“Try not to trip over your own feet,” Harper said, stepping closer with a light smile.
“I won’t, unless if I get distracted because you’re walking in front of me,” Sebastian shot back. “Which, now that I think about it, might be worth it.”
“No,” she said. “Because if you ruin Emilia’s wedding by face-planting, I’ll have to murder you.”
Sebastian grinned. “You’re very sexy when you threaten me.”
Harper turned toward the door, smoothing her dress one final time, but didn’t look back.
Then they both moved toward the ceremony. Toward the royal promises made in public and their truths still waiting quietly in private.
43
The Royal Wedding
The bells of St. Augustine’s Cathedral rang out across the capital in jubilant peals. Caledonia was celebrating a royal wedding, and more quietly, the beginning of a new era.
Inside the cathedral, carved stone, arched ceilings, the scent of roses and old incense clinging to centuries of ceremony, the air shimmered with anticipation. Nobles, foreign dignitaries, minor celebrities, and a few well-positioned influencers filled the pews, whispering behind fans and smartphones. Everything had been choreographed down to the second: the lighting, the camera angles, the order of arrival. Royal tradition, polished for the modern age.
The bridal party began its procession. WhenHarperappeared,Sebastian’sbreath caught for half a beat.
She caught Sebastian’s eye as she passed the front pew, and something passed between them: a flicker of shared humor, maybe disbelief, or just the unspoken thrill of surviving this long. He gave the barest nod. She pressed her lips together, barely stifling a grin.
They were careful. Distant but not cold. Friendly, but not familiar. As promised.
Then came the bride.
Emilia Carterentered on her father’s arm, radiant in ivory lace. Her train flowed behind her like a storybook ending come to life. She lookedevery bit a queen in waiting, but the way she locked eyes withAlexanderwas intimate and unscripted. The grandeur melted away; it was just the two of them.
Harper blinked back tears, no shame in them this time. For all her cynicism, she could recognize a real love story when she saw one.
As Emilia reached the altar, Alexander stepped forward, eyes shining. He bowed his head to her father respectfully, then took Emilia’s hands, helping her up the few steps. In that moment, the King wasn’t a king at all, just a man completely besotted with his bride. A collective sigh fluttered through the church.
The ceremony passed in a haze of joy. Vows were exchanged: heartfelt promises of fidelity, partnership, and compassion that left more than a few dignitaries dabbing their eyes. Sebastian handed over the rings at the right moment. Harper passed Emilia her bouquet when needed, all the while shooting covert glances at Sebastian’s proud profile.
When the Archbishop finally pronounced them husband and wife, the cathedral erupted in applause.
Applause thundered like lace-gloved approval as Alexander and Emilia recessed through the aisle of cheering peers and flower petals, out into sunlight so brilliant it made everything feel slightly unreal. Then came the carriage.
Oh, the carriage. Gold-trimmed, horse-drawn, and so polished it could probably be seen from space, it was the exact kind of absurdity Emilia had once scoffed at on documentaries. Now she was in it. Sitting beside her husband,husband!, waving at screaming crowds while trying not to accidentally wave backwards or elbow a corgi.
“Still time to make a run for it,” Alexander said under his breath, his smile just crooked enough to make her stomach flip.
“And give up the chance to wear this tiara and eat tiny cake at the reception? Never.”
Alexander laughed. “I knew you were only marrying me for the catering.”
“And the historical symbolism,” Emilia added.
“Oh, of course. Very sexy, the symbolism,” Alexander replied.
The carriage pulled to a stop at the palace. A red carpet. More cameras. More cheers. But inside, the chaos receded, just a little, as they were ushered up the marble staircase toward the final tradition: the balcony. Emilia hesitated just before stepping out.
Alexander noticed. “Too much?”
“Too everything,” she murmured. “I mean, this is the part where we wave, and they all cheer, and then we… kiss.”
He reached for her hand. “We can skip it.”