Page 110 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Chapter 33
After the Vows
BETH
Summerlands, Faerie, Present Day
I’m supposed to singafterthe vows, for the first dance.
My hands are clammy as I smooth down the front of my silver, glittering dress. It’s a call-back to the one I used to wear on the new world’s stages in the 1950s, with a thigh-high slit and glass slippers. Cinderella was all the rage back then, and it’s fitting considering I’m daydreaming about a hurried, dramatic exit.
The first few rows on either side of the wedding aisle are usually reserved for family and royals, and I’m sitting on Elio’s left in the third row as we wait for the ceremony to begin. His father is nowhere to be found, which leaves my friend in a somewhat better mood, but I’m dying to leave.
I can’t watch Aidan marry someone else. It’ll kill me.
But you must. You came here expecting closure and tore open that wound instead. You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.
I’m going to watch the ceremony, sing my part, and sneak out as soon as it’s over. I’m not sticking around for the creepy consummation part, that’s for sure.
Aidan and Thera enter from the side, and the groom escorts his mother to her reserved seat in the front row. My stomach somersaults.Fuck.
He looks even better in his formal wedding coat.
The dark fabric shimmers with a dynamic, ever-shifting intensity, both captivating and unpredictable. Amber vines twist over the collar and cuffs as though they mean to spark them ablaze. The threads are warm and inviting, yet with an edge of something untamed, and I am struck by a beauty that isn’t mine to hold.
The gardens fill the window behind him—the same ones I used to gaze at while waiting for him to knock on my window late at night.
The wide, boyish smile I couldn’t resist. Our giggles as we would sneak out together, whispering secrets along the creek to reach our oasis of privacy, the world shrinking down to just the two of us. Those memories are so vivid in my mind, it kills me to know there’s no one else to share them with. Even if it’s over between us, I always figured the memories stitched us together forever.
But no "forever" can be taken for granted.
Bile rises to my mouth, and I gulp it all back down, my arms shaking.
I force my gaze back to Thera, wondering if she’s the one who erased his memories. My eyes narrow as I take in her appearance. From a distance, she just looks tired, but I’ve never known Thera to wear an inch thick of makeup, even at her daughter’s wedding. Her groomer is one of the most talented in Faerie, but she failed to completely conceal the gray tint of the queen’s skin.
“Is Thera alright?” I whisper to Elio.
His lips press together, a dark glint flickering in his gaze as he plays with the cufflinks of his double-breasted, white tuxedo. “No.”
I swallow hard. I know that look of his. As Winter King, Elio is often called to collect the souls of Fae royals, and regards the dying with a mix of pity, sadness, and acceptance.
The Summer Queen is sick.
Terminally so.
My head swims, the rushed timeline of this wedding taking on a whole new meaning.
The sprite of ceremonies flies to the front, and the live music starts. The band plays a soft rendition of another one of my songs as everyone stands to welcome the bride.
“Oh my—” Thera exclaims loudly. The affable smile on her face has been wiped out in favor of a terrified, wide-eyed gaze directed at me.
For a few long, odd seconds, the Summer Queen glares like I’m her own personal nightmare.
Aidan catches her reaction, his eyes darting from his mother to me before she turns away and fans herself. Most of the guests probably haven’t noticed the interlude, too busy clapping and cheering for the bride’s arrival, but Aidan’s gaze meets mine again, and his lips move like he just cursed under his breath.
The queen tugs on the wide, standing collar of her dress as though she means to erase me from her vision.
Heather glides down the aisle in her nude, sleeveless ball gown and takes her place beside Aidan at the altar, oblivious to what just happened, and all the blood drains from my body. The claps and cheers of the crowd blur together as I sit down and grip the edge of the pew, my knuckles white over the glossy wood, the other guests also shifting to a seat.
