Chapter Text
Although they’d been preparing for weeks, the wedding snuck up on Ingrid. Sylvain paid for everything—the invitations (although she’d written them, with Dorothea’s help), the food, the decorations, even her dress. She stood in her dormitory room, staring at the things from her student days. Although her life at the Academy had been cut short five years ago, it hadn’t truly felt over until today. Annette and Mercedes fussed with her makeup as Dorothea finished pinning up her hair.
“There,” Dorothea said. “You’re the very picture of a noble bride.”
“It’s so nice of you to humor Sylvain and wear a gown,” Mercedes said. “I know you’re more comfortable in your dress uniform.”
It was true that while Ingrid would have been perfectly fine getting married in full battle dress, it didn’t hurt to be fancy once in a while. It would be much easier to dance with Sylvain in a gown than in armor, especially a no-fuss gown like the pale green silk one she wore. Although it was simple, its lines were elegant, and the craftsmanship was the highest quality.
“It’s time,” Annette said, eyes alight with glee.
“Could I have a moment by myself?” Ingrid asked.
The women tittered and left. The second she was alone, Ingrid prepared her wedding present for Sylvain. She had no money to spend, but she knew what would please him, even if the thought made her burn with embarrassment.
When she was ready, she joined her friends in the hall, and they made their way to the cathedral. White ribbons and roses adorned the enormous doors, the pews inside festooned with the same. Her female friends peeled away to join the others. She spotted her family at the front, across the aisle from Sylvain’s.
Sylvain stood at the door waiting for her, hair combed back. The black suit trimmed with gold accentuated his frame, and his handsomeness took her breath away. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands flexing. Was he nervous?
Ingrid smiled as he caught sight of her. His mouth dropped open, his eyes wide. “You look amazing,” he said breathlessly.
“You look handsome yourself.” Her smile broadened, her heart lifting and soaring.
“Your granny’s in there. She looks just as good as ever.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. Typical Sylvain, trying to distract her from his true emotions. “Shall we?”
Sylvain offered her his arm. Ingrid took it and held it tight. They walked down the aisle together. There might have been music, or cheers from their friends, but she only had eyes for him. He didn’t break her gaze until they arrived at the altar, where their professor stood ready.
Ingrid hardly heard the ceremony. She was dimly aware of saying her vows, of Sylvain’s palm sweating against hers. His eyes were alight as they gazed at each other. They used the simple rings she’d bought—ones that would fit beneath gauntlets—and she slipped it onto Sylvain’s finger a second time.
It was over before she knew it. The moment the professor pronounced them husband and wife, Sylvain crushed her to him and kissed her. With tongue. It took her breath away and set a fire low and deep inside her.
Their loved ones cheered and threw flower petals as Sylvain escorted her back down the aisle.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he said with a grin.
“I’m not wearing anything beneath my shift,” Ingrid replied.
Sylvain stopped dead at the end of the aisle and stared at her. His cheeks flamed, and he swallowed hard. “Seriously?”
“Happy wedding day.”
A tremor ran through Sylvain, and before she knew it, he’d scooped her up and broken into a run. She dropped her bouquet and held on as he dashed for the nearest closet and darted inside.
“But the reception,” she said with a gasp as his hands ran up her thighs, lifting the gown over her hips.
“They’ll wait,” he replied, voice husky, as he unfastened his trousers and pressed her against the wall.
They were fifteen minutes late for their own wedding feast, but no matter. Their life together had already begun.