Till Death Us Do Part

Rosamund was in the master bedroom waiting for Ivar when he got back. For a long, tense minute, they stood silently, their eyes locked, the air between them heavy with unasked questions.

Finally, in a gentle but worried tone, she inquired, "Are you hurt?"

He said, "Not at all," and purposefully placed the bloody knife on the vanity. "The Rosemary... I can clarify.

"You're not required to. She crossed her arms over her chest and spoke in a steady yet stern voice, "I understand why you regularly slay the undead."

His voice was hardly audible above a whisper when he questioned, "Do you?"

Her motions were elegant yet deliberate as she raised her gaze and stepped out onto the balcony. With deliberate strides, Ivar trailed after, and the two of them looked down at the small, sleeping Valtara, its rooftops hardly visible in the moonlight.

With a gentle, even caressing voice, she added, "You don't terrorize Valtara; you protect it."

With a glint of embarrassment on his face, he bent his head.

With a sigh, Rosamund let her breath out into the crisp night air. "Why didn't you inform me earlier? I had a gut feeling that you couldn't have been the one who mauled the girl so long ago. However, if you had told me the truth, it would have eased my anxiety."

His face was a mask of grim determination as he said, "I tried to save her," in a low, strained voice. "I arrived too late. Now she's a werewolf. If only I'd been here sooner.

"You tried; you did what you could." Slowly, Rosamund's hand found his on the railing, her touch hard yet kind. "You are a brave man, and what’s more, an altruistic one." She caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, her heart racing from the flurry of feelings he evoked in her. His other hand hesitated when it touched her fingers, but he gazed at their entwined hands as though they were the most exquisite thing he had ever seen.

Her voice rising with a mixture of curiosity and fury, she questioned, "But why do you allow Valtara to blame you for all the atrocities?" "Why not tell them the truth—that you only seek to defend them?"

His sigh was laden with resignation. They should concentrate their concerns on a single, physical foe. If they realized how many actual threats were all around them, they would be far more frightened.

For a long period, Rosamund was silent, her hand tightening as she took in what he had spoken.

She abruptly responded, "I want to help," in a determined tone.

His brow furrowed as he turned to face her. "Excuse me?"

Her smile was modest but determined. "I want to help you protect Valtara," she replied. He was about to object, but she persisted, her words piercing his hesitancy. Yes, but you also claimed that I am as strong as twenty men. Doesn't that make me as useful as twenty men? And if you don't have a companion, you will eventually be killed."

A small, playful smile formed at the corners of his lips. "You are not a woman to be argued with," he said in a quiet, purposeful voice. "All right, you could assist. I'll teach you how to fight if you don't already know."

She said, "I would like that very much," in a sincere tone.

With a gentle sigh, he looked down at their clasped hands. He said, "I suppose I… would not mind having your help," with a hint of reluctance.

Rosamund gave him a quick smile, her eyes glimmering with victory. At last, he had admitted that he was not alone in defeating evil. The moment dragged on between them as they fell into a relaxed stillness.

Count Ivar turned his focus to a few bats flying overhead, their wings cutting the air as they pursued bugs and moths. Rosamund's gaze followed their movements, fascinated by the uncanny yet elegant manner they flew, a peculiar elegance in their flight.

"You know," she said in a quiet, thoughtful voice, "you were right." Bats are not as evil as they seem.

A shade of emotion passed across his face as his dark eyes flitted toward her and then away.

"Ivar," she said, her voice quivering a little, "I've had to reconsider my first assessment of you during the last few months. I've come to the conclusion that I don't even dislike you, let alone despise you. Despite my pride and stubbornness preventing me from stating it, I'm sure you've known my genuine feelings for some time."

His eyes softened as he waited for her to find the right words, as if he could know she was attempting to say more.

Though his voice caught, he replied softly, "That takes humility and courage to confess," revealing his own anguish. "However... I'm happy you have those feelings.

She glanced at him again and was surprised to see a few tears stuck to his eyelids, despite his best efforts to hide them.

Pulling herself together, she turned to him full face, shaking as she moistened her lips and took a deep, reassuring breath. "I would like to have my ring back, please," she pleaded, her voice almost audible above a whisper.

For a minute, his expression was unreadable as he gazed at her.

He said, "You would?" with a hint of cautious optimism in his voice.

His face lit up with a brilliant smile that made him nearly unidentifiable, yet unquestionably the same man. How could she have denied himself his tenderness and sincerity for so long? Even though he was temperamental and unpredictable, she could not help but love him when he showed his soul in this way because he was so unbelievably good. Her heart grew heavy with emotion as she nodded.

The deep red stone of the ruby wedding ring gleamed in the dim light as he reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

He admitted, "I have kept it with me all this time," in a heartfelt voice.

She answered, "I suppose you could say that I never gave up my last shred of hope," her words a gentle reflection of his own defenselessness.

For a long, loving moment, they stood in front of one another, their eyes fixed on one another in mute comprehension.

Taking Rosamund's hand in his own, Ivar took a deep breath and spoke steadily. "I, Ivar, take thee, Rosamund, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

As she recited the holy marital vows from the bride's point of view, Rosamund cleared her throat and spoke with a little shaking. She concluded in a barely audible whisper, albeit there was a slight catch in her throat at the end. Ivar sealed their union by taking the ring and carefully sliding it onto her finger.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I wed you with this ring, worship you with my body, and bestow upon you all of my material possessions. "Amen," he said gravely.

His lips were warm as he gently kissed her hand, making a silent vow.

Rosamund moved forward to give him a hug, her heart exploding with passion. She had never before noticed how he smelled like home, safe and comfortable, like the pine trees that ringed Castle Dravenstone. Her sudden affection seemed to scare Ivar for a minute, causing his body to tense in shock, but he soon recovered and put his arms around her, bringing her close.

With a gentle and sincere tone, she whispered into his ear, "I have loved you long before this, but I did not know it."

"Do I need to tell you how much I love you?" Ivar asked, holding her close and speaking in a low murmur.

For a considerable amount of time, they stayed in that position—Rosamund, her cheek against his chest, listening to the ragged pattern of his breaths as they came and went, each one demonstrating the intensity of his feelings.