The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear.
Luvenia's maids started getting her ready as soon as she opened her eyes. From books and etiquette lessons, she had been given to understand that the process would take most of the day, and that she should not expect any allowances to be made for her comfort during that time.
To her surprise and delight, the girls made sure that she had a light but satisfying breakfast, gave her short breaks to stretch and relax throughout the lengthy preparations, and frequently checked that she was doing all right. Either her education had been incomplete yet again, or else Middewold's ways were yet again superior to Alatir's.
The tailors came at noon with her wedding dress. They deftly stitched up the back of the close-fitting gotten, ensuring that Luvenia would keep it on until that night, when her husband was expected to rip it off her—though, just in case, they had also concealed a tiny pair of pearl-handled scissors amid the ocean of pearls cascading across the gown's bodice.
The maids changed into their own frocks (and their borrowed jewels) while the tailors worked their magic. Upon their return, they were so excited about her dress that she was concerned that they might actually faint. She had to put on the emerald earrings herself because Mollie's hands were shaking, and it took two tries for Millie to clasp the matching necklace in place.
"You look like a dream, miss!" sighed Mellie, who at least managed to put Luvenia's shoes on the correct feet. "Like you might just float away like a cloud!"
"I think clouds must be a little lighter than this." Luvenia rolled her shoulders gently. "I don't believe I would even float in water just now. I'd drop to the bottom like a stone."
Their giggling brought a smile to her face. The weight of the dress did not trouble her. She could bear anything today if it meant she would not be forced to leave this green and pleasant land.
Someone knocked at her door, then barely waited for Luvenia's summons before entering.
"Your highness, I've brought your wedding gift!"
For a moment, Luvenia thought she might really float away from sheer joy.
"Myra!" she cried, holding out her arms. "At last!"
Her once and future maid bounded into her embrace without hesitation, squeezed her around the middle, then hopped back to look her over.
"Oh, princess, aren't you a picture!"
Luvenia couldn't stop smiling. Myra's irrepressible red curls were doing their best to escape the confines of her bonnet. Her dress was the same lovely green as Luvenia's emeralds.
"Oh, no—I didn't think to bring a necklace for you!"
"Don't you worry about that, your highness." She tossed her head and grinned. "I'm so pretty that I make jewels look ugly!"
A chorus of giggles reminded Luvenia that there were introductions to be made.
"Myra, these three lovelies have been my maids since I arrived here. Millie, Mollie, Mellie, this wonderful girl was my maid back in Alatir."
"Is she... joining us?" asked Mollie cautiously.
"Yes. I told you, I'm keeping all of you."
"The princess is the best of the best!" declared Myra.
"She's better than the best!" insisted Mellie, as if this somehow contradicted Myra's statement.
To Luvenia's relief, another knock at the door forestalled further escalation.
Myra clapped a hand to her mouth. "Goodness me—I forgot! Your highness, there's more to your gift than just a very lucky maid."
Luvenia patted her arm. "But you're exactly what I asked for! What more could I want?"
"I think you'll be pleased, miss." Myra turned to the others. "The four of us should get to know each other. Would you show me around?" She waggled her eyebrows: the universal signal for shenanigans.
The maids bustled out through a side entrance just as the main door opened again.
"Hey, Lu."
Luvenia stared at the raven-haired man who loitered in the entryway, nervously adjusting the silver sash that reflected his gray eyes.
"I..."
"You must have grown six inches taller since I last saw you." He pulled the door shut without taking his eyes off her. "What are they feeding you here? We need to start giving it to our knights!"
She tried to answer, but instead she laughed, even as tears rolled down her cheeks. She stepped forward into his arms and took his face in her hands.
"It's you," she whispered. "It's really you."
"It's really me. I'm here, Lu."
She leaned into his embrace. It was just as warm as she remembered.
"Promise me this isn't a dream."
"I hope your dreams are a lot more interesting than this." His hand hovered over her elaborate updo, then settled down to stroke the back of her neck. "Are you really all right? I've been worried sick ever since I heard what happened on your journey here."
"How could I not be all right? We're finally together again." She cheekily dabbed away her tears with his sash. "This is the best day of my life."
They both heard the sound of metal tearing.
The door slowly swung open to reveal "Iron Hans", standing motionless, a broken doorknob cradled in "his" hand. "His" cloak was a lighter shade of gray than usual—a modest concession to the day's joyous event.
Luvenia pretended not to notice the doorknob. "I'm glad you're here. –You haven't met Iron Hans before, have you? Let introduce you." She looked up, glowing with happiness. "Hans, this is my favorite person in the whole world: Beaucaire, the crown prince of Alatir—my darling older brother."
Beaucaire frowned, just slightly. "A pleasure," he said in a neutral tone. "I hear you saved my sister's life. Thank you for watching over her."
Iron Hans nodded, just slightly. "He" gestured in a we're-going-to-be-late sort of way.
"We'd best be on our way," Luvenia conceded. "Lead on, good sir!"
She took Beaucaire's arm as they went out.
"I suppose you'll have to leave after the ceremony."
"Unfortunately. Gorogon offered us rooms for the night, but..."
"It's fine. This is more than enough." She briefly pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "There's a custom here that a male relative of the bride walks with her to the altar. Is that relevant to your interests?"
He squeezed her arm in the crook of his elbow. "It might be. I heard that it's also customary for that same male relative to share a dance with the bride at the reception."
"It's been so long since we danced to real music together," sighed Luvenia. "I hope I still remember how to waltz."
"You'll do fine." He winked at her. "And, even if you don't, it will be my great honor to have my feet stepped on by the queen of Middewold."
"Then my first act as queen will be to institute a new award for bravery: the Order of the Broken Foot."
Beaucaire's laughter was wonderful to hear, but it clashed subtly with the low chuckle from Iron Hans.
***
The wedding ceremony was arranged per Middewold customs. This was fine by Luvenia. She had never attended a wedding in Alatir—or anywhere else—so this was to be her formative nuptial experience.
When they arrived at the venue, the Temple of Four, she informed the valet who had escorted her at the rehearsal that she no longer required the services of a stand-in. The valet seemed genuinely relieved. Luvenia could hardly blame him; accompanying the bride through the ranks of high-status guests would be nerve-racking for anyone.
"Where should I go once we reach the altar?" Beaucaire asked quietly.
"Next to our father."
"What if I can't find him? I'll be left loitering awkwardly in the way, with everyone staring at the idiot prince."
"Don't be silly. Anyway, look at me in this dress! Nobody's going to notice YOU."
Beaucaire nudged her playfully. Luvenia nudged him back. She felt much better about the wedding with her brother at her side.
The temple was divided in cruciform fashion, each of its quarters dedicated to one of the four gods. These deities were referred to by different names in different kingdoms, but the general consensus on the continent was that four was the correct number of entities to worship.
The sweeping arch of the entrance led to the aisle between the sections for Okiri (representing the earth, change, and all things controllable by humans) and Ozazi (representing water, permanence, and all things primeval and intractable). It was fair to say that these two, in their various incarnations, were more highly regarded than their godly peers; the guests seated in their sections were ambassadors of other kingdoms, reveling in their own importance.
Luvenia gripped her brother's arm tightly. Beaucaire leaned over and, in full sight of all their most important guests, kissed her on the cheek.
"Start walking, or I'll do it again," he whispered in her ear. She stood up straight, faced forward, and gave Beaucaire a sharp pinch.
They walked slowly up the aisle. Luvenia ignored the strangers to either side and focused on the altar. Gorogon stood there waiting for her, resplendent in green and gold, fiddling with his cuffs.
As he glanced up and caught sight of her, a look of wonder transformed his face. Luvenia felt a thrill, just for a moment, before recalling that he would not be sincerely moved by any woman.
She felt Beaucaire's arm tremble under her hand. A sidelong glance revealed that his face was flushed.
Her heartstrings pulled so tight that it almost hurt to breathe.
Everyone was looking at her—except for her fiancé, her brother, and one man at the forefront of the water god's quarter.
The latter turned his head without disturbing the heavy crown of white gold upon it. His pale blue eyes, clear and cold as ice, shifted from watching Gorogon toward the object of Gorogon's attention.
Eddard, king of Alatir, had seen the look on Gorogon's face. In seconds, he would see the answering look on his own son's face. He would know in an instant the two secrets Luvenia had been guarding, one for six weeks, one for six years.
She let go of Beaucaire's arm and ran ahead, right to Gorogon, with her hands outstretched. Gorogon opened his arms and caught her up in an embrace that stirred a rumble of approval from the guests.
"They're watching, sire," Luvenia murmured in Gorogon's ear. "Keep your eyes on me."
He kissed her cheek in the same spot Beaucaire had before guiding her to stand in the proper place.
Four priestesses joined them at the altar, wearing just about enough material for a single dress between them. Luvenia and Gorogon stood quietly while the priestesses danced around and chanted traditional blessings for a while.
After the liturgical dance, one priestess donned a proper vestment and made a proper speech, initiating the part of the ceremony that actually involved the bride and groom.
"Gorogon, King of Middewold, do you swear by Az and Ki, Ibi and Eda, to cherish and honor this woman as your companion and equal in all things?"
"By Az and Ki, Ibi and Eda, I swear it."
The names given to the gods in Middewold were still strange to her ears. It sounded as though the gods who reigned from the distant heavens over Alatir were more like beloved elders in Middewold, called by little nicknames and made to watch the unskilled but endearing performances of their descendents.
"Luvenia Charisse Eddine, Princess of Alatir, do you swear by Az and Ki, Ibi and Eda, to cherish and honor this man as your companion and equal in all things?"
She appreciated that the vows were symmetrical. "By Az and Ki, Ibi and Eda, I swear it."
Contrary to what she had read, kissing was not part of the ceremony. They just moved briskly onward to the coronation.
The priestess signaled to one of her colleagues, who retrieved a velvet-shrouded bundle from under the altar. Luvenia knew it was her crown, which she had not yet been permitted to see.
"Luvenia Charisse Eddine, you have taken our king as your husband. I abjure you now to make a solemn vow to faithfully serve the citizens of Middewold as our queen."
Luvenia knelt with her arms crossed over her chest.
"Before the gods, the citizens of Middewold, and the assembled witnesses, I vow to carry out my duties as queen. I dedicate my mind, my heart, and my hands to the service of our beloved kingdom. This I swear by Az and Ki, Ibi and Eda."
Gorogon uncovered the crown. It was similar to his in its latticed construction, but more closely resembled gilded vines, set with jewels in the shape of leaves and flowers.
Luvenia couldn't tear her eyes away from the jewels. The emerald leaves matched the set Gorogon had given her. The flowers were pale blue sapphires, the same color as her father's eyes—the same color as her own eyes.
The same color as the flowers in Hanna's dream...
She raised her chin as Gorogon placed the crown on her head. He offered her a hand up.
"Middewold, rejoice!" proclaimed the priestess. "Hail your new queen!"
It was almost over. Just one more ritual.
She and Gorogon made obeisance toward each of the four quarters of the temple in turn, theoretically beseeching the gods to bless both their marriage and their reign.
As they turned to honor Onibi—the god of fire, of reality, of emotion, of action, of the present moment—Luvenia saw her pretty maids all in a row toward the back. They were cheering and clapping louder than anyone else in the temple.
She scanned the crowd for "Iron Hans" until she spied the cloaked figure at the furthest point of the last section, belonging to Oreda—the god of wind, of dreams, of past and future, of potential and regret.