APRIL L. PAYNE
rose with two leaves staggered and curling outward, she held the heavy goblet by its thick stem, one hand underneath to support its weight. “Spock, T’Bree, today thee comes before the Marriage Cup. Know that it is a solemn occasion and the troth thee art both to take, one that is farreaching in nature. It is not to be taken in frivolity or lightness or without due consideration. For it binds thee one to another for all of the ages to come. Art thee prepared to make such a commitment? If so, take the cup and swear thine oaths to each other.” With that T’Pau handed Spock the cup. Holding it before him he gazed steadily into Brianna Cantrell’s large, blue eyes. “As it was in the dawn of our days, as it is today, as it will be for all tomorrows, I take you, T’Bree, to be my wife. I shall comfort you and protect you. I shall shelter you and provide for you all of your life. With my body I honor you. With all that I am, I give my life to you.” Spock then handed his bride the heavy chalice. Brianna Cantrell’s eyes widened momentarily with the unexpected weight of the glass, Spock waiting until her grip was firm before letting go. Raising the chalice to her lips, Brianna Cantrell tasted the tangy, bitter vintage, hoping she could keep from screwing up her features. It was at once sour like a lemon drop and bitter like a dark, dark ale. 302