"So do I," Soraya whispers conspiratorially. "From what I heard about your time in the Great War, I think it's safe to assume we will be fast friends."
And just like that, they're sitting beside one another babbling about a plethora of subjects ranging from magic and warfare to swapping favorite recipes.
"You clean up nice," I offer when Thrane takes his seat directly behind us.
"I'm always clean and rarely nice," he drawls. "Your compliment makes no sense."
Atlas leans close to me and whispers, "Someone is grumpy this morning."
"I'm always grumpy." Thrane motions to his pointed ears when we toss him surprised glances over our shoulders. "I have immaculate hearing."
"Surely, you must be at least a little happy," I say, ticking off my fingers. "Your plan to get all the leaders here worked. The Trolls and the Dwarves have joined us and you're not the one having to get married today. All in all, I'd say you are victorious."
A slight tug of his lips is all I get. "Well, when you put it that way."
"See," I wave with excitement. "It's a happy day."
"For some," he says simply. "The Hydrans did not agree to join the war – "
"Did you expect them to?" Atlas' question comes across hostile.
"Did I expect Astrea to agree? No." Thrane's eyes narrow into angry slits.
"Then what were you expecting?" I ask, attempting to diffuse the tension.
"I didn't expect her to show up at all." He's mulling something over, something he's not sharing.
"What is it, Thrane?" I press. "What aren't you telling us?"
"I wish I could put my finger on what's bothering me, Aurelia, but I haven't figured it out. Astrea Talay has not left Hydra in decades. She has failed to appear to most events in the realm she's been invited to. Only a handful of times has she even sent a delegation or one of her daughters in her stead." His mind is spinning at top speed, I can see it in his face. "So, why accept this invitation? Why come to a wedding on short notice? It doesn't make sense. It's out of character."
I shrug. "Maybe she is trying to be more open? Play nicely with others?"
Even Atlas frowns at that flimsy excuse.
"My dear, Aurelia, always attempting to see the good in others," Thrane sighs. "It's a good thing you surround yourself with skeptical minds so you are not taken advantage of."
I twist forward, refusing to listen to one more unsavory word. "Try not to ruin the wedding, Thrane," I shoot back with a snarl.
It takes a few more seconds before Atlas faces the altar as well, his shoulder brushing mine. "Shaye – "
"I don't want to talk about it here," I interrupt. I smooth my frown, remembering where we are and why we're here. I won't be the one who ruins Ronan's wedding day.
Atlas drops his hand to my thigh. His reassuring touch calms my irritation.
Although I want to smack my cousin for his rudeness, I have to admit Thrane has me worried. Astrea Talay is widely known for not leaving her kingdom. It was a long shot she'd come here to Tronovia. But she immediately accepted the invitation and brought not only herself, but her husband and heir as well.
I risk a glance to my right. The Bavans and Hydrans take up the pews just behind King Soren and his family. The Trolls are colorfully dressed and lively – as if they know they're about to be the life of the afterparty – but the Hydrans are stoic. By the royal family's expressions alone, you'd guess they were at a funeral and not a wedding celebration.
Jocasta, Astrea's oldest daughter, looks sick. The heir shifts in her seat, as if uncomfortable despite the flowy sea-blue dress she's wearing. The king consort fidgets, his hands twirling endlessly in his lap.
My eyes dart to Astrea. Her face is hardened, her lips drawn into a tight neutral smile. The only sign of her nerves is the rapidness of which she breathes. Something is wrong.
Damn it. Thrane might be onto something. I grind my back teeth. I despise when he's right.
I twist back to face Thrane but before I can direct his attention to the Hydrans' odd behavior, trumpets blast announcing Ronan's arrival. The prince marches down the aisle dressed in a forest green suit with black shoes and gold accessories and stands at the altar. I am not used to him being polished. Not only does he look great, but he's beaming. Pride, love, and excitement all radiate from him. My eyes water at the sight of him, staring up the aisle waiting for his bride, his partner, his other half.
Cellos and violins play, alerting us the bride will now be coming down the aisle. We all rise and watch as the doorway fills with white tulle. Viella is simply gorgeous with her hair up to showcase her shoulders, a beautiful silk ballgown complete with a corset bodice to sinch her waist, and a lace train that is dramatic in the best way. She clutches her white bouquet tightly, the only sign she's nervous. Her eyes are fixed on Ronan's as if he's her anchor, the lighthouse in the storm. Her gaze doesn't waver from him and with each step, her smile widens.
