Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

of was a Captaincy in the Imperial Fleet.
    He never even got to meet his bride-to-be Letitia, until the day of the wedding.
    She seemed a pleasant sort. Robert thought he could have become quite fond of her, in time. But during the marriage ceremony, an esper scan revealed Letitia to be already pregnant, by another man. Gregor Shreck went mad with rage. He strangled Letitia, while Robert's own Family held him back, helpless to save her. Gregor murdered Letitia, to save his Family from shame. And Robert had had to watch it, unable to do anything.
    He still kept a small portrait of Letitia in his bedroom. He never loved her.
    But he thought he might have, given a chance. If things had gone… differently.
    And now, here he was again, preparing for marriage. Things should be different, this time. He was marrying a woman he loved, who loved him, surrounded by a whole army of people determined to see that nothing went wrong. He should have felt safe, secure; delighted at his good fortune, that such a wonderful creature as Constance Wolfe had agreed to be his wife. And he was going to be King, as well. Constitutional monarch to the whole damned Empire. Assuming the whole damned Empire wasn't destroyed in the next few days, by the Recreated, or Shub, or the Hadenmen. His thoughts shifted to his other main worry: that he should be out there with what was left of the Fleet, commanding a ship against the Empire's enemies, instead of participating in an overblown ceremony merely designed to divert and distract the general populace. But as with his last
    wedding, he got no say in the matter. And he'd had to give up his Captaincy long ago, to become head of his Family, and a man who was about to be made King was far too valuable to be allowed to risk himself in combat.
    "Do sit down, Robert, I'm getting tired just watching you." Adrienne spoke calmly from her seat in a corner of the room. "Save some of that energy for your wedding night. There's really nothing for you to worry about. The ceremony's been planned and rehearsed down to the last detail, the Elves are strip-searching and body-probing anyone who even coughs funny, and Toby Shreck's in charge of the holo coverage, so you can be sure you'll look good in the live broadcast. Now please sit down, before you wear your wedding suit out from the inside."
    Robert growled something indecipherable, even to himself, and threw himself onto the nearest chair, folding his arms tightly across his chest, as though he could hold his nerves in check by sheer force. Baxter started to fuss with the suit again, but received such a glare that he quickly decided to give Robert's shoes a polish they didn't need instead. Robert looked at himself in the mirror on the wall, and growled again, even louder.
    "Do I have to wear this bloody top hat? It doesn't suit me."
    "A top hat rarely suits anyone, sir," said Baxter, still concentrating on the shoes. "But it is an essential part of the ensemble; a style handed down to us from centuries past. And style, after all, doesn't have to make sense. That's how you know it's style. But don't worry, after the immediate ceremony, one removes the hat and carries it under one's arm, so that one may place one's gloves in it."
    "I can take the gloves off?"
    "Oh, of course, sir. This was covered in the rehearsals. One couldn't greet one's guests afterwards with gloved hands. That wouldn't be at all proper."
    Robert looked at Adrienne. "Who makes up all this shit?"
    "Don't look at me, dear. I never ever understood fashion, even when my late husband Finlay was a grand master at it. Some of the outfits he wore were so colorful the images are still imprinted permanently on walls all over the city, like the ghosts of styles past."
    Robert smiled slightly, in spite of himself. "Why do you always refer to Finlay as your late husband? He's been dead some time now."
    "Oh, I don't know, dear. I suppose I just like the sound of it."
    Outside the room, the sheer din of the continuing preparations grew a little louder, if anything, and Robert's face went cold and hard again.
    "What is it that's troubling you, Robert?" said Adrienne. "You're not having cold feet about marrying Constance, are you?"
    "No! No, she's the only thing in this whole damned mess that I am sure about. I love Constance, with all my heart. I never got the chance to love Letitia. But every time I think of this wedding, of standing before the Cardinal and taking my vows, all I can see is Letitia's dead