Page 47 of Frost and Death
Her steady heartbeat in tandem with her sweet, spiced scent soothes me as the panic quiets in my head.
“They are watching you from above, my dear friend,” Betina soothes. “I loved your sister and parents as much as anyone did, and I know they are beyond proud of everything you’ve accomplished here. You have been given a kingdom and magic none of your ancestors have had. And you’re doing the best you can regardless, still getting out of bed every morning.”
I sniff, always finding it hard to believe someone truly means that. Every time anyone says something encouraging, it sounds like pity or is just a reminder of how terrible a queen I am.
“But I am unable to remove my magic or melt the ice. I am still hurting my kingdom. It is no wonder everyone hates me. My parents would share the people’s sentiments, too.”
She shakes me. “Stop. You are doing everything in your power to accommodate your kingdom. Those who are closest to you know that. Those who are not close to you can fuck right off. Let them try to harness magic when they find themselves alone after learning their last family member is dead. You are growing into your role with each new day, and I know the same will happen with your magic. It’s going to get better.”
Betina’s brown eyes stare into mine with deep intensity. Compassion oozes from her, and I grimace, uncomfortable with where this has escalated.
“It’s your wedding day, Tove. Be happy.”
I stare out my window at the sun beaming through a few clouds and shining into my room. My lungs expand as my sobs slow, allowing my breathing to regulate.
“I know they are watching over me,” I whisper softly. “I just wish they were here.”
Confessing my grief is always difficult, but Betina takes it in stride, holding my hand and squeezing.
I meet her fierce gaze.
“I know, Tove. I know. But we have done everything together to honor their memory for your special day. You look beautiful, and you will be even more beautiful when you bring a smile to your face. I doubt Niko wants to see his future bride sad,” she soothes.
“I don’t think anyone wants to see me sad.”
Betina snorts and squeezes my hand as we face my vanity.
She reaches for my mother’s small mirror, her violet tulle gown dragging lightly on the floor. Her bell sleeves are sheer with tight cuff links threaded with silver. The bodiceenhances her curves, and the full skirt draped with purples and periwinkles.
It’s truly a masterpiece, and I’m half tempted to ask her if I can wear it.
She extends the mirror to me, and I tuck it in my pocket while I take in my appearance for the first time.
Pure white lacework lines the bodice, with a rounded neckline around the chest and bound by buttons on the side. The gown descends outward from the waist, allowing the layers of varying shades of pale blue to glimmer in the lining, creating an illusion for those viewing it near and far.
“It is exquisite,” I breathe out, my love of fashion impressed by my wedding gown’s beauty.
“It’s meant for you.”
Betina’s voice wobbles thick with emotion.
I nod slowly, unable to remove my eyes from the gown itself. I know my own features and have no desire to ruin this moment gazing upon them.
If I do, I might start crying again.
I graze the fabric of my dress delicately, seeking to commit this image to my memory. My nerves fight between staying in this room and walking down the aisle.
Even when Betina gathers my train and tulle cape, anxiety cripples my heart in a teetering, taunting melody.
I clench my mother’s mirror, holding it for support, wishing Runa were beside me and my father was here to walk me down the aisle.
I brace myself against the tremors rippling through me as we exit my bedchamber. The arched hallways reach a shorter intersection, showing the pathway down the stairs.
Betina remains behind me, encouraging me onward, anxiety growing with each step as reality sets in.
I am getting married.
I peer over my shoulder at my lady-in-waiting.
