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Beth laughed. “It’s just a silly expression. Come on—only watch where you step. Fritz is going to be so happy that we’ve trashed this room with such abandon.”
The sitting area on the second floor had become the locus for all the females in the household to get ready, and there were clothes, dresses, crinolines, stockings, shoes, makeup, curling irons… everywhere. As she measured the mess, she remembered the fun that had created it, the dressing and undressing, the consultations on hairstyles, the joking.
The other females—including dear Mae, who as Sahvage’s shellan, had taken an extra special interest in it all—had departed to the foyer, but she could picture them with such clarity, it was as if her memory were the actual experience.
“Rahvyn? You okay?”
She glanced back at the female, who was still the King’s beloved shellan, but now also a friend. Beth was stunning in her red and black gown, her brunette hair falling down her back, a set of large diamond earrings twinkling on her lobes.
Rahvyn thought of the little cottage she had been raised in, the small, joy-filled life she had led before her parents died… and the changes had come unto her. There had been so many years of sorrow and then all that trauma. She had never expected happiness to return.
“This is all so unexpected,” she whispered.
“Life can be really amazing, right? I remember when I mated Wrath, I thought the same thing—wait, hold on. Are you… you know what Lassiter’s going to do, right? During the ceremony.”
“About the—oh.” Rahvyn put her hand over her mouth. “I, ah, we didn’t speak of it? I certainly did not ask. Is he…”
“The pitcher and the bowl are on a table down there. So I think it’s going to happen.” Beth’s expression tightened. “When I got mated… someone… was there for me, supporting me, and she helped a lot. I want to be that person for you when it’s time. Unless you want Mae?”
Something about the energy of the Queen told a story that did not need words to resonate: The one who had stood in for Beth was gone now. She hadn’t survived the war.
“What was her name,” Rahvyn asked roughly. “Your sister who died.”
“Wellsie. Wellesandra.” Beth sniffled a little. “And she wasn’t of my blood, but you’re absolutely right, she was my family. She gave me my dress, just as I’m giving you yours. You would have liked her a lot. She was a strong female.”
Rahvyn picked up the heavy, beaded skirt, and went over to the Queen. Dropping down into a low curtsy and bowing her head, she said, “I would be most grateful for your kindness during the ceremony. Thank you.”
Beth nodded and smiled sadly. “Let’s get you mated, Rahvyn.”
With a brisk stride, the Queen went over to open the door—and when she turned back around, she was deliberately happy, in the way someone was when they were determined not to ruin somebody else’s special moment.
“You know,” she said, “silver really is your color. You look like a diamond.”
Rahvyn glanced down at herself and then walked across the clutter, deliberately choosing where to put her feet. The gown’s fabric, with its subtle pattern of beads, really was extraordinary, a shimmering fall the color of a dove’s breast—and she liked its weight and the way it rustled.
“You all worked miracles,” she murmured as she drew a hand down her hair, which had been curled and brushed into waves.
Beth reached out and squeezed her hand. “The miracle is you. Everything else is just window dressing.”
Rahvyn all but floated out of the sitting room, and on the far side, there was no electrical illumination: Candlelight was everywhere and it was incredible, a soft, dewy glow replacing the artificial source that hadn’t seemed harsh until it was replaced by something so much more gentle.
“Here she is.”
As Beth spoke up, Sahvage stepped forward, and her cousin was handsome as ever, with his dark hair and deeply set eyes, yet he was also fierce in a floor-length black robe.
“You ready?” When she nodded, he tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Beth, let Z know to start the music.”
The Queen gave her one final hug, and then she lifted the skirt of her own gown and rushed off. A moment later, a guitar started to play some classical music.
Her cousin led Rahvyn to the head of the staircase, and along the way, she found herself glad for his sturdy arm. She was nervous, praying she did not make a fool of herself.
And then she could see down below to the foyer. There were so many people… yet only one registered.
Standing next to Wrath, bathed in the candlelight, Lassiter was resplendent in a black gown, his blond-and-black hair split upon his shoulders and flowing down the front of his chest, glints of gold on his ears, around his throat, on his wrists and fingers—but that was not all that gleamed upon him.
