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Niera looks down at the bright pink dress she wears, which definitely seems to be brand new. “This? What? No. I’ve had this for ages.”
“You look wonderful,” I say to Niera, who smiles back and blushes. “How long do we have until the ceremony?”
“Stop worrying, my queen!” says Marcella
“I thought I told you to call me Elizabeth,” I say, almost laughing at the look my three personal assistants--servant was a title I quickly disposed of, even if it was only in my head for now--give anytime I request they address me without all the formality.
“Elizabeth,” she says, looking green as she does, “This is your day. We want you to enjoy every second of it.”
I look at myself in the mirror and think about how unbelievable this all is. Less than two months ago, I was still living with the people I thought were my parents. I was spending my days wishing I could be anyone else, anywhere else. And now? It wasn’t easy, but I look at the woman in the mirror and can’t help but smile. My platinum hair is curled into delicate ringlets that fall around my shoulders, bouncing with the slightest movement of my head. My makeup is subtly applied to emphasize all my natural features in a way I could never pull off on my own, and my dress is more perfect than I imagined it would be.
It’s a pure white lace over a layer of silk that feels like heaven against my skin. The neckline is more modest than traditional city clothes, but a bold explosion of fabric at my shoulders marks it clearly in the style here, which I’ve already grown used to. Aside from the flared shoulders, the rest of the dress isn’t far from what I grew up looking at women wearing to their weddings. The biggest difference between the woman in the mirror and the one I thought I’d see if my wedding day ever came is the silver crown on my head.
Queen Elizabeth Burkewood. If I wasn’t seeing it all with my own eyes, I still wouldn’t believe that it is real.RoarkI wait at the altar with the traditional frozen lotus flower in my hand. I wear a black suit with a high collar and a white undershirt. The wedding ceremony is being held in the palace courtyard, which workers have spent the last month tirelessly converting into a scene straight out of a fantasy--Elizabeth’s fantasy. Cherry blossom trees were imported from Japan to line the pathway from the main green to the footbridge, where their pinkish white petals drift lazily down into the chilly stream I had dug into the grounds. The altar sits on an island surrounded by the water and the cherry blossom trees.
On the other side of the bridge, Elizabeth’s personal team of servants sit at the front--which was her request. All three of the women look as proud as if they were her sisters. Calian sits beside them, and favors me with a wink when he sees me notice him. Kato stands ceremonial guard at the footbridge, along with the guard who brought me news of my brother and mother’s betrayal and has since been promoted to a Captain of the Guard alongside Kato. The rest of the hundreds of seats are filled with the upper crust of society from the greater nobles all the way down to the lesser nobles, but at Elizabeth’s request, the common people were allowed to enter into the palace and watch from the windows facing the courtyard, and as I look around I see thousands and thousands of smiling faces beaming down from open windows--men and women holding each other close, fathers holding their children so that they can see this momentous occasion. It’s humbling to see how many support my union to Elizabeth.
But it all disappears from my notice when Elizabeth emerges from the dressing room at the far end of the courtyard. I did a little reading on traditional weddings outside the Shrouded Kingdoms and know her father is supposed to “give her away” in her culture, but in ours, there is no such tradition. I’m glad of it too. After what Elizabeth has been through in the short time I’ve known her and the years prior, I know no one has a right to give her away. The woman I’m watching walk toward me is a queen now, in every sense of the word, and she’s the only one with the right to decide her own fate.
The crowd ignites with whispers and hushed conversation as everyone turns toward her to watch her approach the altar. Jealousy is written plainly on every face. The women wish they could look like her and the men wish they were the ones standing where I am. I smile with pride and excitement. We’ve technically been married for a month now, but I think we both felt like the marriage was incomplete--not until we had a traditional wedding. And now it’s happening.
