Sprites were resting on the railing in front of the gnomes who sat in front of the fairies who sat in front of people, behind whom floated pixies, this on his left side at the pews flanking the aisle.

Aramus, Ha-Lah, Elena, Cassius, Mars, Silence, her parents, Frey, Seoafin, Apollo, Madeleine, Elpis and Gallienus as well as his parents sat in the pews to his right.

There were pompom chrysanthemums of cream and bronze and gold bunched with autumn leaves in remarkable arrangements everywhere, including at the tips of bunting in hues of marigold, amber and juniper that lined the fronts of the pews.

And when you entered the temple, the outer sanctum smelled of cedar from the incense burning, while the inner smelled of rose.

It was not, as he feared, ostentatious.

Though it was abundant.

It was also celebratory and beautiful.

But nothing compared to her.

Nothing.

She was nervous, he could see it.

But with every step she took to him. Every second she gazed at his face as she came closer.

That disappeared.

When Mars arrived with her at the altar, True did not look to her protector to hear his message, as tradition dictated.

He said to Farah, “I didn’t think you could be more beautiful, but every day, you prove me wrong.”

Her smile lit up the vast space.

“I think that’s enough said,” Mars remarked in a low voice, and True tore his eyes from his bride to look to his friend. “Except this,” he went on. “There is not a man in any realm I would offer her to without some sense of unease.”

A king then dipped his chin to a prince and finished.

“Except you. Be happy.”

True accepted this honor with a silent nod.

Mars turned to Farah to see her beaming up at him.

He bent to kiss her cheek then put her hand in True’s proffered elbow.

That done, Mars walked away to join his wife in the pews.

“Is this really finally happening?” she asked.

“It is, my love.”

“It’s like a dream.”

She was not wrong.

His mother had given them a beautiful wedding gift.

So beautiful, it was like a dream.

He wrapped his free hand around her fingers at his elbow.

“Mercy had the most beautiful gown made for me,” she shared.

He felt his lips quirk. “I did not miss that.”

“Apparently, this color is not tradition,” she told him.

“It isn’t.”

“But it very much suits me.”

“It does.”

“The incense, True, that was so kind. Remind me to thank her.”

He thought he might start laughing.

He did not.

He answered, “I will.”

“You look most handsome.”

His lips quirked again. “Thank you, darling.”

“Are you as nervous as me?” she queried.

“No,” he answered. “I’m impatient.”

She got his meaning and her eyes gleamed.

They heard a throat clear and both looked to the Wohden priest standing before them.