Chapter Text
The first time you meet your fiance is on your wedding day.
Clad in an ivory gown with lace detailing on the sleeves, standing at the far end of the aisle on your fathers arm. It’s unconventional for such a thing to occur, especially in this modern day and age.
Your marriage was most certainly a business deal: you had expected no less when you came of the age to wed. It was something that you had been raised knowing, and over the years you’d grown to find comfort in the fact that your future was at least somewhat decided for you.
But to marry a man you’d never met before? Not even once?
Your father had spoken to you with the utmost assurance, promised that he’d know your mysterious betrothed when he was but a boy - told you of all the mischief he’d gotten up to, and how he’d always done things out of the kindness of his heart.
“Viktor is a good man,” your papa had sworn, gently taking your tear-stained face in his hands. “He’s a little odd, I will admit; he doesn’t always know the ins and outs of polite society. But he is not cruel, as I have seen many men to be. He’s gentle, and smart, and he cares deeply for the commonfolk of our city.”
You had scoffed when he’d fed you such pretty words at first, but by the end of your discussion, you’d been calmed. Your father would not lead you wrong in life. He had handpicked spouses for all your older sisters, setting them up with bachelors who would treat them with smiles and spoil them rotten with goods beyond what they’d had before.
You trusted his judgment.
Even when the letters you’d written to your betrothed had been declined, you trusted him. Tea, lunch, a walk in the garden, something: declined.
You trusted your father.
Even when your frustration ran rampant, he promised you.
“Does he even want to marry me?!” you’d shouted, in a fit of anger caused by the constant rebuff of your supposed fiance. “Because he’s certainly not making much of an effort! In fact, he’s making no effort at all!”
Your father had been diligent in soothing you with his soft words and promises, swearing to you again and again that you’d have the wedding of your dreams, filled with friends and food and dancing and happy laughter. And you had believed him.
But now?
Now, you have doubts.
Music plays quietly in the background, nearly drowned out by the whistling of the wind and the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears.
Anger.
Disbelief.
Shame.
All things you felt when your gaze fell upon the chairs set out on either side of the aisle. Decorated with ribbon and pretty draped fabrics, and hand-plucked flowers that were bloomed at their fattest. Barely thirty seats, at your fiance’s insistence - something that had outraged you so significantly that you had half the mind to call the whole deal off.
He doesn’t know the ins and outs of polite society, your father had reminded you.
You hadn’t wanted to make an improper wife of yourself, so you’d remained silent in the wake of Viktor’s demands, and had agreed to cut down on the guest list. You deeply regretted such a thing now, wishing more than ever that you’d pushed back a little bit against him.
If he was any sort of kind, he would have understood. Even if he truly didn’t have the ability to tolerate the lifestyle you led, he could at least make a single exception for the woman who was to be his wife!
But you had been an utter doormat.
And now each chair stood empty as you walked down the aisle.
You should have tried harder.
But how were you to know that the people you’d once called friends would abandon you on such short notice?
Your siblings and their spouses have claimed the seats in the rows closest to the altar, and all have politely stood to watch you tread forward with grace and integrity. But it’s with a sinking heart that you realize they’re only there out of obligation. You’re their sister - of course they’d come to your wedding, however disastrous it was.
But that’s not the most boggling part of the whole ordeal.
What baffles you most is the complete emptiness on Viktor’s side of the aisle. Where you at least had family on yours, his is well and truly empty. His parents most obviously have not shown up, as you know them to be deceased, but…his siblings? Friends?
No one.
It is the fact that keeps you moving forward.
Perhaps he really had no one. No one close to him, no one to lean on or speak with or share inside jokes.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
You keep your head towards your future, as you had been taught to.
Viktor, however, has no such grace. He turns away from where he’s been staring a hole in the ground, and towards the noise and - for the briefest of moments - your eyes meet.
His eyes, wide and worried, and the prettiest shade of honeyed brown. He’s handsome, you realize, with an internal hint of surprise. You’re not sure what kind of man you were expecting him to be, but it’s certainly not he who stands before you.
Slender and tall, with fluffy brown hair and elegant features. You could almost mistake him for an aristocrat, were you not already aware of his adopted background. It hardly bothered you to know that he didn’t share blood with the people he once called his parents - you’re just a little baffled as to why he inherited so much when they passed.
Thankfully, the only thing that seems to be physically lacking about him is his posture, which you assume is from his many years of being hunched over a desk, working. And the moment you catch sight of the brace on his leg, and the cane in his right hand, you don’t fault him for it.
All things considered, he’s perhaps not the worst person you could have ended up with as a spouse. You’d at least be able to make some attractive children, and for that you’re grateful.
Though you know in your heart that you’d love them regardless of who their father was.
The rest of the ceremony passes quickly after that. You and your father reach the end of the aisle, where he carefully hands you off to Viktor.
Viktor, who stumbles twice when leading you up to the altar, but who continues to hold your hand with a surprising amount of practiced dexterity.
Viktor, who fumbles through his vows despite the fact that they’re the most traditional and mundane you’ve ever heard, but who whispers them with a sort of reverency that leaves your heart fluttering in your chest.
Viktor, whose voice catches on his I Do before you’re pronounced as husband and wife, but whose lips are soft and tender against your own in the barest hint of a kiss. Short and sweet, filling your stomach with butterflies that flutter around wildly.
And then, another clap of thunder, closer this time.
He pulls away from you then, as if he’s just come back to himself and his senses. His fingers slide out of yours, and he steps back with a curt nod, awkwardly offering you his arm. You take it without question, and he leads you towards the dining area that has been set up.
It doesn’t take long for your anger and shame to start welling up again, nor for your mood to sour significantly.
The wind from the coming storm is beginning to pick up, whipping a chill across your face and over your shoulders. Half the decor has been ferried inside by your father’s staff, in lieu of it blowing away entirely, and without any significant number of guests, the garden just looks…empty.
Empty, and lonely, and hollow. Much the way you feel.
Lunch is fine enough, in terms of taste. It’s not as fancy as you had expected, but it’s palatable. You chat amicably with your siblings and their spouses while you eat, and while your manners are poor, you hardly find the mind to care at the moment.
Viktor, in any case, doesn’t say anything. He just continues to eat in silence, watching as the conversation bounces around.
After the meal is finished, and all the plates have been cleared away, you make a silent vow to yourself to have a good time. Yes, none of your friends showed up for the most important day of your life, and yes, the weather was quite honestly terrible, and yes, you were quite honestly a little miserable. But!
That didn’t mean you couldn’t turn things around!
“Would you care to dance, sir?” you ask boldly, striding gracefully up to your new husband to offer him your hand. Even with his need for a cane and a brace, he’d surely be able to spare you a couple moments of swaying, right? Even if you spent the rest of the day cavorting around with your sisters-
“I’m not much use for dancing,” Viktor replies, barely even looking at you before casting his gaze downwards, towards the hardware wrapped around his leg. “Perhaps one of your brothers might entertain you, if you feel such inclinations.”
You stand there for a couple moments, your jaw slack in disbelief.
“Sir, perhaps we could-” you begin to argue, but you’re promptly cut off by a wet splat landing on your cheek.
You glance towards the sky, praying that what you think is happening is actually not happening.
To no such avail.
Another fat raindrop lands on you, and then another, and another, and another. Plinking down against the flagstone and the handful of pitchers set out on tables. Stirring the leaves of every plant in the garden, and soaking into the soil to create a lovely layer of mud.
It doesn’t take long for everyone to hurry inside to where it’s dry, but the damage has been done.
Your sisters suggest moving the party to one of the sitting rooms in your father’s manor, but…you’re done.
“Let’s just get all my trunks packed into a carriage, so we can be on our way,” you sigh, unable to keep the sadness out of your voice. Your father tries in vain to cheer you up, and reassure you that you were going to have a wonderful life, but you hardly feel like entertaining the hope anymore.
You just want the day to end.
The ride over to Viktor’s estate is nothing short of uncomfortable and awkward. You had wanted to leave and get settled as soon as possible, so the moment your things were loaded into your transportation, you take off into the rain.
At this point, you don’t care if you get stains on your gown. You run out to the carriage and up into its belly, finding a seat in the cramped exterior. Viktor follows after you shortly, and the two of you fall into the strangest silence you’ve ever experienced.
You can see him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, looking as though he wishes to say something, but never quite gathering the courage to do so. Awkward, like your father had said.
You remain like that for a good while, staring out the window while you listen to the rain beat against the glass. It’s possibly the most peace you’ve felt on this day, the repetitive patter of drops lulling you into an uncertain doze.
You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until the carriage jerks suddenly and you pitch forwards, hastily jarred out from your nap and into the lap of your husband, who stares down at you with wide eyes.
His hands are warm where they press into your upper arms, steadying you where he’d instinctively tried to catch your fall.
“...are you alright?” he murmurs, gently guiding you back into your seat.
You sigh deeply, and nod.
“I am,” you mumble. “Thank you.”
Another beat of silence.
And then,
“Good. We…ah, we’re here. I’ll fetch an umbrella- let me just-”
You watch in a daze as he squirms around in his seat, before unlocking the door and shimmying out into the weather. The rain has slowed significantly since you last paid attention to it, with just a few little speckles falling from the sky. The birds have begun their happy little trills once again, filling the air with a pleasant kind of peace.
Without waiting for Viktor to find what he’s looking for, you step out of the carriage and into the fresh air to look around a bit.
His estate is…grand, to say the least. The manor itself stands at what must be four times the size of your childhood home, and that’s just in the architecture. The land around the building is nothing short of magnificent, with cobbled paths leading every which way, to secret places you know you’re going to have fun exploring.
The gardens are a little dilapidated, and are significantly overgrown, but you can hardly blame your husband for it. If he was the only one around to help things run smoothly, then you’re not really surprised the land has fallen to ruin.
“I said I was going to fetch an umbrella,” Viktor sighs, when he strides out the front entrance and back towards you.
“A little rain won’t hurt me,” you reply with a cheeky smile.
He stares at you for a couple of moments, his expression unreadable. You almost think you’ve offended him in some way with your actions, until he sighs again and lets his shoulders fall.
“Very well,” he says quietly, gesturing towards you. “But please come inside before you catch a chill.”
The inside of the manor is much nicer than the outside, in your opinion. It’s a little dusty, but the wood tones and furniture are nothing short of extravagant. And the rugs, you think, looking curiously downwards. They look like they’ve been hand woven from the finest of fibers.
Viktor carefully helps you out of your coat, pulling the fabric from your shoulders only to hang it over the bannister.
“I…failed to say this earlier,” he begins, plucking at the buttons on his sleeves, “But the manor is at your disposal. Anything you might come across is yours, and you are free to roam wherever you please. If there is anything you require that is not provided, you need only ask - either myself, or one of your ladies’ maids. All I ask is that you don’t come into the workshop in the basement by yourself - or without my knowledge.”
You can’t help but notice the way he still avoids your gaze.
Despite the fact that you’re married.
“Your room has been made prior to your arrival, but in the future you are free to curate it however you like.”
Your room?
Wouldn’t you be sharing?
“Breakfast and lunch may be served to you at your discretion, and dinner is at seven every night. If you have any preferences, again…just ask. Either myself, or your attendants.”
The two of you stand there in silence for a few moments, waiting, waiting, for the other to say something.
“Ah…thank you,” you mumble.
Viktor nods, short and curt, and turns on his heel.
“If you’ll excuse me, now,” he says, as he makes his way towards what you assume is the staircase that leads towards his workspace. “I’ve got some things that need to be completed in a timely manner.”
And with that, he disappears from sight, leaving you completely alone.
It doesn’t take you long to find your bedroom. You open six or seven doors along the way, but once you arrive at your own dwelling, you know for a fact that it’s yours. You’re not entirely sure how your trunks and suitcases were moved up to the space without your knowledge, but with such a large estate, you know there are bound to be servants hallways around.
The decor itself is a little bit dated, but it’s still quite beautiful in execution. Soft pastel wallpapers, and deep wood tones. The bed in the center of the room is intricately carved, and you can’t imagine how much such a piece must have cost. How much everything in the room must have cost, ranging from the various bookshelves, to the petite bedside tables, to the sturdy desk beneath the window.
And again, the rugs.
You make haste in changing out of your wedding attire, well and truly sick of wearing such a thing. It’s beautiful, yes, but now the gown only stands to remind you of what has so far been a rather unhappy day. That, and the seams are beginning to dig into your skin, and you’re positive that you’re going to have little sore spots for a couple of hours.
Instead, you dig through your various trunks until you’re able to find your favourite lounging gown. Gauzy and airy, trimmed in delicate lace. It drapes over your body in a way that is breathtakingly flattering, and you can’t help but twirl around in the mirror to admire yourself.
It had been a gift from your eldest sister, for your last birthday. She’d said that you deserved such fine things, and to be clad comfortably when you felt the need to rest.
And later, when it had been just the two of you, she’d whispered to you that your future husband might also find it appealing.
You had been horribly flustered by her statement back then, but now, as you stare at your reflection, you can’t help the tiny smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.
Your entire wedding had been unconventional. From not knowing your husband before you married him, to the social snubbing you’d received in the lack of guests, to your new spouse not indulging you in a single dance, and the terrible storm cutting the afterparty short.
But there was one thing you knew that Viktor wouldn’t want to miss. What no newlywed couple would pass up, and what all your sisters and you had giggled about on the nights you’d sneaked into each other’s rooms to gossip.
The wedding night.
And looking as enticing as you did, in your pretty, frilled nightgown?
Your husband would not be able to resist.
He had work to attend to, still: this much you know. But in no more than two hours the sun would start setting, and he’d be finished with his distractions. He would come upstairs to find you where you wait, curled up in the lavish bed with a novel, donned in the finest of silks.
Just for him.
Imagine the shame you feel, when you listen to the grandfather clock on the main floor chime once again.
Midnight, this time.
So late that you can barely keep your eyes open. So late that the candle lighting the pages of your book has nearly burned out. So late, that you can’t even focus your eyes on the words anymore.
The shame you feel, as you crawl into bed in the dark.
Alone.