"Why are they staring?" Electra asked faintly.

"They hardly believe it is you," Naldo replied in a low voice. "You have been transformed, Electra."

"No," she said doubtfully. But somehow she did feel prettier than ever before, except for that moment before Godiva's mirror when she had first tried on the dress. She knew it was illusion, but it was a precious one. She was thankful for the veil, which at least hid her freckles.

Then two trumpet swans stood in a garden of red, green, and bluebells. The swans lifted their flaring bells and played, and the flowers rang their colored bells in accompaniment. Electra realized that Queen Irene must have taken great care with those plants, so that they would be tuned just right. It was the "Wedding March." It was the loveliest music she could imagine, though it mocked her.

In fact this whole elaborate ceremony mocked her, because everyone knew it was only for a day. Yet Electra knew that it was her only possible chance for joy; if she wasted this, she would have nothing on the remaining days of her life. So she straightened her back, faced forward, and let Naldo guide her down the aisle while the beautiful music played.

There seemed to be a murmur of awe as she passed the various folk of the audience. They were probably admiring the dress. Electra was really thankful that Godiva had made it for her, because otherwise she would have been ashamed to be here at all. She had had no idea that it would be such a fancy occasion!

Then she saw Prince Dolph, standing at the far end of the aisle at the edge of the pavilion. He was in a suit and his hair was combed, both of which she knew made him really uncomfortable. He was taller than he had been. When they first met, they had been the same height, though she was two years older. But recently he had grown, and now he was taller than she was. He was also halfway handsome. He was facing her, and absolutely still; he seemed to be in a trance. Her heart went out to him; she knew he didn't want to marry her, even for a day, and she was sorry to be putting him through this. But it was the way it had to be.

Beyond the end of the aisle was a huge hypnogourd, angled so that its peephole faced away. Before it stood what appeared to be a big wooden horse.

That was the Xanthly representation of the Night Stallion, she realized—the head of the realm of bad dreams! She had encountered him briefly when she first woke from her long sleep after being kissed by the Prince, and she had been terrified. But now she was outside the gourd, where the Horse of Another Color did not have power, and she was more curious than afraid. What was he doing here?