Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
At their sides were those some had heard were Lord Apollo and Lady Madeleine, Lunwyn’s top general and his wife.
Behind them rode three lines, five across, of harpists who played while sitting in low carts pulled by manned horses.
And this was when they knew the grand finale was near.
She would soon be there.
And the frenzy grew fevered.
Following the harpist were ten lines of ten girls aged from eight to twelve, these selected from schools across Wodell in honor of their educational aptitude. They tossed splendiferous autumn leaves to the cobbles.
And behind them, as the crowd grew nearly silent in expectation, a long pause in the route many figured was designed in order to increase that expectation (and it was).
But eventually, it came.
And the din was deafening when it did.
The Wedding Carriage.
An extravagant conveyance made of brass and gold, lacquered in yellow and orange, the royal shield on the doors. Covered, it had two liveried footmen at the back, two at the front, four Dellish soldiers in dress greens marching at each side, and the liveried driver with his forest-green, velvet top hat sat on a bench festooned with orange fringe and gold ribbons and tassels.
Through the windows they could see her.
Her dark hair up and away from her lovely face in curls threaded in lace ribbon the color of juniper, this tumbling over her left shoulder.
She wore extravagant earrings and an intricate necklace of green tourmaline and diamonds.
They could not see her gown, except it was the color of the ribbon in her hair and off-shoulder. They could see, as she waved through the windows, her long sleeves were studded with sequins, but the green material there was sheer. They could also glimpse that the sweetheart neckline was tufted with tulle, the bodice covered in a nuanced appliqué and subtle green glitter.
It was those closest to the temple, those who had camped outside its sweeping steps for weeks, who got the best show.
For they saw the troops and the mounts and the drummers and the pipers take formation in the park opposite the temple.
They also had witnessed the arrival (though separate) of King Gallienus of Airen, as well as Relict Queen Elpis of Firenze earlier. Not to mention, Lord Johan and Lady Vanka of the Arbor.
But then they watched their king and queen, their prince’s lieutenants, their prince, and the kings and queens and prince and princess of all the nations of Triton and one of the Northlands enter the temple.
Most of all, they watched the footmen rush forth and open the door to the Wedding Carriage when it came to a gently swaying stop at the foot of the steps.
And out alighted Prince True’s betrothed.
Their future princess.
Their future queen.
Her skirts burst from the carriage, and when she stepped down on a beaded green slipper, they fell in wide, graceful folds from a densely adorned midriff and neckline, the appliqué and sequins smaller at the top, but becoming larger all around the skirt.
As she alighted and moved forward, her train spread out behind her, five feet long and at least that wide.
She was not a vision.
She was resplendent.
She was a miracle.
Even more so as she seemed to gaze side to side with endearing timidity, a small, nervous, but nevertheless striking smile on her lips.
To the clamor of a cheering crowd, gracefully, she lifted her ample skirts and walked alone up the steps to the temple but was met at the top by King Mars.
He offered his elbow with an adoring smile.
She took it with a brave one.
And it was then she won the hearts of a nation when the king of her land, gaze aimed forward, led her to the temple doors.
But Princess Farah turned back and looked over her shoulder, that smile still on her lips.
She lifted her elegant hand…
And waved to her people.
Prince True
The Altar, Temple to Wohden, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Good gods,” Alfie muttered.
“Bloody hell,” Bram whispered.
“I have never wanted to be you, until right now,” Florian murmured.
True heard them.
And didn’t.
For Farah was walking down the aisle toward him.
There were flutists playing, with the accompaniment of strings.
Sprites were resting on the railing in front of the gnomes who sat in front of the fairies who sat in front of people, behind whom floated pixies, this on his left side at the pews flanking the aisle.
Aramus, Ha-Lah, Elena, Cassius, Mars, Silence, her parents, Frey, Seoafin, Apollo, Madeleine, Elpis and Gallienus as well as his parents sat in the pews to his right.
There were pompom chrysanthemums of cream and bronze and gold bunched with autumn leaves in remarkable arrangements everywhere, including at the tips of bunting in hues of marigold, amber and juniper that lined the fronts of the pews.
And when you entered the temple, the outer sanctum smelled of cedar from the incense burning, while the inner smelled of rose.
It was not, as he feared, ostentatious.