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There is no time to lose, according to the law we can marry immediately. In my letter to the king, I failed to mention that my mate was a human and I intend to marry Diane before it is discovered. It is the only way we can be together and I refuse to risk losing her.
22
DIANE
The wedding is a secret of course, and preparations take place in the dead of night, though Carmichael arranges for everything, insisting that I rest and spend time with my family. It is absurd how he proves his love to me every day, and this wedding is simply another example of his love.
I can’t quite believe that we’re mates, and somehow, I think that a part of Carmichael cannot believe it either. He marvels at the fact that we are mates all the time we are together, even as he plans the wedding.
It will take place in secret, at noon, on the highest floor of his mansion. Only my mother, my brother, and two of his closest confidantes will be in attendance to witness the union.
Our union.
When I wake, sunlight filters through cracks in the flowing curtains that cover the windows of our bedroom. Rolling over, I realize right away that Carmichael is not next to me. A groan escapes me as I sit up, lifting the pillow he sleeps on and pressing it to my face.
I had hoped to wake up to him. To his body pressed against mine and his lips pressed against mine. But it isn’t easy planning a wedding in secret, especially one that would be met with disapproval by the King.
I get out of bed quietly, padding across the room to get my robe when the brilliant white silk bag catches my eye. It hangs from a hook on the hall, a hook that was not there the evening before, and through the slightly sheer material of the bag, glimmers of color sparkle through.
Abandoning my robe, I head for the bag, pulling apart the ribbons that keep it laced up, allowing the silk to fall open. The sunlight streams in beautifully as the bag is falling open, hitting the lavish, iridescent fabric that comes, spilling out of the bag.
My body grows still with shock and wonder as I take in the beauty of the dress, my mind wandering to the night before. The slight hairs on my body rise as it remembers the way Carmichael traced his fingertips up and down my skin.
He seemed determined to plot out every square inch of my skin, determined to memorize every freckle, every indentation, every landmark on my skin.
I fell asleep like that, after we made love, with his fingers trailing up and down my body, lulling me to sleep.
Now I look back at the dress, which is actually bigger than the bag it is in, and I know he chose it for me. I would not be surprised if he had confessed to making it himself, knowing the care that Carmichael takes with things.
The material of the dress is soft and the dress itself seems to contain every color in the world. Though when I examine it more closely, I see that the fabric of the dress is ivory with thousands, if not millions, of tiny crystal beads.
The beads create prisms of light that sparkle and bounce off each other, making the dress look like it carries the rainbow in its folds. Sudden excitement sparks across my skin, as I pull the dress off the hook and out of the bag, running over to the long thin mirror in the corner of the bedroom.
Just then a knock sounds on the bedroom door, and I carefully place the dress on the bureau as my mother comes into the room. My heart blooms to see her so happy, and more importantly, healthy. For years, watching her wither away, my heart felt paralyzed. But now it can finally beat again, because with Carmichael’s help, we found the healing potion that would cure her sickness.
I quickly pull my robe on as my brother follows her inside, an equally large smile on his face. He must have experienced five growth spurts living here, with all the food he is eating.
“So, are you ready?” my mother asks me, a gentle smile on her face.
Maybe it is a latent reaction to the dress or simply seeing how happy my mother and brother are, but I am lost for words.
My mother lets out a soft chuckle at my silence before going over to throw open the curtains, something she used to do every morning before she got ill. Sunlight floods the room and some of the light hits the dress, sending sparkling light twisting up into the air and bouncing off the ceiling.
“Come.” My mother claps her hands together briskly, efficiently. “There are only a few hours until the wedding and you need to get ready. I’ve left some bathing salts in your bathtub, so take a long bath and wash your hair.”
I do what my mother says obediently, grateful that I do not have to do anything except follow instructions. Now that I am actually getting married, I am so overwhelmed by thoughts of the future, and the past, that I can barely think of the present.
My stomach flutters with nerves as I go through the motions of bathing myself and washing my hair that has grown longer since I have come to live with Carmichael. But as I wash, my stomach settles. In reality, there is nothing to be anxious about. I am marrying the love of my life.
My mate who loves me and cares for my family as though they are his own. My mate who is braving the sure wrath of the King simply by marrying me, a human.
After I finish bathing, my mother takes over, settling me on a seat in front of her where she sits on the bed and brushes through the long golden tresses of my hair. Just the way she used to when I was a child. She brushes through it until my hair is dry before starting to braid and twist it.
Afterwards she helps me into the dress and when I look out the window, I see it is even higher in the sky. It is almost noon, almost time for me to get married.
“Wear these,” my mother hands me a silk bag, and I pull out golden slippers. “They were mine.”
I slip into them wordlessly and together my mother, brother and I leave the room. The mansion is several stories high, with dozens of bedrooms, kitchens, and confusing, winding hallways. The wedding will take place on the topmost floor of the mansion, in Carmichael’s favorite room, his library.
