Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Or maybe I’m just imagining that. I feel like I’m running out of air—I wish my dress wasn’t so tight! I can’t get a deep enough breath to sing all the words the priest is giving me and it’s getting so hot in here as the sun climbs higher and the multicolored shafts of sunlight beat down through the stained-glass windows.
At last, it seems to be coming to an end. The priest sings one more thing to me…but it ends on a long, high note. I have a rather low voice for a woman, but I do my best. Clutching the bouquet of Love Lilies I was given to hold, I force my voice into the upper register. But as I try to hold the note—urged on by the hand signals the priest is helpfully giving me—I feel myself getting light-headed. It’s too hot in here and I have no air in my lungs, I can’t breathe…can’t breathe…
“Look out!” I hear the Queen say sharply. “The little fool is fainting!”
“Catch her, Dorian!” the King exclaims. “Catch your bride!”
But it isn’t the Crown Prince who stops my fall. Before I can hit my head on the unforgiving marble floor, long arms wrap around me and I’m being lifted and cradled against a broad chest.
“You all right, little dove?” A concerned face peers down into mine. It’s Xaren, I realize—he’s holding me in the middle of the crowded chapel and looking at me like I matter more than all this pomp and circumstance—which is rather nice.
“I’m…having a hard time…breathing,” I whisper. “So…so hot.”
“We can fix that.” He looks up and raises his voice commandingly. “Water—someone bring me water now! And move back—all of you. The Princess needs air!”
To my surprise, everyone obeys him. Even the King and Queen step back, though I can see they’re not happy about it. A servant rushes up with a crystal cup filled with cool water and helps me drink as the Dark Prince supports me.
The water refreshes me—especially after Xaren dips his fingertips in what’s left at the bottom of the cup and flicks it over my face. The cool droplets feel wonderful against my flushed skin and I find myself reviving.
“You’re looking a bit better now.” Xaren gives me an appraising look. “Are you ready to go on? Think you can manage the rest of the ceremony?”
“How…” I lick my lips. “How much longer is it?”
A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth.
“Not long. We’ve done the talking and the singing. Now we just have to stand still while the priest blesses our union.”
I wonder in passing why he said “our”—it seems strange. But then, everything here at the Citadel is strange. And he probably just misspoke.
“I think I can manage,” I tell him. “Thank you for catching me.”
“Well, Dorian wasn’t going to do it. Useless bastard,” he growls. “Come on—let’s get you on your feet.”
He sets me down carefully and winds one long arm around my waist. Dorian—who has been off to one side whispering with Henri—comes forward to stand before the priest again and the ceremony resumes.
After another ten minutes of blessings—with the priest blessing everything from my womb, that it might bear a male heir, to my mouth, so that I will only say good things about my husband—the ceremony finally finishes. The priest bids us turn around and Xaren steps away while Dorian takes my arm.
“May I now present to you the Crown Prince Dorian and his new wife, Princess Elaina!” he cries in his high, cracked old man’s voice.
The crown cheers and at last, we are allowed to file out of the chapel.
Afterwards there is feasting and wine and a special wedding punch which tastes like it’s been spiked with brandy. I take a little to calm my nerves—it’s good. Prince Dorian and I have to feed each other the delicate little true-love cakes—small enough to fit in the palm of your hand—which are only served at Royal weddings.
The Crown Prince pushes the buttery little cake into my mouth with little ceremony and then turns immediately back to Henri, who sits on his right. I don’t like to complain, but I’m beginning to think it’s rather rude of him to spend most of our wedding day talking to his best friend and ignoring his bride.
However, I’m not too upset. I’m mostly nervous when I think about what’s going to happen tonight.
Tonight I’ll be moving into Prince Dorian’s rooms, which are far grander than mine. I’ll share a bed with him until the Court Physician is certain I’m pregnant. After that, I may be allowed to come back to my own rooms…I hope, anyway.
I don’t much like the idea of letting Prince Dorian get me pregnant—not that he’s ugly. On the contrary, his golden beauty outshines most of the women at Court. But he doesn’t seem to care for me and I know I don’t care for him. It’s going to be an awkward and possibly painful process, letting him “plow my furrow” as I’ve heard the crude boys back home in the Northlands put it.