegant stride as she whispered "Kitchen boat" to Elaine, disappearing back into the crowd.

Elaine made her way along the hall, picking up a bread bun and discarding her goblet in the process. What their castle lacked in width, made up for in length as it spanned the river like some highly ornate bridge. Elaine took the door that now stood wide open for servants to come and go with platters of food and carafes of wine, and skipped down the flight of stairs that curved downwards.

The kitchen was bustling, but unlike the sparkling, dreamlike glamour of the hall, it was a heated battlefield where pans rang like clashing swords and oil sizzled like a war cry. She picked her way carefully between the stern looking cooks and the liquid-eyed, nervous young kitchen help. In the farthest corner of the room, Elaine almost fell through the floor. She reached out a hand on the wall to catch herself, the stone refreshingly cool against her skin in the hot kitchen and, heart beating in her throat, she glanced down through the square awning carved into the floor.

There was the wooden bottom of a simple, utilitarian boat swaying gently in the waves, and the silent, rhythmic sloshing of water lapping against the stone pillars that jutted into the dark river. The opening was used for bringing up the produce ferried directly to the kitchen - and on occasions, served as a quick getaway for Elaine and Isolde. It was also usually closed by means of a wooden trap to avoid the kind of accident Elaine was one step away from having.

Elaine drew a deep breath, jumped down into the dinghy and cursed profusely. The landing shock shot through her soles, jolted up her legs to her head and rattled her teeth. The boat swayed precariously and so did Elaine, flailing about to keep her balance. The water sloshed and splashed disconcertedly, and it echoed in the cavernous space under the bridge in a disappointed chorus mocking her poor jump. Usually she'd do the leap effortlessly, but alcohol made her own muscles rebel against her.

"Easy, easy," Isolde murmured, throwing her sister a reassuring glance as she worked away at untying the boat. Then her hands halted and she snapped her head back at her. She leaned forward sharply, peering intensely at Elaine's face. "You're red. Are you drunk?"

"I only had a goblet."

"And it went straight to your head, I see."

Elaine settled down on the bench, tucking her knees under her chin. The air here was chilly and crisp and quickly seeping under her doublet and chemise. It cupped her flushed face with cold hands, which wasn't particularly unpleasant.

"Running away from your own wedding, huh?" Elaine remarked as the last of the twine came loose, setting the boat free.

"I'm the bride," Isolde replied as smoothly as she tossed the woolen cloak over Elaine's quivering shoulders, "I deserve a break."

Elaine fastened the cloak and stretched her legs as far as the cramped space allowed. She reached for the rows, guiding them away from the stone archway of the castle's underbelly, across the dark expanse of water under the deep velvety of the night sky. Isolde perched herself opposite, looking as effortlessly elegant as the moon. 

As they talked, sharing what each saw and heard, indulging in shameless gossiping, Elaine paddled them away from the gilded light that spilled from the castle, and stopped once they were far enough, letting the boat float slowly, freely.

"Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," Isolde said, with no small amount of pride.

"It's a lovely wedding," Elaine said, because it was and because she knew Isolde would appreciate the compliment. She'd pored over the wedding plans for weeks, making sure that everything would be perfect. She seemed to take more pleasure and excitement in the event itself than the groom.

"I'm just nervous mama and papa will start planning my own engagement once things simmer back down," Elaine continued with a groan like wood creaking. She leaned forward, whispering fretfully, as if afraid saying it too loud might actually confirm the supposition, "I think they have Gareth Leudonus in mind."

Isolde smiled sympathetically. "He's a lovely boy," she said as if that were any reassurance. Elaine needed more than lovely to be convinced of the potential arrangement. Isolde's brow furrowed, pinching in benevolent worry. "Is that the problem? Last time I asked, you were crushing on that marquis' daughter-"

"Yes - Giselle - and no, that's not the issue." If she were red before, now she must have reached the complexion of a beetroot. Giselle liked to watch Elaine spar with her sword and took any excuse to place her delicate hands on Elaine's arms, and Elaine flexed obligingly whenever she wasn't busy melting into a puddle.

"Gareth's perfectly nice," Elaine conceded, "but we have shit-all in common."

Elaine had spoken to him briefly, when her dad all but shoved her in his direction - papa was too elegant and etiquette-bound to actually physically do so - but excused herself shortly after spotting Gawain Alistair and Galahad du Lac in order to flag them down.

"Well," Isolde said cheerfully, "tell mama and papa to arrange your wedding to Giselle, then." Elaine drove her knee into Isolde's and her sister laughed, swatting her away without any force behind it.

When the laughter subsided, a companionable silence settled between them, as easy and tranquil and calm as the moonbeams showering them in silvery light, painting thick, shimmering streaks over the dark river.

Elaine didn't feel quite so serene under the surface, though. Looking at her sister's face, she couldn't fathom Isolde's sentiments, but Elaine's own teemed just under her hot, flushed skin.

The words left her wine-woozy tongue the moment they formed in her wine-hazy mind: "Do you miss him?"

Isolde chuckled, but the sound was strained, tight. "Mark? We haven't been gone that long."

It was an opportunity to veer course before the currents led her astray. Elaine might have swallowed back her response. Gulp it down, let it drown. Instead she stirred the waters. "Tristan."

Isolde met Elaine's eyes and for a brief moment, all the hurt came back, pinching her brow and contorting the calm line of her mouth. "Does it matter?" she rejoiced, speaking quietly to mask the pain that modulated her tone.

"But don't you love Tristan?"

Isolde's face hardened and her frame stiffened. Her voice as cool as the moon's silver light as she said, "Tristan's not here, is he?"

"It would have been too painful for him," Elaine replied, quietly. Treading carefully because Tristan was not the only one hurt, no matter how much Isolde tried to hide her wounds. "You don't love Mark."

Isolde arranged the cape about her shoulders, head angled towards the water so that her face was shrouded in shadows. Elaine could barely make out her features, let alone the emotion painted across them, and her voice - steady, calm, composed - spared no space for feelings, either. "I made my decision, Elaine. I do not want you to pity me, or worry about me." Isolde turned, now facing her with a mirthless smile. "I do look forward to managing the family's business." A clear attempt to change the subject.

Isolde was good with numbers, and ledgers with neat rows upon rows of numbers that required meticulous calculations which gave Elaine headaches. She'd rather just count the laps she ran around the Castle. 

Elaine snorted. "Oh, so you're actually just looking forward to marrying the business?"

Isolde laughed, the sound sweet and chiming and a lot more sincere. "Hmm, yes. At the end of the day, this is a business affair."

"I'm sure you'll love it," Elaine said, twining her hands and stretching her arms over her head till her knuckles popped audibly. Her limbs felt somewhat leaden from the alcohol, and in need of limbering. "All those numbers and computing and estimation and...all else." Isolde chuckled softly, and Elaine rolled her shoulders. "You loved planning out this wedding too. I'd scream if I had to do the same."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Not as exciting as swinging a sword around?" Isolde propped her chin in her hand, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mirth.

"Not at all," Elaine agreed, jumping to her feet. It had been a mistake, because the world around her swung as wildly as a sword in the hands of a frenzied, cornered warrior. But Elaine was undaunted, and very much drunk; when the world steadied, she gamely picked up the paddle and held it as if it were her trusty two-hander. "No offense to you, Isolde. You're good at what you do, but I'm not. I'd be terrible at this whole 'management' affair."

"I know," Isolde acknowledged it with an almost insulting ease, smoothing down the velvet of her cloak. "You are great with a sword, though."

"I wish mama and papa would see that too," Elaine murmured, voice as low as the river's warbling, hopes laying somewhere on its algae carpeted floor. Her parents had always seen her interest in sword-fighting as some pastime of the bored rich. 

She thrust out the paddle-sword, stabbing at some invisible foe: it may had been her parents' stubbornness, or her own helplessness. She missed, and the dinghy fretted, swaying dangerously. Isolde tried to warn her. The dull splashing of water against the boat tried to warn her too. But Elaine, wobbly with wine, had already lost this battle, and could only watch Isolde's wide-eyed, horrified face before murky water filled her vision.

Overwhelming, mind-numbing freezing cold was all Elaine could think of as she broke the surface, shivering and gasping and coughing. Somehow, she was still grasping the paddle. She reached for the boat, and two arms reached back and, with some difficulty and more worrisome swaying, Elaine was back on the wooden bench, trembling so hard her teeth rattled. Then the rattling turned to raspy laughing, which turned to hacking then laughter again. Isolde, seeing Elaine was fine - physically at least, for the laugh was not inspiring a stable state of mind - joined in too. 

"I'll miss this," Elaine murmured once she'd calmed down.

Isolde was rowing them back, mustering all the strength she could find. "Falling into the river?" she asked dryly. Elaine would have nudged her if she weren't quite so numbed from the cold.

As miserably wet as she was, it couldn't stump the small smile that bloomed on her lips.

"I'll miss it, too," Isolde replied, soft as the susurrus of water. Then, brighter and louder, she said, "That's why you should visit often."

"As should you!" Elaine shot back and they both laughed.

They laughed too when they got back and stumbled right into their older brother, dripping a damp path down the Castle halls on their way to Elaine's chambers. She only stopped smiling once they got back into the wedding and Isolde reprised her role.