'Please, your Highness,' and he held out his hand to her. She rested hers on it, seeming to weigh less than a feather.

'Your Majesty does me too much honour.'

The hooves of the grey horses crackled on the paving, the carriage-wheels whirred smoothly. They set off up the Kingsway, a company of Knights of the Body riding in tight formation around them, arms and armour glinting, each stride of the great thoroughfare lined with appreciative commoners, each door and window filled with smiling subjects. All there to cheer for their new king, and for the woman soon to be their queen.

Jezal knew he must look an utter idiot next to her. A clumsy, lowborn, ill-mannered oaf, who had not the slightest right to share her carriage, unless, perhaps, she was using him as a footrest. He had never in his life felt truly inferior before. He could scarcely believe that he was marrying this woman. Today. His hands were shaking. Positively shaking. Perhaps some heartfelt words might help them both relax.

'Terez…' She continued to wave imperiously to the crowds. 'I realise… that we do not know each other in the least, but… I would like to know you.' The slightest twitch of her mouth was the only sign that she had heard him. 'I know that this must have come as a terrible shock to you, just as it has to me. I hope, if there is anything I can do… to make it easier, that—'

'My father feels the interests of my country are best served by this marriage, and it is a daughter's place to obey. Those of us born to high station are long prepared to make sacrifices.'

Her perfect head turned smoothly on her perfect neck, and she smiled. A smile slightly forced, perhaps, but no less radiant for that. It was hard to believe that a face so smooth and flawless could be made of meat, like everybody else's. It seemed like porcelain, or polished stone. It was a constant, magical delight to see it move. He wondered if her lips were cool or warm. He would have liked very much to find out. She leaned close to him, and placed her hand gently on the back of his. Warm, undoubtedly warm, and soft, and very much made of flesh. 'You really should wave,' she murmured, her voice full of Styrian song.

'Er, yes,' he croaked, his mouth very dry, 'yes, of course.'

Glokta stood, Ardee beside him, and frowned at the doors of the Lords' Round. Beyond those towering gates, in the great circular hall, the ceremony was taking place. Oh, joyous, joyous day! High Justice Marovia's wise exhortations would be echoing from the gilded dome, the happy couple would be speaking their solemn vows with light hearts. Only the lucky few had been allowed within to bear witness. The rest of us must worship from afar. And quite a crowd had gathered to do just that. The wide Square of Marshals was choked with them. Glokta's ears were stuffed with their excited babbling. A sycophantic throng, all eager for their divine Majesties to emerge.