I can’t decide whether I feel silly or pretty in this dress. Despite the many choices Nurse Lydia had me try, my mother supplied a completely new dress for tonight’s ceremony. It’s not lacey or frilly. It’s sleek and presses against my skin so tightly that I wonder why a corset is necessary. I wish I could dress like Teddy; her skirts billow around her, and gold looks spectacular against her skin. I want flowers in my hair, too. But that would require Verdana being able to grow them. We have snow and mountains, and I don’t think my hair could hold either.

As I pass Lachlan on the dais, his green eyes gleam as he scrapes a barely perceptible bow. My mother seems more than pleased with how I look. Then, there is the Prince. His hair is smoothed to one side, but his curls are as rebellious as he is, and one by one, they’re already breaking loose from the oil that attempts to hold them down. He smooths a cowlick as I approach. I stand beside him, and his ice-blue eyes trace the frame of my face. This is my future home; he’s my future husband. I’ve always dreamed of weddings. The colors, the dresses, the flowers… the husband. He’s exactly what I pictured for the role.

The crowd is loud, and my stomach begins to roil, my head spins. They cheer, but some faces look less than satisfied with me. Women in green grimace in disgust as if I’m a rotting carcass in their midst. Men dressed in red eye me with evident discomfort. Even our nobles dressed in blue appear vexed. My throat closes in; I’ve failed to make them all happy.

He grabs my hand and squeezes.

I squeeze back.

Once the adults begin to drink, I remove the blasted veil, and the celebration grows fun. Those who earlier scowled at me are now an hour into dunking their faces in Baellilean wine; they’ve only smiled since. Even King Lester’s mood lightens with a drink, and he loudly laughs and jokes at his table. I hate that the nobles laugh when he isn’t funny. My father isn’t funny either, and people always laugh at his jokes.