Page 7 of Bride of the Black Dragon
I push the images and ideas out of my head. I don’t want to think about tomorrow… about getting married and what follows after. I just want to rest so I can get through the wedding ceremony.
I’ll worry about the wedding night afterwards.
4
ELAINA
The ceremony passes in a blur.
Prince Dorian and I stand side-by-side in the Royal Chapel, sun shining through its stained-glass windows, and the elderly priest presiding wears a tall blue hat sewn with golden symbols.
Dorian looks splendid in his jeweled waistcoat and jacket, and his cravat is an elegant lace cloud beneath his chin. To his right, his best friend Henri acts as his best man. To be honest, the two of them seem more interested in whispering to each other than attending to what the old priest is saying in his slow, laborious way.
I am swimming in my dress—yes, it fits, despite the two pastries of the night before. It looks like an enormous edible confection—made of layer upon layer of ruffled pink organza, cinched at the waist and cut to show my shoulders—which are the only part of me that doesn’t get overheated in the stuffy chapel. By the end of the vows—where I swear to obey Dorian and everyone in his lineage and to do my best to give the Royal family strong heirs—I feel almost ready to faint. If only the dress wasn’t so hot…and the chapel so crowded and close!
I do manage to get through the entire ceremony…or so I thought. But then it turns out there’s a musical call and response section, which nobody warned me about!
At this point, for some reason, Henri steps back and Xaren—who’s been standing behind us with the King and Queen this whole time—steps forward. He stands to Dorian’s left, which means he’s right beside me—so close I can smell his sharp, spicy scent—a nice change from the cloying cologne that his brother is wearing.
I don’t have a bad voice, but I’ve never heard this music before. I have to sing back what the old priest sings to me in his cracked and quavering voice. The words aren’t even in a language I understand, either—I just have to do my best to quickly memorize what the priest sang and sing it back to him.
Dorian and Xaren have to sing responses as well. The Crown Prince has a weak tenor and he doesn’t seem very interested in what he’s singing. Xaren, however, has a deep, chocolatey baritone which is surprisingly tuneful. I look at him from the corner of my eye as he sings his responses. His arm is pressed against mine and I can feel his deep tones vibrating my body.
Or maybe I’m just imagining that. I feel like I’m running out of air—I wish my dress wasn’t so tight! I can’t get a deep enough breath to sing all the words the priest is giving me and it’s getting so hot in here as the sun climbs higher and the multicolored shafts of sunlight beat down through the stained-glass windows.
At last, it seems to be coming to an end. The priest sings one more thing to me…but it ends on a long, high note. I have a rather low voice for a woman, but I do my best. Clutching the bouquet of Love Lilies I was given to hold, I force my voice into the upper register. But as I try to hold the note—urged on by the hand signals the priest is helpfully giving me—I feel myself getting light-headed. It’s too hot in here and I have no air in my lungs, I can’t breathe…can’t breathe…
“Look out!” I hear the Queen say sharply. “The little fool is fainting!”
“Catch her, Dorian!” the King exclaims. “Catch your bride!”
But it isn’t the Crown Prince who stops my fall. Before I can hit my head on the unforgiving marble floor, long arms wrap around me and I’m being lifted and cradled against a broad chest.
“You all right, little dove?” A concerned face peers down into mine. It’s Xaren, I realize—he’s holding me in the middle of the crowded chapel and looking at me like I matter more than all this pomp and circumstance—which is rather nice.
“I’m…having a hard time…breathing,” I whisper. “So…so hot.”
“We can fix that.” He looks up and raises his voice commandingly. “Water—someone bring me water now! And move back—all of you. The Princess needs air!”
To my surprise, everyone obeys him. Even the King and Queen step back, though I can see they’re not happy about it. A servant rushes up with a crystal cup filled with cool water and helps me drink as the Dark Prince supports me.
The water refreshes me—especially after Xaren dips his fingertips in what’s left at the bottom of the cup and flicks it over my face. The cool droplets feel wonderful against my flushed skin and I find myself reviving.
“You’re looking a bit better now.” Xaren gives me an appraising look. “Are you ready to go on? Think you can manage the rest of the ceremony?”
“How…” I lick my lips. “How much longer is it?”
A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth.
“Not long. We’ve done the talking and the singing. Now we just have to stand still while the priest blesses our union.”
I wonder in passing why he said “our”—it seems strange. But then, everything here at the Citadel is strange. And he probably just misspoke.
“I think I can manage,” I tell him. “Thank you for catching me.”
“Well, Dorian wasn’t going to do it. Useless bastard,” he growls. “Come on—let’s get you on your feet.”
He sets me down carefully and winds one long arm around my waist. Dorian—who has been off to one side whispering with Henri—comes forward to stand before the priest again and the ceremony resumes.
