Page 48 of Frost and Death
“Betina? Do you—do you think this is right?” Fear and doubt are circling my mind, trying to convince me to run in the opposite direction. “I—I don’t know if—”
“Tove, it’s going to be alright. Remember what I said earlier.” She eases my concerns.
I rub my hands together, fidgeting with my cuticles as we continue.
Dread still sinks deep into my gut as we pass portraits of my ancestors.
As we inch closer to the ballroom, I come to a stop in front of the painting of my family. Gazing at it, I take in the stoic gaze of my father’s hazel eyes and his graying hair.
My mother’s silver locks are up, similar to mine, as she also wears the look of stoicism.
Runa and I, in our younger years, haven’t seen the toll royalty would take, and we plaster huge grins on our faces.
I walk up to the portrait, touching each face, wishing they could see everything now.
I wonder what theyreallythink of me.
Betina is quiet, and I am grateful for her silent support as I fight through my grief.
I pray nothing comes of today. I haven’t had a magic scare since the celebrations, and I can only hope it stays that way.
I want my parents to be proud of me for not fuckingonething up.
Lingering on Runa, my entire body cracks from missing her.
Dropping my head, I veer away from my mourning, approaching the doors to the ballroom.
I tilt my head in surprise when I catch Bernie and his daughter, Princess Vivienne, lingering at the entrance.
They turn, the king beaming and extending his arms for an embrace. “Queen Tove, you look absolutely beautiful!”
“Thank you, Bernie. Not as beautiful as your daughter, though,” I admit, smiling in his embrace.
Vivienne bows her head in thanks as her father speaks, “You both are beautiful in my book.”
Betina lowers my train, fanning it out as she asks the King of Belmur, “Do you have her from here?”
I lift an eyebrow in confusion, Bernie’s features turning stoic.
“I have her from here,” he says.
Princess Vivienne and Betina curtsy to me, then bow to the King of Belmur before they enter the ballroom, smiling.
“What do you mean, Bernie?” I ask in confusion.
“Exactly as it sounds. I am going to walk you down the aisle,” he says, pride shining through his words.
My heart warms at the notion, but I lift my hands to reassure him. “Bernie, you don’t—”
He hushes me, squeezing my sides gently. “I knew your father was an honorable man, and he wouldn’t want you walking down the aisle alone. Now, are you ready, Your Majesty?”
I am caught off guard by the gesture. Unable to fight the emotion, I break softly as I embrace him again.
He wraps his large body around me, and he squeezes me twice, patting my back as my father would if he were here. “My dear Tove, all will be well.”
I sniff through the tears, wiping my eyes when we drift apart. I muster all the calm I can, patting mother’s mirror in my pocket as Bernie loops my arm in his and the staff attendants open the doors to the ballroom.
The heavy floral scent crashes against me as guests rise to the musicians playing Axidoria’s anthem. White roses weave through green shrubbery plastered through the entire room. Silk drapes across the ceiling with flowers and foliage, spreading along the walls, over the ends of each bench, and wrapping around every pillar.
