The Eve
With no way of knowing what was happening beyond the walls, Perzen opened the door of ice, his face unreadable, and stepped through with Euphemia at his side.
Her foot came down hard. The fear of slipping circled through her mind, and she braced her whole body without thinking — yet the floor, though it was made of ice, was astonishingly not slippery at all. An element transmuted out of mana could have its fundamental nature bent, to a point, at the caster's discretion.
No one else was inside the cathedral, and so only their footsteps sounded in the hush, his measured, hers lighter. Where the guests ought to have sat, flowers of ice had bloomed to fill every empty place, and stained glass wrought of thin ice drank in the moonlight and poured a drowsy glow through the nave.
Then, the far end. A painting of the Virgin Mary should have hung there. In its place the emblem of the Five Blessing Gods — of the one among them who governed love — had been carved in ice, and it received Euphemia and Perzen.
"I knew no one was coming for me anyway… but I never thought you would hold a wedding like this. One without a single guest."
Grown a little sentimental, she let the words run long. Perzen only swept his bangs back and answered, flat as ever.
"I've never cared for a crowd. And you… it isn't that there's no one who would come. It's that there's someone you'd rather didn't. Isn't that so?"
At first she did not understand. She could not make sense of it at all. But Perzen, who had been gazing straight at the emblem of the god of love, turned his head and met her eyes, and in that instant a chill broke over her.
No — a chill was not the end of it. She was frightened. She was afraid.
This man. This man knew. He had known all along, and until now he had only pretended that he didn't.
"Ah…"
She did not want it to show, and yet her whole body shook like an aspen. Had Perzen not chosen to speak in circles, she would surely have wet herself where she stood.
"A wedding is where a bond between two people is given social recognition before the guests who attend. The reason I am holding one like this… is that it is enough if you alone understand that bond for what it is."
In the silent cathedral he stroked the cheek of the trembling Euphemia and went on.
"There is no master of ceremonies, and no one to officiate… so we will recite the marriage vows according to the rite, and bring this wedding to an end."
He looked down at her, ready to collapse at any moment, and raised his right hand.
"I, Perzen von Schweik Brutein, swear that I take Euphemia El Lorraine Ruerug to be my wife, and that I will be her husband."
Euphemia did not answer. Perzen waited, patient. However long it took, he knew she had no choice but to yield.
"I… Euphemia El Lorraine Ruerug…"
And just as he had expected, she broke the silence, her voice gone mournful, steeped deep in despair and defeat.
"…swear that I take Perzen von Schweik Brutein as my husband, and that I will be… his wife…"
She was no fool. She had caught it — why he had spoken around the thing, and what this wedding meant. He did not mean to fasten the collar on her. He wanted her to put it on herself.
For her own part, she had never meant to entangle herself with him. She was thinking of Ciel Midford. Perzen did not know that heart of hers, and even if she told him, he would not believe her. Even so, the fact that he had not named Ciel Midford outright was a promise of its own: if she showed him good faith he could not mistake… he would go on as he was now, pretending not to know, and he would not harm Ciel.
So she did not hand the moment back to him. Alone in the vast cathedral, she went on.
"And… I will respect him, always."
"And… I will do my utmost in my duties as his wife."
"And… I will share his sorrows, and his joys."
"And… I will never… leave his side. Not for all eternity…"
And then—
"I, Euphemia El Lorraine Ruerug… swear in this place… that there is not a shred of falsehood in any of it…"
Her right hand came down. Perzen answered, short.
"I, Perzen von Schweik Brutein… will not cause Euphemia El Lorraine Ruerug sorrow, so long as she does not break the Four Precepts she has sworn."
Unlike hers, his last words were not upheld by any oath. That was proof they still had room to change — an inequity no proper rite would allow. Yes. And so this could not be called a wedding at all. It was only the most extravagant rite of master and servant in the world.
"…Let's go back."
Perzen lowered his right hand.
"…Yes."
Euphemia nodded.
A moment later the great cathedral of ice returned to the mana it had been. It scattered like blue smoke and vanished, as though it had never been more than a mirage.
Brought back to the bedchamber, Euphemia stared blankly at Perzen as he changed. So long as she kept what she had promised, she believed he would keep what he had said as well. Yes — she did believe he would keep it.
But if he killed Ciel where she would never know. Or if the hostility came from Ciel's side instead.
It was no longer Perzen who wanted certainty. It was Euphemia. And she knew very well what means that certainty would take.
"…I want to."
At the sound of her voice, the hands loosening his tie went still.
"I want to… have sex. With you."
It was not her fertile season. Even so, she was the one who spoke first. If she became pregnant, Perzen would have no cause to bare his edge for nothing, and she herself would be able to rest easier. Ciel, too, would give up once he saw her belly grown round. With that, everything would be all right.
Sooner or later she was fated to bear his child anyway. She had thrashed against that fate with everything short of frenzy, trying to put it off as long as she could — and now she decided to abandon the fight cleanly.
Perzen only looked at her, indifferent, and went back to undoing his tie. Yes. Say it like this and he still would not feel the slightest stir of want.
So Euphemia drew her own panties down. She caught the hem of the wedding dress, hauled it up to her waist, and got down on the bed on all fours, like a dog. Then she spread her sex with her own hands — it was not even wet — and opened her mouth as if to tempt him.
"I want to have your child… so please… give me your seed…"
Once more, his hands stopped.
Darkness lay thick over the room, but the moonlight coming through the window was unusually bright, and it laid bare not only the sex she held open but the anus above it. A posture of nothing but shame. Even so, Euphemia never let her hips sink.
"Ah…"
Perzen came to her side, stroked the snow-white curve of her buttocks, and spoke.
"You do keep your word. Faithfully."
"Because I swore… I would do my utmost… in my duties as your wife…"
The words could just as well be heard as a desperate plea: that he, too, must keep what he had said.
Of course, Perzen had no intention of breaking it. But at the banquet on the seventh of May, the moment a place was made for him, Ciel Midford would turn a sword on him without fail. It was a fate laid out that way — one that could not be twisted. And once a justification had been prepared, Euphemia herself would know there was nothing she could do about Ciel Midford's death.
In truth, if he could only make that death certain, he would not have needed to do any of this. He would do his best. He would give it everything he had. But could he truly bring the thing to an end? Because that fear was in him, he had used the moment at hand to bring Euphemia to complete submission. Securing the second-best in advance, against the day he failed to obtain the best, was the rational choice.
A wet sound. Her sex slowly slickened. As a rule he was inclined to add more foreplay. This time he did not.
"Aagh—!"
He drove straight into her. As if she had wanted it just this way, Euphemia took him deep and pressed herself tight to where they were joined.
"Hn — aahn!"
She was not even colored with pleasure yet, and still she put on a coquettish show, clenching down hard around him so the cock that tried to draw back would not be allowed to leave her. Each time she did, the shyly shut anus twitched and gaped, lewd — and Euphemia paid it no mind. She laid even that baseness of hers bare before him.
And so a moan no one could have named — weeping, or a cry of pleasure — sorrowful and obscene, saw out the last night of April.