To be fair, my response to that last question wasonly if wehaveto invite Lazul.
Apparently, he has to marry us.
Which is why he’s currently standing beside me, beneath a holly arch, holding a golden cup.
Sunset paints the sky in blooms of color while bonfires chase shadows and melt falling snow.
The cold would be near unbearable in this suit without all the fire around, and even with it, clouds puff from my lips in white breaths.
“Nervous?” Lazul asks, tracing a design on the goblet in his hands.
I, articulately, grunt. Of course I’m not nervous. I’mcold. Everyone waiting for Citrus and her bridesmaids to appear is cold. The only thing that concerns me right now is the possibilitythat Citrus overestimated her love of snow after spending her other life in what sounds like a humid desert.
What if she’s an icicle in the tent she’s getting ready in?
What if Pyro’s rounds to make sure this island was clear of monsters weren’t good enough? What if he missed some crazyboss monster? Citrus once mentioned that there’s a certain music that plays when a boss monster is nearby. Do I hearboss music?
No.
No, who cares if I do? My Lemonade has accessorized today with her sword. So she’s fine, unless she’s frozen, and she might be frozen. She might be some unholy creature’s popsicle by now.
I shift my weight, clench my fists, glare down the aisle, toward where the palm trees and fronds obscure the rest of this place—and the tent my bride is in—from view.
“She’s fine,” Lazul murmurs, uninvited to my worry party. “Any moment now…”
Loosening my fingers, I take a step forward, away from the haughty noble. “I’m gonna check on her.”
“No.” His fingers latch onto my shoulder. “You aren’t.”
Before I can twist on him and growl that he release me, movement catches my eye.
Muskov and his daughter Peggy lift their violins, and a haunting melody whispers into the quiet, snow-padded beach. The shush of the waves accompany the shush of Citrus’s steps as she breaks from the treeline. In what must be near twenty layers of fabric, she floats…towardme.
Lazul’s grip disappears from my shoulder, and my legs push me to meet her in the aisle. Surrounded by our town, we stand together, hesitant.
Awed.
She is…so beautiful.
Wisps of sparkling sunshine yellow dapple her gown, threading hundreds of lemons across the fabric. Her grip on a yellow bouquet of paper flowers and glass lemons tightens as her eyes meet mine.
Glitter adorns the skin beyond her glasses. Her lips sparkle, glazed.
She shivers as my cold finger tilts up her chin so I can take in every freckle kissing her nose and cheeks.
Sunlight and sugar.
She is everything I love.
Careful of her billowing gown, I guide her up to Lazul and wait—entranced—while he goes through the ceremony.
“Traditionally, the person who didn’t present the circlet is meant to present the cup…but…well…the two of you have done things a little differently than is entirelytraditional.”
I cut a brief glare toward Lazul’s smug face as a harmony of laughter skates beneath the violin music.
“He beat me to it,” Citrus whispers, heat blossoming in her cheeks.
“Ah. Wonderful.” Lazul offers the cup to her, and before taking it, she passes her bouquet off to Aurelia who seems to be standing behind her with Chrysa—I hadn’t noticed them.
