The formalities of the ceremony ended. Giving way to the vibrant traditions that awaited them.
Elders from both families gathered at the head table, their presence a solemn reminder of the legacy that had brought the newlyweds together.
Sera and Callum knelt before them.
"Closer, you two," one of the elders instructed, gesturing for their knees to draw together. "Today, you are no longer standing on opposite sides."
Callum shifted closer to Sera, the movement barely noticeable to anyone watching.
"Make it natural," Sera murmured without turning her head. "You look as though you're running from an execution."
Before he could answer, an attendant approached with a polished vessel of rice wine. The eldest woman at the table accepted it, then poured the wine into two small cups and handed one to each of them. "May this marriage bring peace to each home," she said. "May you share your burdens as readily as you share your joys. And may neither of you forget that a home is not built by one person alone."
Sera lowered her gaze.
"We will remember your words, Grandmother."
Callum followed her lead. "We are grateful for your blessing."
"Good," the old woman replied, studying them with a knowing smile. "Then drink together."
Their cups touched before they drank. The wine was warm and faintly sweet, leaving a lingering taste on Callum's tongue. He lowered his cup, only to find Sera watching him from the corner of her eye.
"What?"
"You drank too quickly."
"Was I supposed to savor it?"
"Of course. It represents patience, harmony, and a willingness to endure life's bitterness together."
He looked down at his empty cup
Then, he felt Sera's fingers slide between his.
He did not know whether she was holding his hand for the audience or reminding him of the performance they were expected to maintain.
A circle soon formed around the newlyweds as the gongs began to beat. Their deep, resonant notes rolled across the courtyard, accompanied by the lively rhythm of drums and the occasional burst of laughter. Dancers in bright, handwoven garments entered the open space, their movements sharp and spirited, their feet striking the ground in time with the music.
"Come," an elderly man called, beckoning the couple forward. "You cannot sit through your own wedding feast without dancing."
Callum's smile faltered.
"I wasn't aware dancing was compulsory."
"It is," Sera replied, rising to her feet. She extended her hand toward him. He stared at it for a moment before accepting.
"Try not to step on my feet," she murmured as she led him toward the circle.
"I was about to give you the same advice."
Sera answered no words.
The crowd smiled when they took their places among the dancers. Sera moved with surprising ease, her steps precise despite the elaborate fabric trailing around her ankles. Callum, meanwhile, followed the elders' instructions with concentration.
"Left foot," Sera whispered.
He moved his right.
"Your other left."
"I know which foot is left."
"Your feet seem unconvinced."
He shot her a warning glance.
"Relax your shoulders," she said quietly. "You look as though you're drunk."
The words caught him off guard.
For one fleeting second, he looked toward the gathered families. His father's friends stood shoulder to shoulder with Sera's relatives. Children clapped near the edge of the circle, and the older women watched with shining eyes, delighted by every awkward turn and imperfect step.
Callum's expression softened before he could stop it.
Sera noticed.
Then the drums quickened, and she turned with him, their joined hands rising as the dancers guided them through another sequence. Children soon wove between the adults, scattering petals of native flowers on their feet.
"Have a blessed union!" the children kept chanting.
Sera glanced at him. Their eyes met for a moment, and the music carried them onward.
After minutes, the dance was finished. They were guided to their places at the head of the long table.
Callum picked up a piece of roasted meat and placed it on Sera's plate.
She looked at it.
Then she looked at him.
He placed another piece beside the first.
Callum leaned closer, keeping his smile in place for the nearby guests.
"Stop feeding me," Sera whispered as she chewed. She swallowed, then gave him a look of profound displeasure.
A servant passing behind them laughed softly, evidently mistaking their exchange for the familiar teasing of a newly married couple. Across the table, Callum's father watched them with quiet satisfaction.
"Your father looks pleased," she murmured.
He stayed silent.
The crowd watched, delighted by every small sign of intimacy. When a stray grain of rice clung to the corner of Callum's mouth, Sera brushed it away with her thumb.
Callum went still as he met her eyes.
"Don't move or you'll ruin the picture."
He resisted the urge to pull away.
"Are we being photographed?"
"Constantly."
He glanced toward the far side of the courtyard, where a photographer crouched near a pillar, waiting for another candid moment.
"Wonderful," he muttered. Then he picked up the biggest slice of meat and pushed it into Sera's mouth. He held her cheek and gently moved it to the right, and said, "cheeze."
As the afternoon sun slanted across the courtyard, the couple was led outside beneath an arch woven from pine boughs and wild orchids.
There, the final request for blessing would be held.
An elder approached with a single cup of rice wine.
"This cup is shared," he explained. "You will drink from it together, as your lives will now be bound together. Remember that marriage is not merely the joining of two names. It is the promise to face what comes without turning away from one another."
He offered the cup to Sera.
She accepted it with both hands, and took a small sip before turning toward Callum.
"Your turn," she whispered.
He took the cup from her. Their fingers brushed around its rim.
He drank, then returned the cup to the elder.
The old man raised his hands in blessing. Around them, the gathered guests followed. When the ritual ended, applause mingled with the whisper of wind through the pine branches.
Sera turned toward Callum, and they went back to their seats.
After a long silence, Callum studied her face.
"Tell me something, Sera."
She lifted her chin. "What?"
"Have you been enjoying yourself?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Does it matter?"
Callum looked past her, toward the courtyard where their families were still celebrating. His father's laughter mixed with the voices of Sera's relatives.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I suppose I wanted to know whether any of it felt real to you."
Sera was silent for a moment.
Then she reached up and straightened the collar of his ceremonial garment, her fingers smoothing a crease that had barely been there.
"Real enough to be painful," she said.
Her gaze lifted to his.
"It's too late for regret, darling."
Callum had no answer.
A shout from the courtyard interrupted them, and Sera turned toward the waiting guests.
"Come along, husband. We still have an audience to satisfy."
He looked at her outstretched hand before taking it.
"All the world's a stage, then?"
"No," she replied, her fingers closing around his. "Only our marriage."
She led him back beneath the arch, where the music swelled, and the guests called out their congratulations. Together, they walked toward the celebration, their shoulders nearly touching, their hands firmly joined.
To the watching crowd, they were a picture of devotion…
A bride who smiled as though she had found her heart's desire, and a groom who looked at her as though the future held nothing to fear.
Only the two of them knew that every gesture had been measured. Every smile had served its purpose. Every tender word had been spoken with an audience in mind.
But maybe those are still reality.