Let’s End Here
Let’s end here…
Scottie
Wedding Day
In the open landau carriage, Scottie O’Shay rolled through the gossamer dusk that hovered above the flora and fauna of the Highcrest Mountains. The wind gently stirred the green, leafy trees as if in celebration. As if they all knew.
The daughter of the queen had finally become a princess. Business was finished in Lauchtenland.
A throng of well-wishers lined the roadside, waving Princess Scottie banners bearing her new cypher: a scripted S beneath a ducal coronet. Their cheers rose like a jubilant tide.
As the carriage rounded the bend, the chapel appeared—Wenthelen Chapel—its glass and filigree spire catching and reflecting the late afternoon light.
Ever since she’d returned to Lauchtenland, ever since she’d accepted she was becoming—Michael’s wife, a future mother, a philanthropist, and yes, a princess—Scottie found her thoughts turned more and more toward Emmanuel, whose Eye had always been on her.
As she embarked on the biggest moment of her life, she believed it.
Kate, whom she now called Mom, had told her stories of Emmanuel’s appearing. Scottie had wondered if He’d shown Himself to her because Kate was queen. But Mom only laughed.
“Ernst at the Belly of the Beast has seen Him more than anyone, and he never speaks in full sentences.”
Scottie glanced over at Dad sitting straight-backed, dashing in his black-and-white vested tuxedo, top hat perched with pride, his whitish-gray beard neatly trimmed.
A sparkle moved through his eyes—one he hadn’t lost since she walked out of the dressing room at old Haskells Manor wearing her wedding gown.
“I never saw this coming”—Dad he murmured, leaning toward her—“when Kate left you in my arms.”
“It’s wonderful, and strange,” she said. “And I’m right where I belong, Dad. I know it through and through.”
“I believe you are,” Dad replied softly.
Even so, the grandeur of a royal wedding was nothing compared to her love for Michael.
She had never been that swoony girl who dreamed of her wedding.
Yet she’d surrendered to it all—the invitation and privilege of loving one man, and her God, all the days of her life.
At thirty-nine, she was a bit late to the party.
She had a lot of kisses and prayers awaiting her in the days ahead.
As the carriage slowed, rounding the curve toward the chapel, the cheering swelled into a single, harmonious note.
Scottie caught sight of Mrs. Johansdotter with her children and husband on the side lawn.
The woman smiled and dipped her head in greeting.
Scottie mirrored the action. She’d recently introduced Eloise Bright to Mrs. Johansdotter, who just so happened to be an expert seamstress.
What had once been meant for harm had turned into good.
As they arrived at the chapel, the Grandsire Triples Quarter Peals rang from the chapel bells. Dad stepped out of the carriage surrounded by Kongelig Herrer and offered his hand to Scottie.
Lining the polished slate path stood her family—Mom and Edric, her brothers and their wives—John and Gemma with Imani, Gus and Daffy—and woven among the Lauchtenland royals were the royals of Hearts Bend—Shug, Fritz, and Remi.
Inside, seventy-five guests waited—friends, family, a few dignitaries. They’d chosen a small gathering for the ceremony. Dad and Her Majesty would host a grand royal reception in Port Fressa in June.
Today was for Scottie and Michael, one dedicated to love, to healing, to hope, and to Wenthelen, the forgotten daughter of a king.
“Daddy…” Scottie touched his arm. “Thank you. For everything. For raising me. Protecting me. Letting me go, even when I didn’t see it was time. I thought you were preparing me to run O’Shay Shirts. But you were raising me for life. For this moment right now.”
“Come on now, you’ll make me blubber.”
When Dad kissed her forehead, she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she saw Emmanuel by the bench where she and Michael met Him last June. He wore His mountain coat and wide brim hat. Releasing Dad’s hand, Scottie stepped toward Him.
“You’re always with me, aren’t you?”
His eyes brightened with an ancient and perfect story of love. “Always.”
“Scottie?” Dad touched her shoulder.
“I’m coming.” She glanced back at Dad. “I just…needed to say hello to someone.”
When she looked again, Emmanuel was gone, but His presence remained.
Trumpets played as the chapel doors opened, and the waiting family became the procession ahead of her. The queen and Remi wiped their eyes while Dad and the king consort continually cleared their throats.
Guests were gathered in a buoyant atmosphere beneath the soaring spire. The room remained as it always had been, airy and open without benches, except for the simple table with bread and wine at the front, waiting.
Potted trees from The Haskells lined the walls. Flowers crowned the sides of the altar. A quintet began to play “I Will Extol You,” the wedding piece first heard at Princess Clemency’s vows.
For a moment, she rattled with nerves—a blend of excitement and anticipation.
Then she began the stroll down the aisle, her hand locked with Dad’s, through the familiar faces and foreign royalty toward the only one that mattered.
Michael. The nearer she got, the more love pumped through her veins.
He was breathtaking in his military dress uniform, his gaze pulling her forward like gravity itself.
“Then we shall proceed,” the archbishop declared. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”
“Her mother and I,” Dad said, settling her hands into Michaels. Dad looked at Mom. They shared one full, radiant smile.
“Her mother and I do.”
Michael squeezed her hands, blinking away tears. “Hey, I was hoping you’d show up.”
She smiled. “At least this time I didn’t have to climb the back of the mountain to be here.”
With a muted giddiness, they spoke their forever vows. They both said, “I do” and slipped a ring on each other’s finger.
“Let us consider,” the archbishop said, “that the best love stories begin with a wedding. Michael and Scottie are embarking on that journey today.” He turned to Michael. “You may kiss your bride.”
Taking her in his arms, he held her in a way that made her feel her own strength wasn’t needed. He kissed her slowly and tenderly. Not because of the archbishop’s command or as a show for the guests. But for her. A true kiss of love that sealed their vows.
She clung to his broad shoulders as he smiled against her lips, filling her with joy.
“I guess you’re my wife,” he said.
“I guess you’re my husband.” What a fabulous reality!
Around them, the chapel exploded with shouts and applause.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The archbishop lifted his voice above the noise. “Lords and ladies, and Royal Highnesses, may I present to you Sir Michael and Mrs. Cross.”
As the chapel once again erupted with cheers, a radiant, joyful light shot through the spire and spilled over the table with the bread and the wine, and over the newlywed couple.
* * *
Four months later
“The Chamber Office announced the Wenthelen Foundation, a joint effort between HRH Princess Scottie and Lord Midlands. The foundation, named in honor of King Magnus the Third’s daughter, will support businesses in the Midlands and vendors of the Midlands Faire. For more information visit
— Melissa Faris, Royal Reporter, the Morning Show
with Stone Brubaker
* * *
“Perrigwynn Palace—Her Royal Highness Princess Scottie, along with her husband Sir Michael, are very pleased to announce the Princess is expecting their first child in early spring. The families of the Blues, Crosses, and O’Shays celebrate the news.”
— The Chamber Office
* * *
“The medical team of Her Majesty, Queen Catherine the Second, have declared she is in full remission from GBS. Happy Holidays.”
— The News Leader
The End