Left alone in the carriage, Joan had taken no time to change. She was ready but for the box in that chest that contained the jewelry.
This box had a lock, which as a werewolf she would have had no trouble to open. It was too large and too flat to just contain jewels and so, she assumed, within was the crown.
Still, without jewels on her she felt nude.
There would be no music, no flower nor much of an attendance in the ruined church. She herself, dressed as a mistress, had little to offer but a title.
After that human had shown some spine it was eating at her to not offer much in turn. If that was her best she deserved to be forgotten and that, that she could not forgive.
Worse was to have to wait inside until the time came to walk to the altar.
Outside, ever so slowly things were taking place. The few remaining villagers, those not fallen ill rather, arrived in a single file between the horsemen that flanked them. Waiting for them was brother Aymon who the oathless knight had fetched.
Aymon had agreed to officiate even in these circumstances.
So sir Corentin met that crowd before they even entered the premise.
"How can you leave your church in such a state? Clean the ash from the door to the altar. You will have to fix the altar as well but for now it will give you all the water you need."
Indeed, the saintess' statue had been smashed to pieces, as well as the basin beneath. It had spilled out to form a vast puddle that still stained the priest's robe.
That priest rushed to the noble's side.
"Milord!" He pleaded. "There is no need, the wedding can happen outside."
"Outside?" Corentin's voice contained his anger.
"Y... yes milord! I can... I can bring holy water in a, a stone basin! It would be better, milord, away from... away from the..."
And as he went silent again, the noble considered those words.
No doubt it had insulted him to imagine a wedding away from the altar. Moreover the man was in no mood for compromise, but the priest's words were helping his cause. With all veneer of glory already burnt at his feet, the noble agreed.
"As long as the saintess approves, we might as well. Those men are yours, brother, set everything as you wish."
"That won't do!"
Her gray mantle over the dress, hood on her head Joan had leapt out of the carriage in turn. But when landing on the wet soil she had not even stained her boots, so light were her steps.
She was furious.
She approached and the peasants fell back, as if, like animals, they could feel a predator. Brother Aymon as well stepped back before her ire. He trembled, about to fall but she held him back with one hand.
"This is the wedding of sir Corentin of Pivert. You will fix the church for him and marry us before the saintess."
"N... No!" The priest was livid. "I can't!"
"He is right." Sir Corentin added. "The statue itself is shattered. They can't rebuild it in just hours."
"I can." She growled. "Lead me to your altar, priest, before I lose patience."
"I won't..." He whimpered. "I... I won't let you."
She threw him on the ground, turned and walked toward the church, only to see the knight errant in her path.
It was his turn to seize her by the mantle.
At that sir Corentin drew his sword.
But the knight, calmly, plunged his eyes in those of the woman before him.
"You hurt a priest."
Those words were as much for her as for the noble who, about to intervene, paused there. Such were priests among humans that they were considered untouchable.
But Joan had no patience for that.
She knew the knight cared little about that. It was just an excuse for him to look at her from up close, make out her face and her hair under the hood.
There was nothing but scorn in his heart.
"And you, sir Frederic," she answered with a low voice, "you abandoned your lord and this church. I take no lesson from failures."
He tried to push her, to make her fall but could not make her feet move nor even shake her shoulder. When that frail hand of hers seized his wrist it threatened to break it.
The knight took three steps back in shock.
She had already walked past him, leaving him behind like the puny rabbit he was, a rodent pretending to have teeth.
But brother Aymon had rushed at her again, to try and hold her back.
"Please!" He called, eyes pearling again. "You... you can't!"
Had she not stopped him, his robe would have stained her mantle with wet soot and dirt. The man looked as much scared as desperate.
Her gaze made any resolve he had built up melt. He was forced to stay there, powerless, as she walked to the entrance.
"Inside, outside, just make it happen." The noble sighed behind.
She crossed the burned down door, raising her mantle and skirt just enough to preserve them from the ash.
The moment she entered, Joan felt a weight fall on her, akin to lead. If incense had made her weak, this place sought to crush her. Still it was hardly anything she could not stand and so the lady stepped forth in the dilapidated church.
As she did that crushing force only grew stronger.
A third of the way to the altar her human body could hardly breathe. The weight she felt had her legs struggle. And with the force applied differently on the bones or muscles, on the arms or the legs, her whole body stirred, under heavy strain.
She realized her foolishness.
Her mind raced to try and guess what spell the humans had used on this place, what kind of creature their saintess could be that even with her statue gone and the whole building in ruins it could still be so potent.
Still she pressed on, with slower steps until her legs gave way halfway through. She fell on her knees but her whole body shook from that slight descent.
Her bones seemed like glass, about to break.
And the broken statue mocked her a whole half-room away. Even as a beast Joan knew she would not even survive that distance, let alone stand.
Brother Aymon threw himself at her side.
"Please!" He cried. "You can't!"
"Silence..." She hissed. She had no strength to scream. "I am not so weak..."
He was trying to help her stand up just as much as he prevented her from taking another step forth. But to abandon here had her enraged. She had yet to cough blood, her disguise still held which meant she had not tried hard enough!
Was she to bend to mere stone?! To a broken puddle of water!
It was killing her more than any strain.
"That's holy water!"
The priest, still crying, was pointing at the black puddle stagnating through the last third of that room.
"It will burn you! It will... don't make me watch that..."
"Then I will burn!"
She pushed forward, only to fall in place. Her skin was starting to grow a silver glint, soon to break into fur. She knew it now. She knew it was impossible.
But to stop...
The human priest was crying on her shoulder. From the outside they looked like two faithful crying over the desolution of the church. She could feel that knight errant following her every move.
As well as Brenin.
She had stained the wedding dress, humiliated herself again, shown her face to that knight and all for what, to pretend she was not weak. But she was weak. Joan felt like crying, she was weak. From the very first day, she had to accept it.
Brother Aymon was finally able to help her up and back toward the entrance.
No matter how many times reality hit her, her heart could not accept weakness.