Tears burn my eyes. A sniffle catches me off guard. My chest aches.
“Now, don’t cry on your wedding day.” He bends to press a kiss to my forehead. For once, I don’t recoil at his touch. Instead, I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze.
“I needed to hear that,” I whisper.
“I know. I don’t ask you to forgive me. All I want is for you to live happily ever after with your prince.”
He releases me first. To my surprise, I let him go reluctantly. I swipe at my eyes, praying they aren’t as red as my hair, and jerk my chin at my stepsisters. My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “It’s time,” I whisper.
He gives me a quick, guilty nod and takes each of his daughters by the arm. I hover in the vestibule, arms linked with Briar, watching them walk down the aisle. Both of them are glowing, and not only with magic. Stacia is positively radiant. I hope Othmar has a softening effect on her. Perhaps, away from Cilla’s influence, she’ll become someone worth knowing.
Yet something still feels off.
“Ready?” Briar says, squeezing my hand when the first two couples have spoken their vows and polite applause fills the air as Alistair takes his place before the priest. She hands me my bouquet and walks down the aisle with me a few paces behind. The weight of every eye in the audience bears down on me with terrifying force. The King of Belterre’s rheumy gaze bores into me as I approach his son.
Briar and Killian flank us as we stand before the priest. The king’s wheezing chuckle, like a broken accordion reaches my ears.
“Will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” asks the priest after droning on. We have arrived at the part of the ceremony where he needs my explicit cooperation to make it binding.
“Say yes,” Alistair grits out, locking my hand in a crushing grip.
I adjust my hand in his grip, shifting our hold palm-to-palm. He grips me hard. I clutch his hand even harder. Bones grind.
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
Despite our brief reconciliation, my heart lodges in my throat as the priest turns to my stepfather. I squeeze my eyes shut, dreading what Tremaine’s response will be.
I should have left Scinder House years ago, when it became clear that my conditions would never improve. I stayed out of love, out fear, out of devotion to a family that had long since ceased to exist.
I ran away from Alistair when I should have stayed with him. Because I didn’t trust a stranger. I should have. But mostly, I didn’t trust myself to be worthy of goodness or kindness. Or love.
But I do now. I gave him an impossible task, yet he achieved most of it, in record time.
“Does the father grant his permission for this union?”
“I do not object,” says Tremaine, clearly and loudly.
Alistair’s crushing grip eases instantly. He darts a glance at me. I stare straight ahead as the priest asks him the same question—Do you take this woman to be your wife?Alistair answers yes without hesitation.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur.
“I pronounce you, Prince Alistair, and you, Princess Elinor, man and wife by the power of the fae. May what they have wrought this day never be sundered. You may kiss the bride.”
“I told you, Sunshine.” The corner of his mouth curls up wryly. “You can try to run away, but there is no escaping me. You’re mine now.”
He lowers his lips to mine.
It’s a kiss as perfect as anyone could hope. Soft but firm. Possessive and hungry, yet appropriately chaste considering our audience. My heart soars as we turn to face the crowd and music swells.
Habitual awareness of my stepfather causes me to find Tremaine’s location from the periphery of my vision. He stands back, watching Drucilla and Layton, and then Stacia and Othmar, make their way down the aisle to great applause.
Once they’re out of sight, he shifts slightly. Shrinks. Shortens. Melts into another person entirely.
Maxine. I blink in shock. My heart pounds hard enough to shatter itself against my ribs. Breaking at this betrayal.
“You tricked me,” I hiss at my husband of three minutes. Turning my head slightly, I read the regret etched in his face. Strain crinkles the corners of his eyes, his mouth curving downward at either corner.
“Elinor, I can explain,” he mutters. “Damned witch was supposed to stay through the entire wedding.”
