Page 10 of The Wicked Prince

A code John had cracked after his men had been instructed to memorize what they were saying word by word.

“I have everything handled. Now get out.”

They did.

John finished getting ready in peace. There were no other incidents or interruptions, and by midafternoon, John stood by the officiant in the throne room, the room packed full of as many nobles and castle officials as could make it on such short notice. John had caught a glimpse of the crowds outside the castle gates. They were creating quite a clamor.

Apparently there were mixed feelings about the match.

Still, this wedding was happening. Nothing could stop it.

Not even the bride.

The doors opened and John stopped thinking about anything else. He’d known Robin’s wedding dress was going to be the most beautiful garment to ever grace the continent—he’d designed it, after all—but he hadn’t thought about what it would look like on her. Or whatshewould look like in it. Despite the fact that he’d spent a lot of time over the last six months thinking about what she looked like.

His heart started beating faster, and he could barely breathe watching Robin come down the aisle. She was stunning. Her hair was half-up, half-down, pinned back with gold and pearl pins, slightly curled and falling down her neck and back. It was the perfect shade, not quite brown but not obnoxiously blonde. Her veil was covering her face, and John’s fingers were itching to lift it before she’d even made it halfway down the aisle.

The dress was fit perfectly to her figure; John had ensured he had the best seamstresses in the country working on it. It was a brilliant white and shone in the light, the gemstones on the bodice were blindingly brilliant amethyst and citrine, matching her jewelry and John’s own wedding clothes. The sleeves were off-the-shoulder and long and flowing, falling back from Robin’s hands as she carried a bouquet of hydrangeas. The bottom of the sleeves were indistinguishable from the skirt. The skirt was full and made of countless layers of white silk, draping down to the floor and in a long train behind her.

If the dress was purposefully designed to be difficult to try to run away in, well, weren’t all wedding dresses? It was no less magnificent.

Once Robin finally reached him and had handed her bouquet to Lady Marian—who was openly glaring at John—he lifted her veil and grinned at the intense blue eyes that greeted him. The officiant had started speaking, but John barely heard him as he met Robin’s eyes and reached for her hands. She placed her hands in his. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were a storm.

John couldn’t imagine a more perfect bride.

“Your Highness, do you take this woman to be your wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Prince John couldn’t stop himself from squeezing Robin’s hands as he spoke.

She squeezed back, digging her nails into the spot where she’d bitten him. John just grinned wider. She hadn’t even noticed what the officiant had said. Or rather what he hadn’t. Her name.

“Do you take Prince John to be your husband, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him, as long as you both shall live?”

As soon as the officiant said his name instead of ‘this man,’ Robin’s eyes widened and she looked over to the old man. But it was too late. John tightened his grip on her hands and pulled her closer. She took a short, shallow breath before she weakly said, “I do.”

“Have you come here freely and without reservation to marry?”

Robin’s hands started to pull out of his for a moment. But then she looked over her shoulder, not at the crowd, but at the window that faced the castle gate in the direction of the crowds.

She said, “I have.”

John wasn’t able to stop his own soft sigh at those words. The officiant continued on, but his words were like a fly buzzing in John’s ear. All he was focused on was Robin as he slid a gold ring onto her finger and she his.

“I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

John didn’t need to be told twice.

He grabbed her waist with one hand, pulling her toward him and cupping the back of her head with the other as he crashed his lips against hers. Robin startled, bracing her hands on his shoulders, but he just deepened the kiss, tilting her head back and keeping her in place as he kissed her with the kind of reckless abandon and passion that could be the only reason a prince would possibly lower himself to marrying an outlaw of unknown origins who had been crusading against him.

When he was confident he’d gotten the message across, he pulled back and Robin gaped at him. She blinked and then hissed, “What was that?”

John took her hand and beamed at the crowd before he leaned in and whispered, “It’s our wedding, we have to put on a bit of show.”

The officiant brought out the marriage contract John had drawn up. Robin had been given a draft earlier in the week, but now they would sign it before the witnesses.

John took the quill and signed his name with all the elegance and flourish he signed every official document. As he passed the quill to Robin, he stepped behind her, hovering right at her shoulder, looking everything like a loving, adoring husband.

Robin determinedly started signing. She got through ‘Rob’ when John leaned in, pressing his front against her back as he caught her wrist. He whispered, “Your real name.”

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