Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
A lady was getting married. The fact, in itself, was nothing astonishing. Ladies and Lords married every day. Even Ladies and Lords of the upper houses. Perhaps even especially among those circles where fuss was made.
No. That a lady was getting married was not astonishing. The astonishing part was whom she would wed.
Thadias Presborn Tinsdale stood before a mirror staring at heavy brocade and medals adorning a sash jauntily pinned slantwise without the slightest idea how he had arrived in the unlikely position of groom. A position the brothers hovering outside were inclined he did not remove himself from.
The lady in question was their eldest sister, the peerless Imani Celeste Rosalman. The capital’s greatest beauty, and someone Thadias should have never met.
But they’d met one night at a workshop deep beneath the streets when she’d worn overalls with her hair a ruckus and face oil smudged. She had been but another inventor.
He’d only discovered her identity when her kin had come for her.
The wall groaned behind Thadias. Looking in the mirror, the wall swung inward revealing the lady in question. She held a finger to her lips, motioning him to silence as she beckoned.
“Come,” she whispered. “Before they realize I’ve escaped again.” Reaching back, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind her.
Thadias vaguely thought he should protest. This had type of action had landed him here now, but with protest he wouldn’t learn what came next. Grinning, he followed her underground.
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