For Shanara, the next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity. The dressmaker came, bringing bolts of material in every fabric and color imaginable. It took most of one day for her to choose the color, and when she couldn’t decide between pale pink or ice blue, she decided to go with white. She spent most of another day picking out just the right style. Her mood seemed to change from excitement to trepidation and back again from moment to moment.
She saw Reyes each evening. Now, with the moon no longer full, he was more relaxed, and quite charming. Sometimes he took her walking in the gardens in the evening after supper. Sometimes they sat before the hearth listening to the minstrels; other times they were entertained by the court jester, or by wandering jugglers or magicians.
But the best times were when he walked her to her chambers before she retired for the night. There, alone in her room, he wooed her with soft words of love and slow, sweet kisses that made her heart race and her toes curl.
There, alone in the shadowy darkness, she could forget, if only for a little while, that he lived under a curse that could only be broken by her father’s witch.
Melena, Shanara mused. She was the answer. The witch had ever been kind to her. If only she could find a way to speak to Melena or send her a message, perhaps she could convince the witch to break the curse.
But no opportunity arose and then, all too soon, her wedding day was upon her.
Shanara stood in the middle of her chamber while Beatrice brushed her hair until it shone. The maid drew the sides back with a pair of jeweled combs, leaving the rest of Shanara’s hair to fall down her back in an artless mass of thick auburn waves.
Next, Beatrice helped Shanara into her wedding dress, then arranged her veil with its floor-length train.
“Ah, my lady,” Beatrice exclaimed, taking a step back. “You look as beautiful as a princess in a fairy tale.”
“Thank you,” Shanara murmured. She ran her hands over her gown, loving the feel of the gossamer material beneath her fingertips. Made of the finest white-on-white silk, it was an exquisite creation, so light it might have been made of angel’s wings. She couldn’t help wondering what Reyes would think when he saw her. Would he be pleased? Would he think his coin well-spent?
A knock at the door sent her heart to fluttering. “I cannot do this,” she whispered. “I cannot!”
“Now, now,” Beatrice said cheerfully, “tis only a bad case of nerves, common to all brides on their wedding day.”
It was more than mere nerves, Shanara thought. If her husband to be had been an ordinary man, she would have been eager to wed him and bed him, but Reyes was not an ordinary man.
Beatrice opened the door and Rolf entered the chamber. He smiled at Shanara. “Your bridegroom awaits,” he said, with a flourish.
She wanted to tell Beatrice and Rolf that the wedding was off, that she could not marry Reyes today, or any other day, but the words would not come.
As if caught in a trance, Shanara allowed Rolf to take her hand and lead her down the staircase to the small chapel located within the keep. Rolf paused at the door, giving her a chance to peruse her surroundings. There were flowers everywhere, some in white wicker baskets, some in tall crystal vases, others in colorful pots. Tall white tapers cast shadows on the walls.
There were no guests other than two of Reyes’ most trusted knights who would serve as witnesses.
Shanara felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw Reyes. He stood in front of the altar next to the priest. For once, Reyes had eschewed black. Instead, he wore buff-colored trousers, a white shirt open at the throat, a dark green jerkin trimmed in black velvet, and a pair of soft leather boots.
His gaze settled on her face, the force of it sending a shiver of excitement to the very deepest part of her being.
Rolf gave a gentle tug on her hand. She took a step forward, her gaze locked with that of the man who was going to be her husband. By the time she reached the altar, her heart was pounding so loudly she was surprised the priest could not hear it.
A rush of heat flowed into her fingers and up her arm when Rolf placed her hand in that of his lord. Bowing his head, Rolf took a step back, then sat in the front pew.
The priest looked at Shanara and then at Reyes. “Are you ready, my children?”
“Yes, Father,” Reyes said. He smiled at Shanara, then squeezed her hand.
She tried, but she could not summon a smile. What would he do when she refused to be his bride? Would he send her back to the dungeon, or fulfil his vow to send her back to her father a piece at a time?
She felt an unexpected warmth in the region of her heart when Reyes vowed to love, honor, and protect her so long as he lived.
And then the priest settled his somber gaze on her face. She could scarcely breathe as he put the question to her. “Do you, Shanara Montiori, take Alexandar Reyes to be your husband from this day forward? Will you love and honor him so long as you both shall live?”
Her heart was beating so fast she feared she might faint. She took a deep, calming breath and then, to her utter amazement, she whispered, “I do.”
The priest smiled for the first time. “Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. What the Lord God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. Lord Reyes, you may kiss your bride.”
She trembled as Reyes put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Lifting her veil, he drew her into his embrace. For a moment, he gazed down at her, his expression enigmatic, and then he kissed her.
Her eyelids fluttered down at the touch of his lips on hers and she forgot everything else, everything but the aching sweetness of his kiss, the faint tremor in the arms that held her. Was it possible that he was as nervous as she?
