"Arms up," Freya said, slipping the gown over Chloe's head. The fabric whispered against her skin, soft as petals, and settled around her like it had been waiting for her.
Chloe turned to face the mirror in Freya's back room and her eyes went blurry as her throat tightened.
The dress was simple. Ivory silk that skimmed her curves without clinging, with delicate lace at the neckline and sleeves that fell just past her elbows. The skirt was flowing, practical, the kind of thing she could actually walk in without tripping. And at the waist, embroidered in thread so fine it was nearly invisible, a pattern of honeycomb and tiny bees.
"Freya." Her voice came out thick. "When did you..."
"I started it the day after you woke up." Freya adjusted the shoulders, her copper hair falling over one eye as she worked. "I had a feeling you two wouldn't wait long. And I wanted you to have something that meant something."
"It's perfect."
"I know." Freya grinned, stepping back to admire her work. "The embroidery was Kaia's idea, actually. She dreamed about it."
"She dreamed about my wedding dress?"
"Dreamwalkers." Freya shrugged. "They're weird like that."
A knock at the door, and then Diana's head appeared. "The heaters arrived. Elias and Thorin are setting them up now. Twyla wants to know if you've decided on the vows."
"Traditional," Chloe said. "With one addition."
"Which is?"
"You'll see tomorrow."
Diana smiled, her amber eyes warm. "Fair enough. The inn's ready for you whenever you want to head over. I've got the corner room set up, the one with the view of the mountains."
"Thank you. For everything."
"Thank me by being happy." Diana disappeared, her footsteps fading down the hall.
The next three days blurred together in a whirlwind of activity.
Twyla commandeered the orchard like a general marshaling troops. Chloe watched from the farmhouse window as strings of lights went up between the bare trees, as tables materialized from neighbors' barns, as chairs appeared in neat rows facing a wooden arch that Luka Ashe had apparently built overnight.
"Is that an altar?" she asked Corin on day two.
"Luka insisted." Corin wrapped his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder. "Said he owed us for the ghost thing."
"What ghost thing?"
"Long story. Involves his mate and a cemetery."
Maeve arrived on day three with casks of mead and ale, her short black hair windswept, her sharp tongue as cutting as ever."You're really doing this in four days? I had bets on at least a month."
"You bet against us?"
"I bet on dramatic. I wasn't wrong." She surveyed the orchard setup, nodding slowly. "Not bad. Could use more flowers."
"Freya's handling flowers."
"Then it'll be fine." Maeve clapped her on the shoulder hard enough to sting. "Congratulations, druid. You caught yourself a good one."
By day four, the orchard had transformed.
White fabric draped between trees, catching the afternoon light. Flowers bloomed in impossible profusion, courtesy of Freya's magic and Chloe's new connection to the land. The wooden arch stood at the end of the aisle, wrapped in ivy and honeysuckle, with Corin's beehives visible in the distance like silent witnesses.
Heaters dotted the perimeter, their warmth pushing back February's chill. Lanterns hung from branches, unlit now but ready to glow when evening fell. And everywhere, the subtle hum of bees who'd emerged early to investigate the commotion.
