Chapter 43 The Royal Wedding
The Royal Wedding
The bells of St. Augustine’s Cathedral rang out across the capital in jubilant peals. Caledonia was celebrating a royal wedding, and more quietly, the beginning of a new era.
Inside the cathedral, carved stone, arched ceilings, the scent of roses and old incense clinging to centuries of ceremony, the air shimmered with anticipation.
Nobles, foreign dignitaries, minor celebrities, and a few well-positioned influencers filled the pews, whispering behind fans and smartphones.
Everything had been choreographed down to the second: the lighting, the camera angles, the order of arrival.
Royal tradition, polished for the modern age.
The bridal party began its procession. When Harper appeared, Sebastian’s breath caught for half a beat.
She caught Sebastian’s eye as she passed the front pew, and something passed between them: a flicker of shared humor, maybe disbelief, or just the unspoken thrill of surviving this long. He gave the barest nod. She pressed her lips together, barely stifling a grin.
They were careful. Distant but not cold. Friendly, but not familiar. As promised.
Then came the bride.
Emilia Carter entered on her father’s arm, radiant in ivory lace. Her train flowed behind her like a storybook ending come to life. She looked every bit a queen in waiting, but the way she locked eyes with Alexander was intimate and unscripted. The grandeur melted away; it was just the two of them.
Harper blinked back tears, no shame in them this time. For all her cynicism, she could recognize a real love story when she saw one.
As Emilia reached the altar, Alexander stepped forward, eyes shining.
He bowed his head to her father respectfully, then took Emilia’s hands, helping her up the few steps.
In that moment, the King wasn’t a king at all, just a man completely besotted with his bride.
A collective sigh fluttered through the church.
The ceremony passed in a haze of joy. Vows were exchanged: heartfelt promises of fidelity, partnership, and compassion that left more than a few dignitaries dabbing their eyes.
Sebastian handed over the rings at the right moment.
Harper passed Emilia her bouquet when needed, all the while shooting covert glances at Sebastian’s proud profile.
When the Archbishop finally pronounced them husband and wife, the cathedral erupted in applause.
Applause thundered like lace-gloved approval as Alexander and Emilia recessed through the aisle of cheering peers and flower petals, out into sunlight so brilliant it made everything feel slightly unreal. Then came the carriage.
Oh, the carriage. Gold-trimmed, horse-drawn, and so polished it could probably be seen from space, it was the exact kind of absurdity Emilia had once scoffed at on documentaries.
Now she was in it. Sitting beside her husband, husband!
, waving at screaming crowds while trying not to accidentally wave backwards or elbow a corgi.
“Still time to make a run for it,” Alexander said under his breath, his smile just crooked enough to make her stomach flip.
“And give up the chance to wear this tiara and eat tiny cake at the reception? Never.”
Alexander laughed. “I knew you were only marrying me for the catering.”
“And the historical symbolism,” Emilia added.
“Oh, of course. Very sexy, the symbolism,” Alexander replied.
The carriage pulled to a stop at the palace. A red carpet. More cameras. More cheers. But inside, the chaos receded, just a little, as they were ushered up the marble staircase toward the final tradition: the balcony. Emilia hesitated just before stepping out.
Alexander noticed. “Too much?”
“Too everything,” she murmured. “I mean, this is the part where we wave, and they all cheer, and then we… kiss.”
He reached for her hand. “We can skip it.”
Emilia gave him a look. “Skip the royal balcony kiss? Are you trying to start a revolution?” A pause.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, quietly.
She hesitated, then answered honestly. “A little. It’s not the kiss. It’s the knowing they’re all watching. Like it stops being ours.”
Alexander nodded slowly. Then leaned in, brushing his lips to her temple. “Then we’ll make it ours anyway.”
The balcony doors swung open. A roar rose from the crowd below, louder than anything yet.
Caledonia, it seemed, loved a good love story.
They stepped out into the sunlight together.
The flags waved harder. The cheers turned into a chant of their names: Alexander and Emilia, Alexander and Emilia, as though the country had written itself into the fairy tale too.
They waved and smiled feeling if they’d landed in a dream.
Meanwhile, just inside the palace, out of frame and very much not invited onto the balcony, the inner circle had gathered by the tall arched windows, affording an excellent view. The commentary, however, was less polished… unless you counted snark as national heritage.
Ethan popped a macaron into his mouth and leaned one shoulder against the marble. “Alright. Place your bets ladies and gentlemen. Does he go full smolder or keep it respectful for the grandmothers in the crowd?”
Harper didn’t look away from the glass, a small smile playing on her lips. “He’ll behave. He’s been trained for this since birth.”
Sebastian scoffed from beside her. “You say that like you haven’t seen him try to undo Emilia’s buttons with his eyes every single time they’re in the same room.”
Behind them, Tereza was dabbing her eyes, and Enzo had already turned it into a drinking game with Lukas: take a sip every time someone says destiny on live TV.
On the balcony, the couple moved closer, silhouetted in perfect lighting. Emilia tilted her face up. Alexander bent toward her like a man walking into the center of gravity. Sebastian whistled low under his breath. “Damn. That’s not just a kiss. That’s a profession of faith.”
“He’s looking at her like he’d start a constitutional crisis if she asked,” Harper muttered.
“They’re definitely going to sneak off during the reception,” Ethan said. “We’ll be mid-speech and someone will go, ‘Where’s the King?’ and I’ll have to pretend not to know.”
“They’re in love,” Harper said softly. Both men turned to look at her. She caught the glance, rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
Sebastian smirked. “Who said anything?”
“You were thinking it,” she accused, pointing at him.
“I mean, we were all thinking it,” Ethan offered, with a shrug. “It’s like watching the end of a Netflix season and knowing the next one’s going to have… palace babies and tax reform.”
Sebastian leaned against the wall, arms folded, his smile a little softer now. “Still. Not bad, for two people who started off arguing over an exhibit placard and accidentally modernized the monarchy in the process.”
They all watched as Alexander gently pulled back from the kiss, and Emilia leaned her forehead against his.
Harper exhaled. “That was romantic.”
“Exceptionally so,” Ethan agreed. “I almost expressed real emotions publicly.” Sebastian snorted.
“Wait, what is the protocol if you start crying at a royal kiss? Do I need to go somewhere? Is there a discreet room?”
“You’re both impossible,” Harper said, bumping Sebastian’s shoulder good-naturedly as the group began to disperse, the public duties of the newlyweds momentarily concluded. He just stood there for a moment longer, watching the crowd below.
“They really pulled it off,” he said, mostly to himself.
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder as they turned to follow the others. “Shocking, really. A functioning couple in this palace? We should all be concerned.”
“And take notes,” Harper added over her shoulder, a smile in her voice.
As the afternoon mellowed, guests transitioned from the initial public fervor to the more formal setting of the palace ballroom.
The lights dimmed as servers whisked away the last of the dessert plates, the soft clink of crystal and silver creating a gentle symphony of anticipation.
Champagne glasses were refilled with practiced efficiency, and gradually, a hush settled over the assembled crowd.
Someone tapped a spoon against their glass, a crystalline note that seemed to hang in the air, followed by a few polite coughs as hundreds of eyes turned toward the head table.
Sebastian rose first, his chair scraping softly against the marble floor. A collective intake of breath rippled through the room. Everyone knew Alexander’s half-brother by reputation, and they braced themselves accordingly.
“Good evening, esteemed guests, Your Majesties, nobility…” Sebastian’s voice carried easily across the ballroom, his tone warm but tinged with mischief. “…tabloid reporters hiding in the balcony.” Soft laughter bubbled up.
Alexander shot his brother a look that was equal parts amusement and warning.
“I’m here as Alexander’s brother,” Sebastian continued, hands resting casually on the back of his chair. “Technically his half-brother. Biologically, politically, and depending on how many times he’s ignored my calls this week, emotionally.”
The laughter grew. “Now, Alexander and I… didn’t grow up together.
Which probably explains why I’m still alive.
” Sebastian’s voice took on a more reflective tone, though his eyes still sparkled.
“But the first time I saw him, he had that same look on his face he has right now, like he’s calculating exactly how much trouble he’d get in for having me dragged out by security. ”
Genuine laughter broke the formal atmosphere. Alexander shook his head, but his smile was real affection.