Page 56 of The Midnight King
He slips out, and not a moment too soon, because within a few minutes my maids return to escort me to the sanctuary. One of them hands me a bouquet of black-and-white skunk-flowers, wrinkling her nose apologetically as she says, “Your mother told me to give these to you.”
The bouquet is a final slap in the face from my dear stepmother. No doubt someone objected to the use of skunk-flowers for the bridal bouquet of the queen-to-be, and that was the issue Gilda had to go and deal with. Apparently she triumphed over whoever was protesting.
The Cathedral of Fate is enormous, so the walk through its hallways takes a little time, during which the organ music grows louder and louder, like a grave summons from another realm.
At last I stand before the double doors, and when the organ music crests and switches into a new key, two ushers bow to me and pull the doors open.
As I take my first step into the sanctuary, the weight of the wig disappears from my head, and my hair tumbles free in shining golden ringlets. The heavy cosmetics dissipate from my skin, leaving it with a feeling of magical freshness.
At the same time, my gown transforms. Instead of the awkward bustle, the scratchy underskirts, and the giant rosettes across my chest, I’m now sheathed in a glimmering white gown that leaves my shoulders bare and clings to my form like a kiss. Crystal slippers peek from beneath the hem as I walk down the aisle, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see a lacy train gliding behind me.
As a final touch, the bouquet I’m carrying turns into a cascade of blue flowers, blue as the gown I wore to the first ball.
It’s magic, obvious and undeniable. Magic is rare in our kingdom, but not unheard of, and although the guests gasp at the sight, it’s delight rather than fear. They probably assume that the palace invested in a bit of extra magic for the royal wedding, to make it special.
I can’t imagine what my stepmother is thinking. As I pass her and my stepsisters, sitting in the front row, I can’t resist glancing sideways at them. Gilda and Vashli are stricken with shock, but Amisa is smiling, her eyes bright with amusement. She isn’t the kindest person, or the most intellectually gifted, butright now she is glorying in my triumph over her mother and sister, even if she has no idea how the feat was accomplished.
The Bishop of Fate stands on the platform at the head of the aisle, flanked by the King and the Crown Prince. I mount the steps slowly, careful not to trip, and then I pause, facing all three of them.
The Prince advances, his face white and his jaw set. I’m not sure whether he’s stunned by the use of magic or still coping with the fact that his bodyguard is in love with him. Either way, the events we set in motion are carrying us along now, whether we like it or not.
Brantley bows, and I curtsy in return. When he offers his arm, I take it, and we face the crowd together.
The music softens to a whisper, then ceases, and the King steps forward.
“Welcome, my people, to the wedding of my only son, your Crown Prince! It is with great joy that I celebrate the Prince’s discovery of his one true companion, his partner for life, the beautiful Celinda Laurier. And may I say, what an entrance! That magical surprise was brought to you by Lady Gilda Laurier, mother of the bride, the one who planned this wedding.” He bows in my stepmother’s direction. “Thank you, milady, for making your daughter’s special day so memorable.”
My stepmother gives him a stiff nod and a tight smile.
Clever Killian. He made her seem like the one responsible for the magic, ensuring she can’t question it openly. She’ll have to wait until we’re alone.
“It’s customary for my part of the ceremony to end here,” says the King. “But I want to use this moment to speak a few words to my son.”
I frown slightly at Killian. What is he doing?
But he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking straight at the Prince, his eyes shining with sincere affection. “Brantley, you have been a true joy to me. I could not have asked for a betterson or a more capable successor. You think differently than most people, but that isn’t a weakness, that isstrength.That ismagic. I’m so proud of you, and I’m confident that when I leave, the kingdom will be in good hands.”
Brantley clears his throat and nods. His eyes are wet.
“And as for your bride, the fair Celinda,” says the King, turning to me. “She is devoted to you beyond her own well-being. And that is the truest kind of love.”
I hold my breath and his gaze—only for a moment, because any longer would seem odd to those around us. But from Killian’s look of fierce fondness and approval, I draw the courage to get through the ceremony that follows.
During the vows I respond as I’m supposed to, and when the Prince and I are declared husband and wife, I kiss him before them all. It’s a chaste, sweet kiss, and afterward we walk down the aisle together, out the cathedral doors into the cold, bright air, where the gathered citizens greet us with a roar of joy and shower our path with the petals of white winter roses.
I’m spared from my stepmother’s presence during the rest of the day. Brantley and I embark on an open-carriage tour of the city, then make an appearance on the balcony of the courthouse building, where Brantley speaks to the crowd. After that, we return to the palace for a great and glorious reception, during which the Prince and I greet countless well-wishers.
Through it all, I find myself looking for the King every few minutes, every time my gut begins to twist into nauseated anxiety. Whenever I spot him, my muscles relax a bit, and I find the strength to keep going.
After standing for hours to receive guests, we are finally able to sit at the royal table and preside over the feast, which I can barely taste because I know what comes after the dining and the dancing. Within an hour or two, Brantley and I will retire to his suite. I’m not sure if he will want to consummate the marriage or not, but at some point our privacy will be interruptedby my stepmother. And what unfolds after that is in Fate’s hands.
The King—Killian—was present at the start of the feast; when I look for him again, he has disappeared. I keep searching the crowd for those broad shoulders, that silver hair, but I don’t see him. His absence leaves me unsettled, tossed in the sea of my emotions with no anchor to hold me steady.
Where did he go?
Brantley leans over to me and says in an undertone, “One dance, and then I think we can escape and get some rest. I shall need months to recover from the past two weeks.”
“I feel the same way,” I tell him. “I’m not used to being around so many people all the time.”