Page 33 of Royally Hacked Belle & Flame
“Ooh, okay!” Dessa jumps up, clapping her hands together. “That’s settled then. Alix, come on, I’ll help you get ready.”
I smile back and start to rise, then my stomach sinks. “No, wait. Nerine still has my dress, and honestly I don’t know how willing she’ll be to give it back. That woman seems as obsessed with her sewing as Mrs. Hilde was with her baking. I’m afraid if I wrinkle the dress again she’ll turn into another one of those Krampus-looking nightmares.”
Everyone laughs, but I’m not entirely joking. Maybe we should double check there aren’t more of those monstrous old ladies wandering around…after we get back from our honeymoon, that is.
“You could always wear my dress, Alixandrea,” my mom says loftily.
I look over at her. “Mom…even if I wanted to, it’s not here.”
“Actually, it is.”
I stare at her, bemused, until finally it clicks. “You packed the dress to bring to ‘Ireland,’ didn’t you?”
Mom doesn’t look the least bit abashed. “I might not have if I’d known I’d be shoved in a lake. You’re lucky I always triple wrap everything in space-saver bags when I travel or it would have been ruined.”
“Not to sway your decision, Ali,” Nana pipes up, “But am I to understand you have to grant any wish in the week leading up to your wedding?”
“Yeah, but we only had to grant a thousand and we just finished that today.”
“Actually,” Daemon begins slowly. “We had 998 wishes granted this morning, Peaches. Rescuing the kids made 999, but there’s still one left.”
My eyes widen and I try to think back to all the other wishes we granted this week…he’s right.
I turn to my mom. “Is this really important to you?”
She nods once. “I clearly don’t know anything about your life, Alixandrea—I mean, Alix—” she corrects herself, using my preferred name for the first time in living memory. “I just want to be included.”
My heart melts just a little. “Okay, then let’s do it.”
My mom beams.
Daemon and I get married at midnight in the rose garden behind our house.
Aurelia bends the weather just slightly to keep the snow from piling up on us and our guests. Even though I’d assumed that only our closest friends and family would witness our impromptu wedding, we actually have a far larger audience.
The garden fills with whispers and shuffling feet as the now familiar faces of all the soldiers, servants, and townspeople who we’ve been granting wishes for all week crowd into the garden dressed in heavy coats thrown hastily over nightclothes.
Standing in front of the pond, moonlight catches on the brass buttons of Kastian’s, Fox’s, and Jett’s matching navy jackets, their shoulders straight as they flank Daemon. The crowd hushes as Aurelia and Dessa walk toward them down the makeshift aisle, bunches of roses in their hands, their golden dresses shimmering with each step.
My nana’s fingers tremble slightly against my right arm, my mother’s grip firm on my left as we step forward. The white lace of Mom’s dress catches on the frozen rosebushes, tiny crystals of ice clinging to the hem with each step.
Behind me, Gwen whispers “Careful!” to Archer as they guide the other children holding my train off the ground.
I look up and lock eyes with Daemon. His pupils dilate in the moonlight, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile that still makes my heart stutter.
When we finally reach the front of the crowd, my mom’s fingers slip away from my arm, and Nana gives me one last, surreptitious squeeze before releasing me.
Daemon catches my hand immediately—like he’s been waiting to do it all his life—and grins down at me with a look that’s so unguarded, so him, that for a second the crowd’s whispers fade to silence and it’s as if we’re all alone.
The fae priest is not what I expected. He’s shorter than Aurelia and wears a robe the color of fresh moss with a dusting of snow on the shoulders. His eyes are sharp but his smile is enormous and takes up most of his face when he greets us. He holds a golden rope in his hands, the ends knotted with little blue and white beads that glitter like frost, and gestures for Daemon and I to clasp our hands together.
“Friends, citizens, and honored guests,” he begins, his voice somehow both musical and gravelly. “We gather under the old moon and the new snow to witness the joining of these two souls.”
Somebody—probably Jett—whistles. I can’t help but grin.
The priest gestures again and Daemon and I step closer, our hands now firmly joined. The priest begins winding the rope around our wrists, the gold and beads cold and heavy against my skin. Each loop is punctuated with a question: “Do you come here freely?”
“Yes.”
