'Volo,' he said.
I do. His voice sounded clearly in the chapel.
She stood in front of the altar, in front of a man she didn't know. He looked back at her with dark eyes with long lashes.
'Will you take this man as your husband?'
She felt her uncle's eyes pierce in her back. He had organised this, this to secure one of the most powerful bonds ever made. She was by one of the mightiest families of Italy. Mighty, but with many foes. During their generations of success, they had made enemies. Jealous nobles, Italian families. Now these enemies were uniting, rallying against them, building an army. Their old rivals were on their borders on one side. On the other, the French, having just invaded Italy, and captured the stronghold of Milan.
Is this precarious time, they had taken a risk. Their family had to secure their power. And it was going to be through her.
After weeks of negotiating, it had been settled. A bargain had been struck. And the price? The price was her. She was to wed the French prince. And that would bring peace to Florence, her uncle thought. Marrying her to the foreigner invading their country.
She hadn't ever thought it would be like this, but she had known all her adult life she had to be married. Ever since her father died, she, as his only living child, had become the highest member of their mighty family after her uncle, and the richest woman in the peninsula. And her uncle had made it well clear that she served one single purpose: To be given away when the time was ripe, to secure a marriage that would further his position.
All her male friends from the city had been mercilessly rejected by her uncle, suitors turned away, even if they were from the highest nobility in the city. But then the moment came. France invaded Italy, and halted at Milan. They had to choose. And her uncle hadn't taken long to side with the enemy, given the instability at home.
'It is done,' he said, when he returned from Milan. 'You'll marry the French prince and King Henry and Florence will be allies. The wedding will take place on Wednesday'.
And here she was, standing in front of her husband to be. He had come alone, with a small retinue. His father had stayed in Milan. They were in the private chapel of their family, as a public marriage was sure to cause to be disturbed, given the position of the other nobles in the city on this marriage.
'Ciara Cadici,' she heard the priest repeat.
'Do you take this man as your husband?'
She looked down at her hands, demurely. Philippe held both her hands in hers.
'Volo,' she said, looking up, meeting his gaze.
****
The banquet was formal, but short. Next to her husband, she sat at the head of the table. A bit awkward. They had literally met a few hours ago.
When the clock hit 12, her uncle raised from the table and held a speech. 'Thank you for your presence and kind gifts, my friends.' he said. 'This union is blessed and will bring great prosperity to France and Florence. But the ritual of marriage is not finished yet!' Subdued sniggering rose from the table.
'It is time to go to bed!' her uncle said, raising his glass. 'My niece will make herself ready, and my nephew will follow soon after.'
All the guests got up, sliding their chairs back, lifting their glass. Ciara and Philippe got up as well. Her uncle walked to Ciara and took her hand. With a kind gesture of his head, he begged her to follow him, leading her out of the room.
They stepped in the patio. He handed her over to her maids, who were waiting for her to take her upstairs. 'Now go do your duty,' he said, harshly, his voice hard and cold.
****
She sat on the bed, looking down, waiting for her husband to come in. Her ladies had helped her undress. She wore nothing but her night shift, and a heavy embroidered dressing gown.
He came in. She heard him close the doors, silently.
He walked to her and stood still, shadowing over her. She hardly dared to look at him. Then, to her surprise, she sat next to her on the bed, taking her hand.
'I know you didn't want this marriage,' he said, softly, voice warm like molten honey.
