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?

“The wedding portrait always depicts the future king seated in his throne in the throne room with his bride standing behind him, as is the place for any princess and definitely queen.”

Melisse sighed.

A servant walked in.

Mercy turned irate eyes to the man.

He blanched at her expression but bowed low, holding out a gleaming, intricately carved wooden tray.

“A message from His Grace, the Royal Highness, Prince True,” he announced.

She lifted her hand his way.

The man came forward, head still bowed, arm out proffering the tray.

She took the folded message on top, and he backed away, leaving the room.

She unfolded it and stared at the words.

True had sent a bird.

There was an established shorthand for use in such messages, as birds could not carry missives that were paragraphs long.

Even so, this message was unusually short.

Even for a bird.

Send a royal summons to the charmed folk immediately.

He meant, invite them to the wedding.

She clenched her teeth.

Now, her son would allow incense.

She was wondering, as she had since that scene at the breakfast table some days ago, where she had gone wrong with her boy.

He was sleeping with that harlot, perhaps that was it.

She had him drunk on her cunt.

“Perhaps we can resume these discussions tomorrow,” Melisse said, breaking into Mercy’s annoyed thoughts.

“I cannot tomorrow,” Elpis replied. “Silence has arranged for a docent at the library to take me on a tour of some murals my daughter-in-law particularly likes in the city.”

Well, bully for you, Mercy thought.