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1
CHLOE
My father always said I was the least needy of all his daughters.
He said my humility would fetch me a fine, rich husband.
I don’t believe Father thought my husband would be as fine or as rich as the one I’m about to marry.
In the south of the Spring Court, on a hilltop many villages away from mine, near the forests shared with the Summer Court, without my sisters or friends for witnesses, my wedding is about to take place.
I shall marry a prince.
The winter breeze ruffles my already unruly red hair, which my sister neatly arranged on top of my head. My locks are escaping the confines of the neat bun, but at least the wind is sweeping my hair away from my face so that when the prince joins me, he can gaze upon me without interference.
We’ve not met yet. The prince and I.
But I know he’s handsome. He’s a fae prince. They’re bred for beauty and power.
I hope he finds me pretty, or at least adequate.
My palms sweat, but I don’t dare wipe them on the beautiful vintage wedding dress with rhinestones sewn into the sleeves. I wonder who the dress belonged to. Perhaps the queen wore it when she married the king, so it’s a long-kept family heirloom.
I hope the queen also finds me pretty. I heard she’s a difficult woman to please. Good thing I never had trouble pleasing even the most difficult people. Like my brother-in-law, who arranged my marriage without my consent. Not that he needed my agreement.
Besides, I’d have said yes anyway. He arranged this marriage with the crown prince of the Spring Court.
The wind sweeps away my white veil.
“Oh no!” I pick up my skirts and spin, intent on running after the veil, but a handsome young male blocks my path. He wears white on white, and the crown of the Spring prince sits on his head. My veil’s stuck on its spikes. He brushes it away as if swiping off an annoying bug.
“Let’s get this over with,” he says, then grabs my elbow, forcing me to spin around into my previous position.
“Dakonos,” he barks.
A short, stocky male with receding black hair and bright green eyes, also wearing white on white, rushes around the prince and produces a deep green ribbon. He starts reciting the wedding verses, and for some odd reason, I begin to cry. When I should be the happiest, I cry. Not ugly cry, but still noticeable and wrong.
“I’m just happy, my prince,” I whisper by way of explanation, even though the prince never asked. Mercifully, only my brother-in-law is here to witness my dramatics. The village in the valley beneath us still sleeps as Dakonos binds our wrists with the ribbon.
The male steps away, and the winter wind easily blows away the loosely tied knot.
Oh, no, you don’t. First the veil, now the ribbon that’s supposed to be a keepsake. I gather my skirts to run after it, but the prince keeps me in place by gripping my shoulders. He turns me toward him and dips his head.
He wants to kiss me. His bride. Of course! My heart beats a mile a minute, and I’m almost lost in his sparkling green eyes. They’re as alive as the forest, and even though he smells of stale ale, he’s still beautiful when he says, “Oh, my poor village bride, how shall I ever love you?”
I make an O with my mouth as my breath escapes me.
His green eyes show pity. “Even if you are a pretty little thing.” He shakes his head, then bends to whisper in my ear, “Just do whatever my mother says, and you’ll survive the court. Also, a princess never runs. She walks with poise and grace.” He pecks my cheek before he leaves, tossing over his shoulder, “Make sure she’s ready for the wedding.”
With that, the prince and his valet climb on their horses and gallop away.
I turn toward my brother-in-law, seeking an explanation. When he offers none, I ask, “What wedding does he mean?” We just got married. Didn’t we?
My brother-in-law, a tall, lanky blond with a prominent curved nose and a rather large forehead, smiles. “He means the reception, I’m sure.”
I bite the corner of my lip. Whichever one it is, a wedding or a reception, I must prepare indeed, for I know nothing of court life at all.
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