"The flowers aren't placed correctly."
Before my butler can fix the bouquet himself, I reach out both my hands, and turn the bundle of white flowers, to my liking. I then study it, and decide it's time to move on down the aisle way. Servants of my own family, and countless others from the services we've called on for this wedding, are bustling around, much like bees in a hive, working for their Queen. I guess that isn't too far off of what they're doing, since I am of the royal family.
"Miss Elaine, I'm not certain if it's appropriate for you to oversee the preparations so closely." Petyr, my butler, speaks behind me while I stride ahead on the red carpet, not anywhere near the altar yet. My wedding is to be extravagant, and the walk down the aisle to my future husband will be no less extravagant than everything else, so it's a rather long pathway, splitting the hundreds of rows of pews for the guests that will sit there in less than two days. The train of my gown will look outstanding on the walk down-it nearly makes the dress double its size.
"Oh, Petyr, I just wanted to see everything." I sigh, turning my head to look at him. Petyr is two years older than me, the age of my sister, and he stands at my height. I always thought he could pass for a brother of mine, with his brown hair a shade darker, along with certain features of his face being similiar. One of the only differences are his eyes, which are a lovely shade of blue. Petyr is too handsome to be a butler, but he swears this will be his true love, his job, for the rest of his life.
"My apologies, Elaine." He's holding his planner, filled with only my appointments. "The Queen wants you at the last-minute alterations to your dress. We must be leaving soon."
I stretch out my time to take another look at the enormous church, to see the many people eyeing me with great interest, or hurrying to make everything perfect. I could almost fit in with some of them, with the way I'm dressed, I could almost pass for a high-up business woman, ready to shoot off orders for the pattern of the silk on the pillars, how many programs (which were engraved on thick, creamy paper) there should be for a pew. But I can't pass here for anything else other than a princess, set to marry a Lord's son in forty-eight hours.
"Alright, we'll go." I turn on my short wedged heels, and make my way toward the front of the church, where security will be, keeping back paparazzi from taking pictures, which would ruin the surprise of what my ceremony looks like for the people of Astor, along with my car for today. I nearly make a mistake-Petyr has to stop to hand me sunglasses, to hide my eyes from flashing lights. It'll irritate my eyes, since I've taken to wearing contacts most of the time, and no one likes the bright lights in their face, anyhow.
The car ride to the palace, where the designer of the gown, Jean Pierre, has set up a room specifically to work on my dress, is quiet and calm. I check my personal phone, going through some pictures I've taken with my sister, Genevieve, who is set to be Queen of Astor, when she turns twenty-five. Genevieve is in every way mature and demur, but she still has a lot of preparation to do. She'll likely be there, as well, with my mother, to see my wedding dress. Petyr is very kind to my sister, almost too kind for my mother's liking, but he is always respectful and dutiful to anyone of the royal family, Lefford. I wonder how he'll take to accompanying me to the castle where I'll be living as a married woman after this.
My soon-to-be-husband is the son of close family friend, Lord Christopher D'Aubigne, Fredrick D'Aubigne. He is quite handsome, and only a year older than I am, with dark blond hair, hazel eyes, and a charming smile. I wouldn't say I'm in love with him, as this is a marriage of diplomatic purpose, but I can say that I can grow to love him. As for now, I am only close to him in the way a friend would be, but that's enough to start out with. My own mother and father hadn't met each other more than four times before they were united in matrimony, but they are a couple I see myself hoping to be with my husband some day.
"Your Highness." Petyr gets my attention from my phone, and I close it, slipping it in the small handbag I got for my eighteenth birthday, when I had my presentation ball. The door is opened for me, and I slide out as gracefully as I can, ignoring calls from reporters, closely followed by bodyguards and Petyr. My entrance in the palace is greeted by a few maids, who gladly take my jacket, and ask if I'm in need of refreshment.
"A glass of water, thank you." I nod, and am directed to the alterations room. I've been here many times before, but the sight of the dress, my dress, still surprises me. It is now on a dummy, and it's still as gorgeous as ever, though on the bodice I can see where some other beads and details were added and finished. The sleeves are lace, the bodice, along with many the second layer of the skirt, is silk. The outer layer of the skirt is the same silver-white lace as the sleeves, and the bodice has small pearls that mimic the same pattern. It is indeed a dress fit for a princess.
"Elaine!" My mother calls, arms outstretched, and I gladly go to her for a hug. She is in an outfit that she usually wears, a skirt, blouse, and a fitted jacket. She is the embodiment of queenly elegance, and yet still, a mother to me. My mother passed on her dark brown hair (though hers is showing greys now) to both her daughters, but her eyes she gave to me. Genevieve has my father's shiny green eyes, that share the same trait of his, always looking as though he might laugh. My sister's attention had been on a maid, who brought me my drink, but now she smiled gently at me.
"Here's your water, sister." Genevieve hands the glass to me, and as soon as I'm finished taking a refreshing drink, and I set it down, she wraps me in a hug, a tight squeeze which I return. Jean Pierre is nowhere to be found-and my mother tells me he sent a promising designer of his company in his stead.
The promising designer is a young man every bit as elegant as one of noble blood. His clothes are not as popping as Monsieur Pierre's-rather, the opposite of it, a quiet beauty. He is in crisp, black slacks, and a button-up black shirt. His manners are magnificent, kissing my hand, and bowing, introducing himself as a Mister Edmund Carver.
"Your Highness, I would like to see you in your dress now. Today, unlike the last times, I've brought the accessories. It's rather like a dress rehearsal."
His words remind me that the real dress rehearsal, for the wedding, will be done tonight. I will practice my walk down the aisle, arm-in-arm with my father, only without my dress.
It takes no time to fit the dress around me. I am changed into the undergarments and such that I will be wearing, during the wedding, and then the dress fits me with ease. I am helped out into the middle of the room, where there is a pedestal. My mother covers her mouth with her hands, something she's done at every appointment, and Genevieve looks over me with a gracious nod. I already know how I look in the dress, but I can't help but study my reflection again.
The dress does fit perfectly, like a glove, as the expression goes. Even though my hair isn't curled or twisted up as it will be, it is beautiful. Edmund approved, and then, the accessories are added. A thin diamond necklace, from the vaults of my own family, worn by my great-grandmother, when she was married herself. A bracelet, from Jean Pierre. Small things, but I adore them with the dress.
I look like a bride, and steadily, I prepare myself to be just so in two days.

The appointment went smoothly, I thanked Edmund, and sent my thanks for Monsieur Pierre along with him. The rehearsal went the same, as well, though the priest, nor my father, would have it that Fredrick and I share a kiss just yet. I laughed at the jest, and Fredrick smiled, though something in those endearing hazel eyes almost hinted at sadness, but I soon did not think of it, as I wanted to see the cake. I did always have a sweet tooth, once, even when I was a child, I was found hiding from my nanny, in a closet, with chocolate over my face. Of course, I was punished, but the love for sugar remained.
The Day came, and so did a feeling of nerves. My mother and sister were dressed in equal stages of elegance, my sister's companion being one of the suitors my parents would like for her to take as her husband, after her being crowned Queen. However, they went to church ahead of me, while my father and I shared each other's company in the carriage on the way to the church, nearly like a parade, with the people cheering, and I would smile, and wave, my father and I making each other laugh. He shared the story of when he first held me in his arms, after my birth, and while we were positioned for the walk down the aisle, in the front of the church, with the lucky spectators that earned their places there, even with security, I couldn't help but give my father, the King, a kiss on the cheek.
"My dear, you really have grown into a lady." My father's words made me smile, and the march to the altar began, the choir singing as lovely as they could ever. The flowers I were checking two days before, are amazing, the white striking against the red carpet. The girls carrying my train behind me are daughters of noble families, one girl even being Fredrick's niece. All eyes are turned to me, and I smile modestly, not grinning, as this is a church, but showing my happiness. And I am happy, I am making my family happy, and I know that I can find happiness with Fredrick, as well.
My groom is standing at the altar, in military regalia, as he served for my country when he was nineteen, and still does serve, even though we are in a time of peace. He looks regal, a prince stepped out from the pages of a fairy tale. My heart is pounding-I can't tell whether I'm scared or excited. I wonder if he feels the same.
The music quiets down, and my father presents me to my groom, and I gracefully move to face him, the train girls spreading out my train on the steps as they were taught. I know I'm not supposed to, but I stop the eldest, a girl of ten, Fredrick's niece, and sweetly tell her they did a grand job. She smiles, and goes to stand next to the others.
I then turn to face Fredrick, holding my bouquet, which flowers match the ones decorating the pews. He smiles at me, but again I catch the hint of sadness I caught in his eyes during the rehearsals. My own smile falters. The priest says the vows that are given to those of the Lefford royal family during weddings, even though I am to take Fredrick's last name. We repeat them.
And then there comes the sealing words. The priest opens his mouth. "Sir Fredrick Cornelius D'Aubigne, will you-"
"I can't."
The priest is taken by surprise, and I'm at a loss of words. Those in the upper rows, being the royal family, and his own, are immediately confused. My heart feels as though it will explode, but I'm oddly calm, just shocked.
Fredrick lifts a hand to my cheek. "Elaine, I do adore you, but I'm not-I don't think I can fall in love with you, the same as you might with me."
His heart had to lay somewhere else. I feel tears come to my eyes, but I nod. His lips brush my cheek in forgiveness. The crowd doesn't know what's happening, and my father stands, in rare anger.
"Fredrick," The King begins, but I stop him.
"N-no, Father. Let him go."
Fredrick whispers his forgiveness. And then he leaves, striding down the aisle, his own father trying to stop him. He'll be escorted out somehow. No one knows what to do, but only my sister seems to. She hugs me, immediately comforting me while I let my tears fall into her shoulder. I don't know how to feel. I thought I was to be happy with this man. I thought I could be happy with this man.
I'm taken to a back room, my family following behind, the guests on the brink of an uproar. My father only says one thing, bitterly, when we are all gathered in a private room, where I am trying not to stain this white dress.
"The press is going to have a damned field day."