The Bark Parlor, Formal Receiving Rooms, First Floor, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket

WODELL

“Well, if that wouldn’t be appropriate, I really can’t say.”

Queen Elpis was in a snit, Mercy saw.

But really, incense?

In a temple?

Revolting.

“There must be something else that would make this more…homely to Farah,” she remarked, ignoring their other companion in the room, Melisse, studying her with disapproving eyes.

But…please.

Censure from a Nadirii?

The woman resided in a realm where no men were allowed. There was a reason for that, of course, but Nadirii lived in a culture defined by bias. She could hardly cast judgement against Mercy wishing to abide by Dellish traditions at a bloody royal wedding, for the gods’ sakes.

“As I explained,” Elpis replied impatiently, “most Firenz wedding ceremonies take place in nature. A favorite spot of the couple, or of the bride, or the groom. The bride chooses colors she enjoys and decorates in those as she sees fit. A priest or priestess presides, the one closest to the bride, or the couple. Though normally, it is a priest or priestess of The Grace.”

“A priest of Wohden will reside over True’s nuptials,” Mercy stated implacably. “A future king of Wodell is married under the eyes of our god of power.”

“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.