Chapter Text
Political marriages in Wildmount were hardly unheard-of. Joining two families together was as good a way to unite them as any. Better than many, even, as it gave them social common ground as well as political; everyone loves to coo over grandchildren.
But parents still love their children, so care is given to find a match that is both advantageous and compatible. Even the coldest of political minds are given pause at the notion of forcing a child into the prison sentence of a spouse they hate. So the young Lady Delilah was to meet her potential husband before the formal offer of betrothal was tendered.
She ran her hands nervously over her dress, a deep midnight blue to offset her fair skin and sable hair, with small silver threads throughout that sparkled like stars when she moved. Her hair was pinned half-back and braided in a simple style, her lips and cheeks lightly touched with stain, but at sixteen, too much makeup would be vulgar.
“I’ve heard Sylas Briarwood is a charming young man,” her father said, quietly, for only her ears. “Relax, darling girl.”
Delilah nodded, but found her voice had fled. Sylas Briarwood was older than her, old enough to seem worldly and exciting. Also old enough to be intimidating. What if he didn’t like her? What if he turned out to be horrible?
“I don’t have to marry him if he’s horrible,” she whispered.
“Of course not.” Papa had assured her of this several times, but he seemed willing to do it as many times as necessary. He ran an affectionate hand over her hair, and Delilah took a steadying breath. They were waiting in the foyer to greet their guests, some of the Briarwoods coming to stay for a few days so the marriage candidates could become acquainted, and she could hear footsteps and movement coming up the castle’s front steps now.
On a whim, she wiggled her fingers, casting a small illusion above them. The words “Welcome, new friends” shimmered above her and her father’s heads in an elegant script. She heard Papa chuckle, bringing a smile to her own face. It was that happy smile of welcome that would greet the Briarwoods when they came through the door.
First was a tall man, broad in the shoulders with a full mane of gray hair. Just behind him was a younger man, and Delilah’s breath was stolen.
He was slimmer than his father, but not by much, little enough that it might be attributed to the elder Briarwood’s fur mantle. His hair was dark and his clothing elegant and rich, his features carved so finely they might have been of stone. As she watched, his eyes were drawn to the words above her head, and a look of wonder came over his handsome face. He looked back down at her, and her smile went from happy to radiant. The words shimmered away as Delilah forgot to think about it, but judging from his smile, he didn’t seem to mind at all.
“Simon!” Delilah’s father stepped forward, embracing the other man in the style of distant friends and close business associates. He turned, holding a hand out to Delilah. “May I present my daughter, Delilah Hainsworth.”
Delilah curtsied. “How do you do, my lord?”
“Quite well, my lady, quite well,” Simon said, giving her a bow. “Allow me to introduce my son, Sylas Briarwood.”
Sylas stepped forward, sweeping his half-cape over one shoulder. Delilah offered him a hand, and he took it, kissing the back gently and never breaking eye contact. Delilah felt her heart flutter in her chest.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Hainsworth,” Sylas greeted courteously. “I hear we are to be married.”
“Perhaps,” Delilah agreed. “Depends on whether I like you enough.”
The Briarwoods laughed at her charming boldness, and Delilah kept her chin high, smiling. The Briarwoods may be powerful, but the Hainsworths were nothing to sniff at; she ought to act her station, and they seemed to appreciate it.
“Come, come, dinner will be ready soon, I’m sure you’re exhausted from the journey,” Papa said, setting about the business of hosting as more of the Briarwoods’ family and attendants filed in behind the two men.
“May I show you to your chambers, Sylas?” Delilah asked.
He gave her a small bow, eyes twinkling as he smiled. “Nothing would please me more, Lady Hainsworth.”
“Please call me Delilah.”
“Delilah.”
Her name on his lips sounded like the sweetest choir of celestials.