Lacey fabric covered a poofy skirt that ballooned at my waist, giving off the distinct impression that I had metamorphosed into a human-mushroom hybrid underneath. More lacey frippery muzzled me in a high collar that fanned like the hood of a frilled lizard. The cringeworthy bodice folded dozens of fabric bows over themselves in misshapen blobs that I suspected were supposed to look delicate. Instead, they captured crowded and clumsy. The square shoulders on both sleeves puffed out into more lace at the wrists, which hindered the movement of my arms and itched against my skin.
Mama pulled a sheer veil over my face. “You look beautiful.” She wiped tears from the corner of her eyes.
I look like a bleached, mutant coral monster.
I smothered a laugh. “Thanks Mama.”
Luckily, Mama was uninformed, and didn’t know anything about Skinscript. When she’d seen the glyph on my chest, she’d believed my lie, that it was just another graduation mark. She hadn’t asked any followup questions, and I hadn’t provided any additional details. It was no longer visible with the bralette covering it and dress fully on.
“Remember to always be patient and kind to each other.” Mama fussed over my hair. It was loose and curled, hanging down my back in honey waves. “I know this isn’t exactly what you wanted–”
“Oh, you noticed?”
“Yes, of course.” She smoothed down a frizzy curl. “But in time, your love will grow, just as mine did with your father.”
A sneaking suspicion crept in.
“Did you hear the mirror-missive I left for Papa?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “No. Was it something important?”
Staying calm was paramount. It was frowned upon to snap at your loving mother on your wedding day. I just had to breathe through the frustration and let it pass. After too long a pause, I finally said “Very.”
“There she is,” Papa boomed, appearing in the doorway. “The beautiful blushing bride! My baby girl.” He extended his elbow to me. “Are you ready?”
I gave him my most convincing saccharine smile, fumbling with the layers of lace on my way to hook my arm through his. “Sure.”
As we walked out toward the main area of the chapel, I asked in a low voice. “Why didn’t you share my message with Mama?”
He scoffed. “A bit late for that now, isn’t it?”
I nodded agreement, clamping my teeth together to prevent myself from saying something too full of fire and truth.
A slow flute and lyre melody started up as we walked down the aisle. It was lethargic, with no percussion and devoid of any meaningful harmony. The opposite of the style of music I enjoyed.
Pews were packed with people, most of whom I didn’t recognize. The repetitive lines of wooden seats aborted near the front of the chapel at a small staircase that led to a raised platform where Jessarian and a strange Priest stood.
Jessarian’s suit was an extravagant if drab affair, not a single thread daring to hang out of place. Someone had tailored it to accentuate every hard edge he possessed, making him appear more masculine than usual. A wide belt with an exaggerated buckle compensated for his lack of waistcoat. Even with his best suit flattering his form, his eyes betrayed the recognizable arrogance that stalked him like a shadow.
Disinterest weakened the effect of the disingenuous smile I gave him. He returned the limp smile with one of his own, unperturbed and smug.
I can’t wait to see his expression afterwards.
We reached the stairs, and Papa slowed down as I lifted my dress’s obscenely wide hem to avoid tripping over it and falling on my face. I stepped up next to Jessarian, turning to face him.
The Priest made the holy circle sign of the Devourer and began a droning speech, which I tuned out.
Nessa and Mama were among those in the front rows as Papa joined them.
Someone had laid out a buffet table on the side of the room, decadent and rich foods covering every inch of it. A ludicrously huge layered vanilla cake sat at the center, iced with thick fondant and mayapa slices.
Ugh.
On the far end of the buffet table, Zevrial leaned against the wall, an arresting blue apron fixed around his waist. He even had a matching bowtie on, and a smoke gray suit underneath. Barely any Skinscript was visible, only the smallest hint near his neckline. My gaze raked over him, drinking in the sight of his barely contained physique in formal attire. He could split a seam at any moment. I was eager for that moment, even if the look didn’t suit him at all.
His dark eyes made a similar sweep over me, one rebellious eyebrow lifting. He was probably thinking the same thing about my dress that I had thought about his suit. Neither of us belonged here.
I turned my attention back to my fiance. Jessarian puffed out his chest, like he was proud of himself for simply existing.
