for the inevitable. Zara concentrates on breathing. Years of
training have prepared her to maintain her position motionless for as long as
necessary.
In outsiders’ weddings, the attention is on the bride, but
in the Circle Ceremony, it is squarely placed on the Dom and his family. The
Dom and his family are the unknown in the ceremony. While the submissive and
her family are from the local Community, the distance the Dom travels can vary
from across the state to across the country.
Sloane had attempted to figure out the criteria once. She
quizzed Fredrik when he returned from one of his ‘Pre-Dom’ retreats, as Sloane liked
to refer to them. All he would say is, it depended on the strength of the King
Council network in the region and the reputation of the candidate’s family.
A rustling in the hall alerts Zara to the entrance of her
future family. The whispers amongst the guests follow him as he walks down the
white carpet.
Exploring the surroundings within her peripheral vision,
Zara is careful not to stir from her statuesque position. Her eyes lift to the
table where the collar rests, waiting to be placed around her neck.
The collar is clasped. Zara sees no key. Her heart skips a
beat.
Something is wrong.
Her eyes frantically scan the table. Her mother clears her
throat and she knows she has been caught in the slightest change in
orientation.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Her mind is racing.
Why is the collar locked? Where
is the key? Think.
In all the past ceremonies Zara had attended, the collar lay
open. The open collar is the symbol of the Council’s approval of the match
between the first-born daughter of a Council member and the son of a Council
member from a different sect. The key to the collar is the symbol of ownership
for the first-born’s daughter by her Dom. The history of this ceremony requires
the collar to be unlocked, the key ready to be presented to the Dom.
When one’s life has been filled with inevitability,
processing surprises becomes difficult. Zara’s mind sifts through all of the
ceremonies that she has attended, fast-forwarding to the point when the open
collar is picked up and placed around the “birthday girl’s” neck. In every memory,
the collar is lying open before it is picked up.
Zara’s breathing becomes labored. All thoughts of the collar
evaporate as someone steps into the center of the circle.
Shoes .
What can be determined about a man, a Dom-to-be, by his
polished, square-toed black shoes?
Nothing .
The dress restricts any attempts at taking a deep cleansing
breath, so Zara tries employing a technique taught during years of training to
settle her thoughts. The curiosity to sneak a peek at the man now standing next
to her becomes an overwhelming challenge destroying her control.
The need to look at his face begins to vibrate through her
entire body. Moving would bring her mother’s throat clearing and a definite
lecture the moment they are alone later at the celebration. Zara tries another
deep breath in an attempt to settle. It doesn’t work.
Discovering what he looks like
will not change my future.
The hall quiets as the Master of Ceremonies steps into the
circle. Zara’s shoulders fall. This is her final moment of freedom.
A hand comes to rest on Zara’s shoulder and a moment later she
hears her mother suck in all of the oxygen in the hall. With all the strength she
can summon, Zara keeps her eyes locked on the floor directly in front of her,
ignoring the weight of the fingers pressing down on her.
“Please. Open it. Read it.” The quiet plea in his voice
mesmerizes her.
Wait! What am I supposed to
be doing? This is not how I remember any of the other Ceremonies.
“Zara, please read the letter.”
He lightly taps her shoulder. The envelope is at eye level
and there is no mistaking what he wants. Slowly, she reaches for the envelope
and brings it down to read without raising her eyes.
Dear Zara Faith Evans:
Congratulations on your admission to