Page 104 of The Winter Princess
I look out the window. The dark is broken by pools of lamplight as the outer band of snow begins to fall in earnest. We have an hour, no more, before the wise take refuge.
I shower and do my make-up from the bag I had Caroline put together. I dress, taking care not to smudge the fabric with lipstick as I work my way into it. I don’t think about my sisters. I can’t.
As expected, the ties at the waist give me a precise fit and accentuate the fullness of the skirts. The seamstress Uncle Timo found has done a masterful job unpicking the seams, carefully pressing them out, and finding the necessary length. Thank you, Oskar’s mama for these warm petticoats. Thank you, Oskar’s grandmama for this embroidery and these seams. I am a lone wolf, but, within this dress, I’m not alone.
I hear the turn of the lock of the outer door. “It’s me,” Oskar calls. “I have my eyes closed.”
“Open them. I’m in your room,” I answer.
“Our room,” he corrects. My stomach dips as I press my ear and hand to the door.
I hear the scrape of his shoe on the other side. “Love, I’m going now,” he says, voice muffled.
“Is that what you’re going to call me?” I wish I had a picture of my face. If I sent it to my family, they’d understand everything.
“I’m trying it out. What do you think?”
I think I probably have enough time to fix my lipstick. I turn the handle, managing to get it open a crack before he grips it, halting me.
“Elskede, no,” he scolds. “It’s bad luck to see the bride, even in Pavieau.”
I lace my fingers over his. “I likeelskede, too.”
“Freddie’s worried about the snow. He wants you to go down in a quarter of an hour.”
“You won’t run away?”
His fingers tighten and I hear a smile in his voice. “Where would I run to? Home? You’re home.”
Another grain of rice added to an impossibly high mountain. “You’d best leave, Velasquez, before I break the door off its hinges.”
“Audicia.” He presses a kiss on my fingers, and when he’s gone again, I look out the window for a long moment. I can’t magic away the weather. I set aside the heels I had planned to wear and lace up a pair of sturdy boots, smoothing my skirts as I turn to the mirror.
An unconventional bride, but I want to remember this feeling if I’m ever missing the majesty of Roslav Cathedral, envious of what my sisters will have. I love my dress, the story of it woven before I was born. I love the man I’m going to marry. I love the life we’ll make together, no matter where it happens.
Ten minutes later, Freddie hands me into the car, carefully lifting my skirts over the threshold. He expected a quiet Christmas Eve in the guardhouse.
“Are you shocked?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve been your security officer for, what, six years, on and off? Each day planned to the last second—stand here, smile there—and then he comes along and—” Freddie gives a sharp die-away whistle, his lips twitching into a smile. “You’re throwing your cap over the windmill, good and proper.”
The ride is short, and when we arrive, Freddie helps me across the soft snow of the inner courtyard. On some level, I know it’s bitterly cold, but I can’t register it. The porch is illuminated, and I see a small wedding bouquet on the bench seat Oskar and I once occupied together, a posy of paperwhite narcissus tied up with a deep green ribbon. I recognize them as grown from a pot in Uncle Timo’s kitchen window.
Freddie jogs ahead and brings it to me, pressing the posy into my hands with a bracing smile. His daughters are just about my age.
I swallow and try not to think of Père. “Are you going to scout the location for threats?” I ask. A reason to have him stay.
He smiles, seeing through my excuse. “And I’ll tellNeerVelasquez you’re on your way.”
I nod, and then I’m alone in the courtyard. I take a breath and take a step.
“Ma’am,” a voice calls, and I turn to see Caroline making her way across the snow with short, careful steps, carrying a couple of boxes.
My stomach lurches, and I measure the distance between me and the chapel. Is this Mama’s objection? Has she managed a diplomatic miracle and suspended religious rites just for tonight? Can I make it and bar the door in time?
Before I lift my skirts and begin to sprint, the chapel door opens and Asger Hom steps out, wearing a puckish smile. A tuft of white hair sticks out of a knitted cap. “May I capture a few snaps out here?” he says, holding a complicated camera up to his eye. I nod.
Caroline fetches up in front of me, her breaths coming in small puffs. Her nose is rosy, and a thought intrudes. Noah wouldn’t like her to be cold.
