Page 5 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

“I can’t see.”

“You don’t need to see,” Denny says, apparently joining us. “It’s there to keep you from getting spooked—like covering the eyes of a flighty horse.”

“I’m so glad you could be with me on this joyous day,” I say wryly.

My brother pushes the veil to the side, grinning down at me. Quietly, he says, “Lawrence wanted me to check on you.”

“To make sure I wasn’t a blubbering mess?”

“To make sure you didn’t get any murderous thoughts before the wedding.”

“He’s worried I might off him so we can’t get married?”

Denny laughs. “He thought you might go after Camellia. But I’ll warn him to watch your hands during the wedding.”

I smile, looking down at my full skirt as I twist my fingers together.

“We’ve stationed archers around the perimeter of the room for your safety and Lawrence’s,” he says, getting to business. “And I will be on the dais behind the bishop, along with the rest of the king’s guard. Barret is just outside the room right now. He’ll stay with you until you enter the great hall, and then he’ll keep watch at the doors.”

I glance at our parents. They stand to the side of the room, talking quietly. They’re distracted, just as I was hoping.

“Have you seen Henrik?” I whisper.

“I have,” Denny answers cautiously.

“How did he look?”

“How does the commander always look?”

Henrik rarely wears his emotions on his face. He’s always stoic and determined, shielding his thoughts from everyone.

I miss him so badly, my body aches like I’ve contracted an illness.

“Clover,” Father says, reminding me I’m out of time.

My ladies scurry inside when we open the door, chattering eagerly as they help me with my gargantuan train. It’s so long, there’s no way I could tend to it on my own. Minda says the design is fashionable, but I think royal families use them to prevent escapes. After all, who could run in such a thing?

“Are you ready?” Father asks.

“No.”

As if I said I was, he takes my arm, gives it a pat, and responds, “Then let’s go.”

* * *

A surprising amount of fuss takes place in the minutes before a wedding ceremony. I stare blankly at the closed great hall doors, in a sort of trance, blocking it out.

“You can’t stand here,” Calla scolds as she takes me by the shoulders and directs me to the side. “Everyone will see you when they open the doors.”

“Aren’t they supposed to see me?”

“Notyet. The wedding party must go first.”

I make a noise to acknowledge her, tired of talking and overwhelmed by the chaos.

Once I’m safely out of sight, the doors open. The orchestra begins to play a bright, happy melody as the rose-and-peony bedecked flower girls disappear into the great hall, followed by candle lighters and then my ladies. Soon, my father and I are the only ones left.

An attendant shoves a bouquet into my hands, adjusts my veil to blind me once more, and then there is nothing left between me and my royal future but the aisle.

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