It had been hours since I came into the palace, still no sign of the prince or Queen Adelaide. Somewhere outside, a series of bells tolled in announcement.
Winnie steered me into the smaller antechamber where my handmaidens waited. The sounds of the ballroom faded to a distant murmur as heavy doors closed behind us, and the women formed a circle around me.
One by one, they began to remove the veils. First the heavy outer veil of the dress, then the silver shroud beneath. As each layer fell away, more of my true wedding gown was revealed: pristine white silk adorned with purple wisteria blooms the size of my palm, their petals crafted from the finest velvet. White rosesnestled between them, while golden thread laced swirling vines across the bodice and down full skirts.
“You look like spring itself,” Winnie whispered. She adjusted the cathedral-length train, up to now folded away and pinned. “Prince Nicolas will be breathless.”
Behind the heavy doors, the revelry grew increasingly faint. Likely the guests were proceeding to the temple now.
The maidservants removed the veil from my face, smoothing over where the gold charms left imprints. As my skin settled, they fixed up my hair. Rather than attempting to tame the curls as she so often did, Winnie chose to weave floral jewels into them, and loosened spirals dangled from my bun like rain from an eave.
“You’re absolutely certain you don’t want the makeup?” asked Winnie. “I brought it, just in case.”
I shook my head. The noblemen could eat my shoes. This wasmyunbidden wedding, not theirs.
“Very well then,” she conceded, making a few more touch-ups on the dress—though it became obvious after several minutes that she was merely doting. “Chin up, Your Highness. Keep your eyes forward, and take small steps. By the sun above, if you trip, I’ll never let you forget it.”
I collected myself and nodded. Another door opened and we went out, finding the palace completely devoid of anyone that might see me before it was time.
At last we reached the palace temple. The organ music inside was a continuous stream of notes that could, at any time, transition to the announcement of the bride.
The doors opened. All eyes turned to me, and the pianist’s wedding march commenced. I stepped into the aisle, attention snapping to the altar where Nicolas stood, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of him.
Gold epaulettes adorned his shoulders, military braiding crossed his chest, and a ceremonial saber hung at his hip—the only thing close to a weapon that was allowed on site. His hair was down, pushed back from his face in cascading waves. The deep blue wool of his military coat was so finely woven it absorbed the dusk light that poured in from the window above. But it was hisexpression that stopped my heart, for Nicolas stared at me the way a man might regard the sun after years of darkness.
The courtiers’ whispers died as I passed. I caught glimpses of familiar faces among them, but my focus returned inevitably to Nicolas.
When I reached him, he took my hand. His eyes were wide with surprise, and the briefest glimpse of naked terror, before he mastered himself. It was as if he worried I’d never come.
How near it had come to precisely that.
The High Eunuch cleared his throat and began. “Dearly beloved: we gather in twilight to witness the union of Crown Prince Nicolas Callan and Princess Alana Chastain, joining two souls in sacred covenant in the sight of both gods.”
Nicolas brushed a thumb over my knuckles. I knew he didn’t hear a word the priest was saying, and for that matter, neither did I. How could I hear anything over my own heartbeat? The fear alone was enough to strangle me.
The High Eunuch droned on. I studied Nicolas from beneath my lashes. His hands were steadier now, warm and gentle. When King Artyom of Rividinya coughed loudly from the pews, a deliberate slight, Nicolas’ teeth clenched, but his touch held fast. He was letting them all know, through this display of tender caution, that I was a precious thing, a woman worthy of his respect, and that all others should follow his lead. Any tolerance he exhibited now would not continue outside of the temple.
This could be worse, I thought. Perhaps it might even become something good. Two broken people helping the other become whole. He would shield me, and when he needed it, I would be his blade. We would live.
I squeezed his hand. I could do this.
“The sun and moon are flush,” said the priest. “The Lady binds this woman to this man. The Lord seals their union with a kiss.”
Nicolas gave me one last chance to back out. An offer I didn’t realize he would honor, until now. If I turned to flee, he wouldn’t stop me.
I raised my hand to his neck, applying just enough pressure with my thumb that he tilted his head. Then I met him, my other hand falling to his waist. I felt his lips smiling against mine, then his sigh of relief.
Our foreheads touched as we parted, a private gesture shared for spectacle. Let the fools gawk at their prince for marrying a commoner, and let them seethe with envy for the bride who looked at him like no woman ever beheld a man.
“Behold, the union is complete! The gods smile upon Antier this day.”
The gods didn’t give two shits, but by the eruption of applause, it was clear that many people did. Nicolas tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, movements practiced from years of court protocol.
“Now comes the worst of it,” he whispered as we descended from the altar.
We made our way through the crowd that spilled from the temple back into the ballroom. Nicolas removed my train, handing it off to a servant, and we joined the well-wishers within their strategic clusters. Every one of them hoped to gain favor with the newlyweds, even if they disapproved of the union, but Nicolas navigated the treacherous crowd like a seasoned captain.
Higher up, on the third floor reserved for royalty, Queen Adelaide observed the proceedings like a hawk from its aerie. Her hands were folded over her emerald gown, as unreadable as she could be, but I knew what she was waiting for.
