“No,” Phaia says, tutting. “It’s perfect.”
“Yes, it’s too much,” Tira corrects as she grins at me. “But that’s the point. It’s your wedding day, stupid. You have to go over the top.”
I smile, drifting my hands over the embroidered bodice of my dress up to the neckline that sits lightly across my collarbones, the delicate lace giving the impression that the dress melts into my skin. In reality, it curves up around my arms and over my shoulders, from which a cascade of soft gold fabric falls. Every inch of it is embroidered with sparkling suns and stars.
The dress is a statement, a proud acknowledgment of my celestial abilities, and a proclamation that solari no longer have to hide in the dark. There are people in Trova who I know will be slow to accept our kind. You can’t erase half a century’s prejudice overnight, but it starts with me refusing to be ashamed of who I am—of what I was born to be.
I look over to Damia leaning against the wall with a bored expression. To be honest, I’m surprised she even agreed to be in my bridal party at all, but I suspect Corrin talked her into it.
“What about you?” I ask her.
“Don’t listen to what she says,” Phaia interrupts before she can answer. “Damia hates anything you can’t swing a sword in.”
I don’t bother pointing out that Damia is, in fact, wearing a dress today. Albeit one so dark it looks nearly black, with skirts that don’t restrict her movements and still allow for a big sword to be strapped to her hip. She straightens, frowning at Phaia.
“Actually, I think you look great,” she says to me. “The captain will love it.”
Phaia gapes at her, and I smile in thanks.
“I’m coming in!” calls a voice at the door. “Everyone better be decent.”
I turn to look at Harman, extremely smart in a high-collared jacket with gold brocade at the shoulders. He walks into the room, only a slight stiffness giving away any sign of the injury he suffered four months ago.
“Wow,” he smiles at me, taking in the dress.
“You like it?” I ask.
“You do the Angevires proud,” he says.
“And the Sandales too?” I ask. I don’t know what my parents would think of my gown, but I care whathethinks.
“Definitely the Sandales,” he says softly, leaning down to hug me. When he straightens up, he looks around at us all. “Are you ready to go?”
I nod, and he offers me his elbow.
“See you at the sanctuary,” Tira grins as she, Phaia, and Damia hurry past us.
“You look like a prince, Harman,” I say as he escorts me along the palace corridors. “Really.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Al said something similar. I suppose I should look the part, if I’m going to be living in a palace.”
“You don’t mind?” I ask, biting my lip. “Do you miss the Hand?”
He looks down at me with wide eyes, like he’s surprised I even have to ask the question.
“Morgana, I got everything I wanted. The Hand of Ralus was created to end the Temple, to bring freedom of faith back to Trova. And we have—or at least, we’re well on our way. And it’s not like I never get to speak to my old friends. With my new job and a certain best man, my life will never be dull.”
I nod, pleased. I knew that Harman would languish away as a nobleman if he didn’t have a way to put his skills to use. For the last four months, he’s been taking over Trova’s intelligence network, using his Hand contacts to establish spies across Trova and set up an espionage unit from Elmere. The war is over, but it’s still useful to have eyes across the country, watching for trouble so we’re ready if it comes.
We cross a courtyard and arrive at the palace sanctuary. The ancient stone building towers above us, the bricks much darkerthan the rest of the castle. It’s been on this site since long before the War of the Laurels. It’s probably older than the palace itself. I take in the image of the scythe of Ethira engraved over the doorway. But we’ve added more symbols now: fire, water, air, and earth, as well as the sun and moon. Now all the major gods sit side by side, no one above the other.
“Are you nervous?” Harman asks as we move toward the doors.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve been less nervous for anything ever.”
My legs feel wobbly and my head a little dizzy, but only because I’m so excited. Ever since Leon asked me the question, I’ve been ready for this moment. Now I just close my eyes and listen for his heartbeat, thudding steadily on the other side of the doors.
When we step through those doors, I’m overwhelmed by a sea of faces—the whole court gathered to see the Trovian queen wed the prince of Filusia. I look past them all, searching for him. There at the front, beside a beaming Alastor, he waits for me.
