The white mourning flowers had not yet been taken down from the Archer's residence, and only Draven's house was now adorned with flowers for a wedding.
I sat quietly on the bridal bed, my hands twisting the handkerchief nervously under the veil. Elyse had been the most beautiful girl in the Frederick family. When my father sought to climb the ranks by marrying her to the ailing eldest son of the Archer family, he hired the best matchmaker in Bulfa to secure the match.
The matchmaker had said that Draven had tuberculosis and would not live past forty. He also had no hope of fathering children.
Most families would have avoided such a match, but not ours. We rushed toward it.
My father said nothing, merely slipping two gold pieces into the matchmaker's hand.
The matchmaker weighed the coins in her palm, and the large black mole at the corner of her mouth quivered as she smiled.
In less than two days, she returned with good news.
On Elyse's wedding day, the Frederick family was brightly lit with decorations and full of celebration.