On the day the king and his retinue left, the family gathered to say goodbye to him, as well as one of their own. Weynild and Cuthheard had been wed the day before by the king's priest.
The ceremony was not quite what Faustina would have wanted for her eldest daughter: far too much fear-mongering and talk of this new god’s power, and little of the peaceful tranquility of her own ceremony. She fervently hoped that it was not an omen about the type of marriage Weynild would have.
“You should make amends with Weynild before she leaves,” Theohild murmured, as Aethelric held back from joining the others. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“It won’t matter what I say now that she had gone and married that earsling just to get away from us all, and me particularly. We likely won’t see her again for a good while, if at all; she’ll travel with the king’s retinue from now on.”
“All the more reason not to let her leave while you’re both still angry.”
“Leave it be, Theohild!” he brushed her away. “It’s too late.”