“Of course,” Elpis murmured.

“So obviously, that will not change,” Mercy decreed.

“As, I will note, I did not suggest it should. I simply suggested, since this will be an affair of some pageantry, which is not the Firenz way, perhaps some rose or cedar incense could be burned, a tribute to The Grace. Either scent most assuredly reminding Farah of home.”

“We will have roses,” Mercy pointed out, and they would, tens of thousands of them. “Won’t that do?”

“Roses are not considered a tribute to our gods,” Elpis explained. “But a gift from them.”

Mercy fought sniffing her disapproval.

“I suggest you reconsider her gown, Your Grace,” Melisse suggested…again.

“That would be highly inappropriate,” Mercy retorted…again.

“Farah is very beautiful, and many hues I’m sure suit her,” Melisse stated. “But I would think something more robust, and Firenz, like wine or currant, would not only be reminiscent of home, but of her king. Not to mention, it would be more suitable for her coloring.”

“Every future queen of Wodell wears pale green,” Mercy returned.

“All right then, as green is the color of the royal standard, then perhaps something deeper, say juniper,” Melisse proposed. “Or something richer, for instance, emerald or jade.”

“The tradition of royal weddings is centuries old,” Mercy replied. “Not to mention,” she went on acidly, “the gown has been weeks in the making and still is not finished. We cannot start a new one now. There’s not enough time.”

And, not to mention, there wasn’t enough money.

Her husband was going to announce an increase on taxes as it was in order to pay for the flowers, and the bunting, the ribbons, the catering, the wine, etcetera.

The cake that was being made as an exact replica of Birchlire Castle cost nearly as much as the gown, the bodice of which was crusted with seed pearls, for bloody sakes.

Fortunately, the common folk enjoyed the pomp of a royal wedding, for somehow, it did not occur to them that they paid for it.

Indeed, the city was teeming with excitement, something that shocked Mercy, for they knew their new princess would be Firenz.

And more shocking, as the days went on, this excitement seemed to grow exponentially.

She could not imagine why.

Though she was glad it was, for that would soften the blow of tax increases.

Elpis drew a sharp, audible breath through her nose, gaining Mercy’s attention, and Mercy watched her look out the window, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight, her face composed, but Mercy still knew she was seething.

She did not care.

How True could have arranged this rubbish was beyond her.

“Then the wedding portrait,” Melisse pressed doggedly. “They could sit for it at one of Prince True’s favorite spots in the gardens. That’s in nature, as is Firenz tradition.”

Was she mad?