Page 64 of To Steal the Sun

Her panic receded but only a little. Alma and Miriam were right. She couldn’t appear before the court and city in this state and claim to be their rightful queen.

She still hated being separated from Easton, but neither of them complained further as they were carried off in different directions. The servants didn’t need to be told not to take Gwen to her own room, instead easily locating unused rooms closer to the throne room for their purpose.

The women around Gwen came and went over the following hours, but Miriam was always with her. They prepared a bath, somehow producing fragrant soaps for both her body and hair and lotions for her to use after. And when they’d wrapped her in a soft robe, they began on her hair.

The woman who took the lead was one Gwen knew only a little, and she’d had no idea of the woman’s skill. It took a long time, but when she finished, Gwen’s hair was twisted into an elaborate pile on her head, full of curls and artful tumbles. Pearls and small flowers hid in the creases, and a tiara of silver and pearls nestled at the front. Gwen had never seen anything so elegant.

They helped her into the frothy layers of her wedding gown after that, and the gown was even more breathtaking than when Gwen had worn it for the final fittings. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t forget that Charlotte and Henry were out there somewhere, doing battle with the queen and her guards on Gwen’s behalf. But neither could she help losing herself in the moment, thinking of Easton, who was somewhere nearby being helped into the wedding outfit originally intended for Henry. Was someone desperately making last minute adjustments, perhaps sewing it while he modeled it for them? She had to stifle a laugh at the idea of poor Easton forced to stand still for hours or risk being poked with a needle.

She had thought the afternoon would drag, her worry making the hours interminable, but instead they passed shockingly quickly. When Alma appeared to say it was time, Gwen started and flew to her feet.

“What do you mean? It can’t be!” She looked out the window and realized the sun was lowering toward the horizon after all. “Did any guests arrive? Did they still come?”

Alma grinned with satisfaction. “We requisitioned those two rebels dressed as guards and added a few of our own to their number. We’ve had guards escorting guests from the edge of the palace grounds for the last hour. It looks like most of the courtiers had fled to their city homes—even they could tell something strange was going on in the palace—but none of them dared miss the wedding. The seats are full.”

Gwen drew a long breath, fear fluttering through her. But it was balanced by a sense of certainty. This was the role she had been born for, the one she was supposed to fill. Whatever happened next, she was doing the right thing.

She turned to Alma and nodded, face serious. But Alma just gazed at her before smiling in an almost motherly way. “You look beautiful, Your Majesty.”

Tears welled again, and Gwen quickly blinked them away. “Thank you, Alma. Thank you for everything. Your kindness meant everything to me in those lonely years after Easton’s banishment.”

Alma gave her another, sadder smile. “I always felt sorry for you, Princess Gwen. Some of the others thought it was foolish since you were the princess, but at least the queen didn’t keep any of us close by her side day after day.”

Gwen swallowed and nodded. “Just so you know, she isn’t my mother. She isn’t even my stepmother. She’s no relation of mine in any way, just a usurper. And it’s time for her to go.”

Alma held out her arm. “In that case…”

Gwen took it, allowing Alma to lead her out of the room, Miriam coming behind to fix her train. She would have liked Charlotte beside her, but she knew she was working out of sight to clear the way for Gwen and Easton’s moment. And it felt fitting, somehow, that it was just the three of them.

When they reached the door of the throne room, she heard the gentle swell of music from inside as the doors ponderously opened. She gasped at the sight before her.

Rows and rows of white seats ran down both sides of a long velvet carpet. Greenery and the first of the spring flowers had been woven into the chairs closest to the aisle as well as around the columns that lined the room. Gauzy white material, like the top layer of her dress, hung from the ceiling in graceful folds, and at the end of the aisle stood Easton. His messy brown curls had been tamed for once, a golden circlet holding them in place, but his eyes were the same as ever as they stared back at her, blazing with love.

“Ready?” Alma asked softly, and Gwen nodded, unable to speak.

A rustle of movement filled the large room as Gwen stepped in on Alma’s arm. She heard the faint murmur of query and alarm—presumably coming from the loyal courtiers in attendance. They had been expecting her to enter on the arm of Queen Celandine, not a woman most of them wouldn’t recognize.

But Count Oswin himself—a noble who had been a close advisor to both King Isander and Queen Celandine—stood at the front of the room with the man they all assumed to be Prince Henry. And false guards stood in ceremonial positions between each pillar, their spears straight and their faces serious. The crowd settled.

The aisle felt simultaneously long and short, the moment stretching on too long and then over too soon. Alma put Gwen’s hand into Easton’s and the sense of homecoming was overwhelming. Trouble was coming for them—it might be almost at the door—but still this moment was exactly what it should have been.

The count began to speak, his measured voice serious and unhurried as he said the traditional words. Gwen wanted to whisper for him to hurry, but she only smiled at Easton instead. It was their wedding, but it was also a drama being enacted for the people of the kingdom, and they had to play their parts properly.

Part of her remained tensed, watching the double doors of the throne room out of the corner of her eye. Someone had closed them, but they had no bar or key.

But the other part of her still managed to lose herself in the moment and in Easton’s wonder-filled eyes. He gave no outward sign of remembering their precarious situation, his heart apparently full of Gwen and their marriage.

At one point, she glanced at the audience, and her eyes caught on Lydia and Jett, standing at the back of the room. She smiled at them, glad they had managed to leave the rebels to be present at their son’s wedding. And surely it was a good sign about the success of the rebels’ mission.

She didn’t falter when the count instructed them to face each other and weave their right arms together, circling three times with their joined arms at the center. Her eyes remained fixed on Easton’s the whole time as the count spoke of the joining of their lives and futures.

Her voice didn’t waver when the count asked her if she promised herself to this man as her husband and had her repeat a series of vows. She had attended plenty of court weddings, but the words had never hit her so forcefully before. And she had never been so glad that tradition dictated their names were used only at the end. Most of the audience still believed they were watching her marry Prince Henry.

When two people each carried a washtub onto the dais, she almost laughed aloud, however. In the past, she had accepted it as part of the tradition, but now all she could think of was Natalie’s scorn. The girl was right. Even as a princess, Gwen had never worn such a beautiful dress. It wasn’t what she would have chosen to do laundry in.

With exaggerated care, she bent over the tub, Easton mirroring her to her left. Had Easton washed his own shirts in the long years of his banishment? Gwen was relying on the hasty lesson given her when Miriam dumped several shirts into Gwen’s bathwater and showed her how to scrub them.

Gwen tried not to splash her dress, even as she scrubbed as quickly as possible, her eyes on the horizon. The sun was creeping lower and lower, and at any moment, the queen might appear and ruin everything. Gwen couldn’t bear if all this led to nothing, the wedding interrupted before the marriage was official.

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