The Arranged Marriage

Goddess help me, I'm getting married.

I should have run away.

I sit next to Squire Peters at the wedding breakfast. He is over fifty, and while he keeps himself well-groomed, he is too sleek, wearing greasy confidence and smiles that inspire no trust. His hand is on my thigh under the table, as he shovels food into his mouth.

All the guests seem to be having a grand time. Mother is beaming. Even Father came away from his books for long enough to congratulate me.

It is my brother Tom who finally saves me, at least for a few minutes. "Squire Peters," he says, nodding to my - dear Goddess - husband. "If I could steal my sister for a moment?"

I was glad he said "my sister" not "your wife".

The Squire waved a pale, ringed hand in permission. "I'll see you later, my dear," he says, leering at me.

I shudder.

"What is it?" I ask Tom, as he draws me from the laughing, dancing guests.

"Ani," Tom says taking my hand and looking embarrassed. "I have to go away."

"What?" I yelp, staring at him. "Away? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm joining the king's army. I thought I'd have an extra day, but - I got my letter today. I'm to report to the capital."

And he hugged me, and though I begged him not to, he left within the hour.
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