The bride’s eyes were streaked red with tear tracks.
Ivelina had not anticipated, even remotely, that her father—so rarely given to open sentiment—would choose this moment to launch a full parental offensive on her heart.
But that wasn’t the only reason she felt she was losing her mind.
‘He’s impossibly handsome. My heart is going to give out.’
The empire’s most beautiful man—who had, as of this very morning, broken his own record—was standing right in front of her.
‘I’m so nervous I could cry. Emily, what do I do—’
Ivelina was silently calling out to Emily with every fiber of her being. She had never needed her more than in this moment.
The officiant’s voice reached her in fragments, dissolving before it could fully form meaning. Her hands—one clasped in Kael’s, one around the bouquet—were shaking like leaves. Even the flowers were trembling.
“It seems our bride is very nervous.”
“Y-Yes! I—I’m sorry!”
A quiet sound escaped Kael. He was laughing.
“Why are you laughing… please don’t laugh.”
Kael tilted his head and looked at his wife.
She looked on the verge of tears—or perhaps already past it. Her clear green eyes quivered like something barely held in place. Her lips—softly rounded, flushed pink—kept parting and closing, words starting and stopping without ever leaving them.
Her face was as red as a ripe, perfect apple. Tiny beads of cold sweat had gathered along her smooth brow. He suspected she might actually faint.
Looking at her, Kael felt a warmth settle over his expression—slow and certain.
He wanted, with a force he could barely contain, to bite her, to hold her, to press every last scrap of tenderness and shameless adoration he possessed directly into her skin.
“And now, we arrive at the exchanging of vows.”
The laughter that had been rippling quietly through the gathered guests went still. The marriage vow was the most sacred moment of any ceremony, and they all understood it.
“Groom. You came to this bride with a body and spirit fully and wholly intact—unspoiled and untouched—and surrendered them entirely at first meeting. Do you swear, from this day forth, to stand always as the devoted and devoted ‘second’ of this union—to love your wife, and only your wife, until your final breath?”
“Yes. I swear it.”
A murmur rippled through the guests.
“The ‘duke’ was the second?”
“Apparently. Incredible.”
And to think—a man who had given himself, in every sense, entirely to his first and only woman.
The women in the crowd turned shining, reverent eyes toward the groom. Several of the men went quiet and looked away. The ones with something to feel good about managed to keep their heads up.
Ivelina, for her part, felt suddenly, dramatically dizzy. She swayed.
Kael steadied her with practiced ease, taking her arm as though he had been waiting for exactly that.
“Bride. You possess a radiance that rivals the stars of the night sky, a heart of extraordinary warmth and gentleness, and a sweetness unlike anyone else in the world. With all of that, you laid claim, upon first meeting, to a man who had until that moment been entirely your groom’s in body and soul. Will you, as the eternal and undisputed ‘first’ of this union, swear to love your husband, and only your husband, until your final breath?”
“…’I’m’ the first?”
“Indeed you are. Do you so swear?”
‘Swear it! Swear it!’ The women in the crowd were practically roaring their encouragement at the bride.
Pushed forward on the wave of all that enthusiasm, Ivelina answered without hesitation.
“Yes! I swear it!”
The officiant then adopted a very grave expression indeed.
“The way the groom is looking at the bride does not suggest we ought to dawdle. Ha—I believe we should move along rather quickly.”
Ivelina, who had been somewhat outside herself, finally looked properly at Kael.
He was watching her as though he intended to devour her where she stood.
“And now, the exchanging of rings.”
Ivelina startled.
She was already wearing a ring—the one she had received at their first wedding. She stood before her husband in bewildered confusion.
“There’s another ring?”
“Yes.”
“But I already have one. I’m wearing it right here…”
“Have another. A gift.”
He said it simply, as though it were nothing—and reached for her hand. From a small cushion held nearby, Kael lifted a ring that had been specially commissioned for her, and slipped it onto her finger beside the first.
Ivelina looked at the diamond—the size of which could only be described, in generous terms, as approximately the size of her own eye—and went pale.
“This is far too big!”
Kael leaned in close, his voice low near her ear.
“You like extravagant things.”
“Oh, you—!”
Ivelina gave a short, indignant growl, flashing the white of her teeth—and then, helplessly, her gaze drifted back down to the ring.
The enormous diamond blazed against the white lace of her glove, scattering light in every direction. Where the sunlight caught it, it threw tiny rainbows across her hand and wrist.
“Oh. It’s so beautiful…”
The delight and wonder that broke open across Ivelina’s face made Kael press his lips to the back of her hand.
His crimson eyes, resting on his wife, were full to the brim with something that had no other name but love. The corner of his mouth held a quiet, steady smile.
“And finally, the kiss.”
The words had barely left the officiant’s lips before Kael turned, pulled his wife’s waist sharply toward him, and kissed her—thoroughly, with no ceremony at all, claiming her lips as though they were entirely his and had always been.
The force of it bent Ivelina backward; Kael’s arm caught her, pulling her in—one hand cupping the back of her head, the other pressing at her waist, holding her flush against him.
The bride was entirely, thoroughly kissed.
And the crowd erupted.
“‘Wahhhh!'”
“The groom is incredible!”
“The bride is ‘so’ lucky—!”
From every corner of the gardens, fireworks burst open in ribbons of rainbow color. Dozens of great balloons rose into the sky—higher and higher—brilliant against the blue.
* * *
The applause and the cheering rang through every corner of the ducal manor.
And at last, the moment Ivelina had been longing for arrived.
She stood at the center of a wide circle formed by the gathered guests. A few meters away, dressed in neat, simple clothes, Emily stood waiting.
Ivelina lifted the bouquet above her shoulder and swung it lightly.
“Emily! Ready? I’m going to throw it!”
“Ready. Go ahead.”
The person who would catch the Duchess of Hardeion’s bouquet was none other than Emily herself.
It was simply not done—for a noblewoman’s lady’s maid to catch her mistress’s bridal bouquet. There was no precedent for it.
But Ivelina had pressed the point with a firmness that was, for her, quite unusual.
‘”And for the bouquet—I’d like Emily to catch it. We made a pinky promise when we were young. Of course, if she had married Edwin it wouldn’t have been possible, but—oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up—and the elders are probably against it too, aren’t they…?”‘
‘”Your wishes are your wishes. You don’t need to care what anyone thinks.”‘
Kael—indulgent to a fault, at least where his wife was concerned—had seen no difficulty in it whatsoever.
“I’m throwing it now! You have to catch it!”
Ivelina glanced over her shoulder, squared herself, and launched the bouquet high.
The white cluster of blossoms arced through the air in a wide, graceful curve—up into the brilliant blue sky.
Both Ivelina and Emily watched with eyes bright with anticipation.
And then.
“Oh—! Please, don’t push—!”
From somewhere at the edge of the circle, Hugo stumbled forward—shoved by the crowd—and, through what could only be described as a miracle of athletic absurdity, caught the bouquet cleanly.
