For weeks,meteorologists predicted a sun-drenched forecast for my wedding day. All of August, we’ve enjoyed miraculously fair climes. And yet, I wake to torrential rain and cloudy skies. It seems an unexpected front moved in overnight, drenching the streets in relentless drizzle, basking the world in monochrome.
If my sense of humor was still intact, I’d see a certain sort of irony in that.
My morning is spent with a fleet of seamstresses and beauticians, who assist me into my gown under the careful supervision of Lady Morrell. My hair is styled artfully in a low bun to accommodate my veil, industrial strength spray insuring not a single strand will fall out of place. A makeup artist clucks over my dark circles as she applies what feels like a pound of powder to my face.
Four hours later, I am deemed presentable. There’s not a dry eye amongst the beauty prep team as they stare at me in my dress — a voluminous silk monstrosity with a square neckline, tapered waist, and dainty cap sleeves.
I’m told twelve designers worked night and day to get the fit right, hand-sewing the pearls that trail down my spine. The veil’s edge is laced with Germanian crystals, twenty feet of pure glitter dragging in my wake — as if the diamond-encrusted crown atop my head wasn’t already heavy enough to induce a migraine.
“Oh, Your Majesty!” Lady Morrell wipes a tear with an embroidered handkerchief. “You are an absolute vision!”
“The world will come to a stop when they see you in this dress,” one of the makeup artists murmurs, staring at me in awe. “Kate Middleton will be a distant memory.”
Chloe comes up behind me in the mirror, catching my eyes in the reflection. “E, it’s true. You look amazing.”
The smile on my lips is as stiff as my tone. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to be late to my own wedding.”
Chloe stares at me with worried eyes as I turn to leave my chambers for the last time, each step robotic. Tonight, when I return, I will sleep in the new East Wing… with my new husband.
I make my way slowly down the corridor. With this much fabric on my body, I can’t move much faster than a crawl. I need three assistants just to carry my train.
Using the bathroom is going to be an adventure.
“E…” Chloe is chewing her bottom lip worriedly — half her pink lipstick is already ruined. Otherwise, she’s a vision; her maid-of-honor dress, a shimmering gold sheath, looks amazing with her pale skin, slim build, and red locks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I respond automatically, eyes fixed on the floor in front of me. We’re approaching the stairs, which will require all my attention to navigate.
Don’t think about anything else.
Just focus on the path directly in front of you.
One step at a time.
“E…”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Sure. If you say so…”
She doesn’t sound convinced, but I keep walking anyway, hoping she’ll drop the subject. With a sigh, she falls into step beside me, offering her arm in support when we reach the stairs. I can hear Lady Morrell and her assistants behind us, dealing with my train as we descend. Their excited chit-chat grates on my nerves like nails against a chalkboard.
The household staff has gathered in the Great Hall to watch me go. I spot Simms at the front of the group, along with a dozen other faces I’ve come to know well. Patricia the Head Cook. Hans, the Master of Stables. Derrick, the pageboy.
Most of the women are wiping tears as they watch me walk by. Even the men look a bit red around the eyes, taking in the sight of me in my dress.
Galizia and Riggs are posted at the front exit, clad in their formal dress uniforms — navy with double-breasted gold buttons, hilted swords strapped to their sides.
They pull open the doors to reveal a line of Queen’s Guard standing at attention in the pouring rain, their spines stiff as rods, their faces fixed straight ahead. They form a path down the steps, straight into the waiting limousine.
Riggs whistles and, without adieu, every guard in the gauntlet reaches for his hilt and pulls out a sword. Except, I quickly realize they aren’t swords at all — they’re umbrellas. They open in unison, instantly creating a rain shield for my walk to the car.
I glance at Riggs and manage to smile properly for the first time all day. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Your Majesty.” He winks. “And congratulations on your wedding.”
The smile falls off my face.
I turn and start walking, barely bothering to avoid the worst of the puddles. Behind me, Lady Morrell is screeching about my dress, but she sounds about a million miles away. The numbness inside my chest cavity is radiating outward, hijacking all my senses until the whole world seems quite far removed.