Daphne
stands in her bedroom, dressed in a wedding gown—this one much plainer than the two she’s had before, sent over just minutes ago by Mrs. Nattermore, the dressmaker. Although the style may be plain, done in velvet so dark green it’s nearly black, with a wide neck that shows her shoulders and no other embroidery or adornment, finds that it suits her. The bodice is fitted to her hips before belling out, though without any petticoats or cages, the skirt, too, hews close to her figure. Her last two wedding gowns were a blend of Frivian and Bessemian styles, but this one is purely Frivian.
should hate that, but she doesn’t. As she looks in the mirror, twisting her body back and forth to see every angle, she decides she likes it. Not that it matters—she can’t quite bring herself to believe that this wedding will get any further than the last. Lord Panlington will have something up his sleeve, some reason for moving the wedding to tonight. Perhaps he intends it to be a distraction, or there is someone else he needs to remove. Whatever his motives are, knows this will be another Wedding That Wasn’t. At least she’ll look good during it.
Or perhaps there is no distraction. Perhaps Lord Panlington took what said earlier to heart, and he intends to use her newfound popularity in Friv to his advantage. Perhaps this wedding actually will go through after all.
can’t decide if that prospect thrills her or terrifies her. Marrying Bairre is one thing, but playing into what her mother wants is another matter entirely.
She dismissed her maids after they finished dressing her hair, piling her black waves on her head in a simple style and settling an emerald tiara on top. Now she’s alone, staring at her reflection and thinking about who she was when she first set foot in Friv, ready to marry another prince, or even who she was the last time she stood in this room in a wedding gown, prepared to do her duty even as news of Sophronia’s death gnawed at her. The girl in the mirror now is a stranger to those past versions of herself.
A knock interrupts her thoughts and she calls for whoever is there to come in, mildly surprised when the door opens and Violie steps into the room, closing the door behind her.
Now that she’s out of the plain wool dresses she wore while masquerading as a servant, she looks all the more like Sophronia. The elegant pale blue ermine-trimmed gown even looks like something Sophronia might have picked out herself.
knows she should greet her by that name now, in case the guards waiting on the other side of the door overhear, but it tastes foul in her mouth. She feels Violie watching her as she opens her mouth, then closes it again.
“My mother and aunts used to call me Ace when I was younger,” she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Perhaps we could say that it’s a nickname you and Beatriz called her. That way, it’s easier for you, and I don’t need to learn to respond to yet another name.”
nods slowly. This was her idea, and it worked, but it still twists her stomach that this near stranger has assumed her sister’s identity. But she knows that if Sophronia were here, she would have allowed it. Stars, she would have insisted upon it.
“Ace, then,” she says. “Shouldn’t you be with everyone else in the chapel?”
If Violie is hurt by the dismissal, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she reaches into the pocket of her gown and pulls out a vial of stardust. “I stole it from the lining of your cloak, along with all the other poisons,” she says.
laughs. “If I’d made my mind up about killing Leopold—”
“I’m sure you would have found a way,” Violie says. “But I didn’t want to make it any easier for you.” She steps forward, pressing the stardust into ’s hands. “I thought you might like to speak to Beatriz.”
It isn’t that hasn’t considered reaching out to her sister before. Even earlier today, she considered asking Bairre for stardust, or even Cliona, but the truth is she doesn’t know what to say to Beatriz, and she’s more than a little afraid of what Beatriz might have to say back to her. She’s afraid it will be no less than she deserves.
When doesn’t close her hand around the stardust, Violie frowns, her eyes searching ’s.
“Someone needs to inform her about everything happening here, and I’m not keen on risking your mother intercepting a letter. I can try to reach out to her myself if you tell me what I need to do—”
“No,” interrupts, finally taking hold of the stardust. “No, I’ll do it myself.”
Sophronia told her to be brave, after all, and that bravery isn’t needed only in dealing with the empress but in dealing with Beatriz as well.
“You should go down to the chapel and tell everyone I’ll be along soon.”
Violie nods. For a moment, she seems to waver as to whether or not she should curtsy, but finally she just turns and walks out the door. can hear the low murmur of her speaking with the guards before the sound of her footsteps fades away.
sits down on the edge of her bed and stares at the vial in her hands. She can’t take long—they’re waiting for her to begin the wedding—so she doesn’t let herself think too much before opening the vial and spreading the stardust over the back of her hand.
“I wish I could speak to Princess Beatriz Soluné.”
By now, has done this enough that she knows what to expect, but she can’t resist the deep exhale she lets out as soon as she feels Beatriz’s presence in her mind.
“?” Beatriz says. “Is that you? I don’t think anyone else in the world sighs like that.”
“What does that mean?” responds, irritation and relief going to war inside her. “I sigh like a normal person.”
For a moment, there is only silence, then Beatriz laughs and can’t help but join in.
“You’re safe?” Beatriz asks.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.” She pauses. “On my way out of Bessemia now.”
processes this even as she hears what her sister is and isn’t saying. What she herself is holding back. “On Mother’s orders?” she asks.
Another pause. Even like this, can hear Beatriz weighing whether or not she can trust her. understands the hesitation, but it stings all the same.
“No,” Beatriz says finally. “Decidedly not on Mother’s orders, . She wanted to send me back to Cellaria.”
“They’ll kill you if you go back there,” says withoutthinking. When Beatriz is silent in response, takes a breath. “But then, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
Beatriz lets out a shaky laugh. “Yes, that’s the point. We’re on our way to you instead.”
“Thank the stars for that,” says. Soon, she’ll see her sister in person again, she’ll get to hold Beatriz in her arms and hear their hearts beat together as one. It won’t be the same, without Sophronia, but it will be as close as they can get now.
“You’ve had a change of heart,” Beatriz says. “Did Violie get through to you?”
“Violie,” confirms. “And Leopold. And Sophronia. I’ll tell you more about that when you’re here, but you should have been enough, Beatriz. You and Sophie before. It should have been enough and I’m sorry it wasn’t.”
Beatriz doesn’t speak for a moment and fears the connection has broken, but then she hears Beatriz again.
“I don’t think I’d have believed you, either,” she says finally.
“There’s one thing you should know before you arrive,” says before quickly explaining the ordeal with Violie, now pretending to be Sophronia.
“Mother won’t like that,” Beatriz says with a laugh.
“No, I don’t imagine she will,” says. “I don’t love it myself, if I’m being honest.”
“Sophie would have, though,” Beatriz says, and knows she’s right. “Where are you now?”
glances in the mirror, at the image of herself in her wedding gown sitting on her bed.
“About to attend my wedding,” she tells Beatriz, leaving out the details of the failed wedding before, her lingering doubt that this one will go any better.
But what will the rebels have to gain by setting it up now, only to halt it once more?
doesn’t have an answer to that.
“Well, that should make Mother happy,” Beatriz says.
“Perhaps, but only for a moment,” replies. Only until she discovers that has aligned herself with the rebellion against her.
“I look forward to hearing more about that,” Beatriz says. “We’ll be in Friv in a few days.”
There is so much more to say, but knows the connection between them is already fading.
“I’ll see you soon, then,” tells her. “I love you all the way to the stars, Triz.”
“I love you all the way to the stars, Daph.”
—
has spent her entire life imagining her wedding—it is, after all, what she has been raised for above all else. But she never imagined it happening like this: near midnight, in an undecorated castle chapel with a scant fifty people gathered, in a plain Frivian gown.
Of course, the wedding still might not actually happen, she reminds herself, but she can’t think of a compelling reason for Lord Panlington to insist on setting it up tonight if he means to ruin it again.
Perhaps it’s to do with Aurelia, she thinks as she eyes the empyrea standing at the front of the chapel with Bairre. Perhaps Cliona was right and Aurelia wasn’t kidnapping the princes on his orders after all. Perhaps she’ll prove to be the shortest-serving royal empyrea in history. hopes not—she might not trust Aurelia, but she is Bairre’s mother, and doesn’t want to see him lose anyone else.
Her eyes move to Violie and Leopold where they sit together in one of the pews, not touching but shoulder to shoulder. Though knows Lord Panlington has no reason to kill them, she still can’t forget the bomb going off at her last wedding, Fergal’s dead body so close to her, his lifeless eyes. She can’t quell the fear that it will happen again now.
reaches Bairre and they join hands. When she meets his gaze, he gives her a small smile that she tries to return, but her stomach is tied in knots. What if something happens? What if nothing does?
“Prince Bairre, what do you ask of the stars?” Aurelia says, interrupting ’s thoughts.
Bairre clears his throat. “I ask the stars to grant us wisdom,” he says.
“And Princess , what do you ask of the stars?” she says.
had given up hope that they would ever get here, and she finds herself fumbling. She settles on the wish her mother told her to make what feels like a lifetime ago.
“I wish the stars to grant us prosperity,” she says, the words not quite feeling like her own.
Still, nothing happens, and is even more unnerved. She barely feels Aurelia take hold of her and Bairre’s joined hands, lifting them up toward the glass ceiling that lets the stars shine down on them.
“Stars, bless this couple—Princess Therese Soluné and Prince Bairre Deasún—with wisdom and prosperity. In your name, I hereby pronounce them husband and wife, until you choose to call them home.”
barely hears the cheers of the guests, barely notices Aurelia’s eyes lingering on her with some unnameable emotion. Dimly, she feels Bairre’s hand squeezing hers, hears him saying her name softly. Nothing went wrong, she thinks, no disaster struck, there was no ulterior motive for the ceremony after all.
She and Bairre are actually truly married.