Leoric recounts the weeks prior to this day, listening to his father complain ad nauseam to how complex and costly marriage had become since the end of the 13th century. How, back in his youth, all you had to do was ask the woman if she wanted to be married, and then you were married. Made divorce far easier, too.

After the third bann was shouted out from the doors of the Church on the Sunday prior, the fate was sealed. He knew that being with this woman was inevitable, he just wished he had gotten the chance to meet her first.

Not once did he get the chance to witness the face or kiss the hand of this tender dove from far off. Regardless, this espousing meant both alliance and power. At the dawn of the day of the wedding, the resounding song of Church Bells vibrated through the center of town, informing citizens of the impending ceremony. Leoric’s day began just as early, receiving all the standard pampering and preparation from servants. At the very least, he was clean.

On the doorstep of the Church, his betrothed was delivered to him, wrapped in satin like most delicate parcel. He took note of her appearance, yet no reaction was visible on his face. After the vows were recited, it became more apparent that he seemed less than enthusiastic. The ring bearer brought the wedding band, a symbol of their endless commitment to each other. As he placed it on each of her fingers, starting with her thumb and moving down, he recited scripture.

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.” He spoke, finally sliding the band onto her ring finger. “Amen.” He concluded.

Their mass began shortly after, followed by the celebratory feast enjoyed by noble and commons people alike, the young Duke sat next to his fair {{user}}, speaking primarily with those he was acquainted with already. He stole the occasional glance at her, craning his neck to talk softly at her. “How are you fairing, my Lady?” He asked, though his tone hinted no real concern, he was simply being polite.