Today was the day. Two months after her wedding to King Dominick, Erika was to be crowned Queen of Dulcinea.

Her handmaiden, Sara, laced her corset and helped her into her voluminous dress. The fabric was the softest Erika had ever felt, but the stitching was subpar, and she frowned as she examined her right cuff.

"Milady?"

"I'll need to speak with your seamstresses once this is all over."

"Yes, milady. I'll arrange it, milady."

"You don't have to call me 'milady,' you know," Erika sighed. She'd said it many times, but perhaps this time she would get a different answer.

"But I do, milady. That's the way it's done, milady."

Perhaps not. "Certainly not after every sentence," she insisted.

"Begging your pardon, milady."

Erika suppressed a sigh as Sara buttoned the final button and began fussing with her skirts instead. "Could you get me a glass of water, please?"

"Yes, milady." Sara ducked into a clumsy curtsy and then scurried out of the room. She was still very young, only fourteen, and clearly very nervous about her position. She was from the orphanage in Chesley, and flinched at sudden movements; Erika had already talked to Dominick about investigating the orphanage's practices.

Dominick appeared in the doorway, grinning. He was dressed in a similarly showy style that Erika didn't think suited him at all. "Are you alone?"

"Yes." Erika smiled, already tired, though her day was far from over.

"Aren't you looking forward to it, even just a little? Julian and Anneliese are here."

They'd arrived last night, and she had barely had time to greet them. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all."

Dominick hugged her delicately, careful of the lace and frills. "You look lovely."

Erika grimaced.

"What's wrong? Don't you like it?" He knew next to nothing about dresses, except how to get them off.

"Well... The stitch work is a bit shoddy, and the pattern seems unnecessarily complicated... But maybe that's just how things are done here." Her eyes strayed to Dominick's neckline and she tugged his collar up, firmly hiding the hickey she'd left there last night. He chuckled and kissed her hand; they both knew if their lips met, they would have trouble getting to the ceremony on time.

Sara reappeared with a pitcher and a glass, and Dominick stepped back regretfully. "I'll see you in an hour, lass."

Erika nodded and he left, nodding at Sara; she flushed scarlet and fumbled into a curtsy, rising out of it long after he'd disappeared. Her hand shook slightly as she poured a glass of water and handed it to Erika.

"Are you afraid of him?" Erika asked curiously, taking a sip. She was thirsty enough to gulp it down in one, but that was not how a queen behaved.

Sara tensed. "Not very, milady."

"He isn't anyone to be afraid of. He doesn't bite." Unless you ask nicely. Erika smirked into her glass and took another sip. She froze as an unsettling thought struck her. "Was he was different before?"

"Milady?"

"Before he met me, before he went to Aurelia, was he different? Did you hear anything like that?"

"Oh, no, milady." Sara shook her head vigorously, her messy auburn curls bouncing. "But he is a very great man, isn't he, milady? You are so very lucky."

Erika smiled, relaxing. "He is."

"Come, milady, we must get downstairs."

Erika hesitated, then drained the glass in one gulp; Sara looked almost impressed. "Well, if we must."

Three floors below, in front of several hundred nobles, sat the royal family of Aurelia, the Beaumonts: Genevieve, Annelise, and Julian. The only other person in the front row was Dominick's fifteen-year-old brother Oliver; Dominick would not be joining them, as he was the one presiding over the coronation.

As Anneliese held Julian's hand in her lap, she could not be happier with how things had worked out. Aside from being kidnapped, that is.

Julian was chatting quietly with Oliver, or trying to; Oliver seemed to both want to talk and to be invisible.

"How are the vineyards this year?"

Oliver stared at his shoes. "I don't know. I haven't learned much about the vineyards yet."

"I have!" Julian said eagerly. "You grow seven, sometimes eight, different varieties in this region, in some others as many as thirteen—"

"Ah, Julian?" Anneliese said gently, noticing as Oliver squirmed in his seat. "Technically you aren't a tutor anymore." She hated to tell him off his teaching—who knew a man could know so many things!—but they were guests in Oliver's home and it wasn't fair to him.

"What? Oh, yes, of course."

Anneliese kissed his cheek, sending a small hush through those sitting behind them, and the overall babble in the hall seemed to grow louder. She nudged her husband. "Never at a loss for words, eh, Julian?" she whispered, and he grinned.

Suddenly the hall fell silent and everyone twisted in their seats to see King Dominick Von Brandt striding up the aisle looking cool and composed despite wearing full regalia. He inclined his head cordially to the first row, then took his place on the platform facing them, staring serenely at the door he'd just come through.

"Why didn't Erika just come in with him?" Anneliese whispered to Julian.

"It's a traditional part of the ceremony. Some speculate it began because dressing took longer than planned, but it continues even after that is no longer the case."

Anneliese nodded and squeezed his hand. She wondered how long they would be waiting, and if Erika had done her own gown. Probably not, as she had her own staff now, but her attention to detail was exquisite, and anything less would probably upset her. She wondered, too, if Erika would give the palace seamstresses any lessons. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, and she thought she recognized Aurelian granite—yes, there were the flecks of fool's gold.

A quiet buzz of conversation began to pick up, until the doors opened once again. The silence that fell was absolute, and Anneliese thought she knew why: this was the first time any Dulcinean outside the palace staff would see Erika, and as she took her first measured step into the room, Anneliese thought she could feel the impending gossip swell around her.

"Well, she's not very pretty," came a ringing, nasal voice. "Bit skinny, too."

Anneliese saw Erika's steps falter and a flicker of panic on her face. For a second, all eyes swiveled to Dominick, whose serene smile had hardened, but he ever so slightly inclined his head to encourage Erika forward.

Erika took slightly longer, faster steps, trying to keep her face blank as she all but hurried to the platform. No more comments rang out from the crowd, but the tension remained. Who would be so bold as to insult their queen? Erika took her place beside Dominick, an uneasy half-smile on her lips.

"People of Dulcinea and of Aurelia," Dominick began; the tension wound higher and the crowd stirred—were they not ladies and gentlemen? "We stand here to coronate the new Queen of Dulcinea, Erika of Astraea." He stepped to the glass case in the center of the platform. "These objects are symbols of power within this realm. On my command, I will pass them to her, and thus the power will also lie with her."

Dominick's words seemed to carry a sense of menace, although there was nothing in his tone or expression or indeed the words themselves to suggest such. He raised the lid of the glass case, nodding slightly to Erika, who took her cue to kneel with some difficulty, owing to her voluminous skirts. "Formerly, these objects belonged to my mother, Queen Katharine."

He extracted a fine, thin sword and held it out, hilt first. "As queen, you must be the protector of your nation. Erika of Astraea, will you take up arms to defend your land?"

"I will," Erika said clearly, despite the slight tremor in her voice, and she took the sword in her trembling right hand.

He reached into the case again, this time withdrawing a silver filigreed scepter topped with a large, purple gemstone. Anneliese glanced at Julian—had he ever seen such a stone before?—but he was frowning at it as though confused.

"As queen, you must bring wealth to your nation." He held the scepter in open palms, offering it to his wife. "Erika of Astraea, will you do everything in your power to assure the prosperity of our land?"

"I will," Erika said, more firmly, and she took it the scepter in her left hand.

Dominick reached into the case a last time, lifting out an ornate silver crown embellished with more of the strange, deep purple gems. "Erika of Astraea, will you pledge yourself to your citizens and their just rule?"

"I will," said Erika, and he placed the crown upon her head. He bent to help her up, and turned her gently to face the crowd.

"People of Dulcinea! I present to you Queen Erika Von Brandt!"

The audience rose and bowed, some dropping right to their knees and others merely bending at the waist. Julian and Oliver bowed deeply, Anneliese sinking into a dainty curtsy, but as an equal monarch Queen Genevieve simply bowed her head.

Erika smiled blindly through her mounting panic. She forgot what was supposed to come next! Where did she go? Did she stay on the platform and everyone else left? The crown was heavier than she had thought it would be, and the scepter and sword seemed in danger of slipping out of her sweaty hands. She glanced wildly to Dominick; he put a hand on the small of her back and gave her a little push, so she guessed she was supposed to exit the hall. She held her head high and tried to take slow, stately steps, staring blearily into the corridor beyond the doorway. She stepped through, and once she was clear, the heavy stone doors swung shut behind her.

Sara bobbed hesitantly to the right, a little out of breath. "This way, milady," she said, leading Erika down the corridor a ways to a sitting room.

"Milady!" Sara exclaimed, barely catching the sword and scepter as they slipped from Erika's numb hands. She set them on a table, seeming afraid to touch them. "Sit down, milady," she urged, steering Erika into a chair, and gingerly lifted the crown from her head before it could fall to the floor. She set it near the sword and scepter and hurried to the sideboard. "Here, milady, I'll get you some wine."

Erika couldn't raise her hand to accept the glass and Sara hovered anxiously, wringing her hands. "Milady? Are you ill? Should I fetch a doctor?" She jumped as Dominick entered, followed by Oliver and the Beaumonts. "Milord, something is wrong!"

Sara backed away with huge, fearful eyes as he knelt before Erika. "Erika? Lass, are you alright? Erika!"

"I'm tired," Erika managed in a nearly inaudible whisper. She did not move—she didn't think she could move—but she felt as if she were swaying.

"Can you walk?"

She tried to nod, but wasn't sure if she managed it; he helped her to her feet, keeping an arm firmly around her waist. She tried to say "I'm sorry" as she passed a stricken Anneliese but her lips wouldn't move; and then Dominick was half-carrying her through the corridors and up staircases until they came to their bedchamber. He kicked the door shut behind them.

"Are you hurt?" He asked as he set her on a divan. He knelt behind her and began unbuttoning her gown. "Is your corset too tight? Erika, please say something. Anything." He unlaced her corset and she took a deep breath. "Was that it?"

She shook her head, her thoughts clearing somewhat. She began pulling the pins from her hair. "I'm just so... overwhelmed by all of this. How am I supposed to go from being a peasant to a queen? Sara's calling me milady every other word, people are bowing to me... I don't deserve this." She buried her face in her hands, remembering as she did so that her face was painted and powdered. Oh well.

"What are you talking about? Of course you deserve this. You're more noble than any of them."

"No—" Erika began, lifting her head, but Dominick continued, standing up and beginning to pace: "You were an indentured servant. You worked your fingers to the bone, and you didn't have a penny to show for it."

"You're making me feel worse," Erika choked, tears clogging her throat. "I'm not noble. I'm a sham."

"What are you talking about?" Dominick knelt in front of her, taking her face in his hands, but she pulled away.

"I can't tell you," she whispered. She had promised herself that she would take this to her grave. She couldn't tell him, especially not today, not after he'd just crowned her queen of his country!

"You can tell me anything," said Dominick, confused.

"I don't want to. Please, I'm so tired. I just want to go to bed."

"But what about the festival?"

"I need to lie down." She struggled to stand up, but the weight of her skirts was too great and she pitched backwards; Dominick caught her and helped her stand, looking more concerned than ever.

"Do you need me to help you change?" he murmured. Erika nodded rather stiffly, and he set to undoing more buttons. "I had dreams of tearing this off of you tonight, you know."

"Did you?" Erika's body surged with heat. "I'm sorry to ruin it."

"Don't say that," he said, taking her dress and draping it on the divan. He turned her around, brushing her long hair aside, and set to fully unlacing her corset. "Perhaps we should have practiced the ceremony more. Did the crowd take you by surprise?"

"Not until the part where someone screamed that I'm not pretty enough for you."

"That's not what happened." He managed to pull off her corset and tossed it on top of the gown. "She just... loudly stated that you could be prettier and fatter."

"Oh yes, because that's so much better." Erika rolled her eyes. "I'll sleep in my shift, thank you," she snapped, as Dominick made a move toward a wardrobe, and she climbed onto their bed, kicking off her shoes rather more violently than necessary. "Do you wish I was prettier and fatter, Dominick? Is that it?"

"I didn't say that, she did!"

"If that's what you wanted in a wife, then you should have married someone else!"

"Maybe I should have!"

Dominick stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

The sound seemed to echo, bring Erika back to reality; she realized she was breathing hard, chest heaving and tears brimming in her eyes. It was not Dominick's fault. He had not, in fact, said anything about her appearance. Erika was taking out her anger on him, from both the woman's comment, and her own secret.

She sat for a moment, considering. Should she apologize right away? Did he need time to calm down?

There was a knock at the door and she straightened up. "Dominick?" she called hopefully.

Sara peered around the edge of the door. "No, milady, sorry."

"Did you see Dominick?"

"No, milady."

Erika slumped back on her pillows. "Oh, Sara, what have I done?"

"Milady?"

"We've been married two months, I've just been crowned queen, and I've already ruined everything."

"Oh, milady, I'm sure you haven't."

"Maybe I should go after him."

"But milady, you must rest! You nearly fainted!"

"I was not fainting, I am not the sort of lady who faints! I—I just need a moment to cope. You try getting coronated and tell me how you like it, with everyone staring and dissecting everything about you!"

"I'm sorry, milady," Sara whispered, staring at the floor.

"Oh, no, now I've done it to you too. I'm so sorry, Sara. I don't know what's wrong with me today." Erika buried her face in her hands. "I really am ruining everything."

"You aren't, milady!" Sara said earnestly.

Erika slid out of bed. "Will you help me to get dressed?"

"Of course, milady, but—are you sure you're not tired?"

"I'm very tired," Erika sighed, walking to her closet, "but I have an obligation to my people to appear at this festival. It's in my honor, after all."

There was a knock, and Sara answered the door as Erika began looking through her gowns.

"Princess Anneliese is here, milady."

"Let her in," Erika called. "Maybe she can help me."

"Help you with what?" Anneliese asked, joining her in the closet.

"I don't know what to wear to the festival."

"Are you feeling better?"

"No, but it's my duty."

Anneliese nodded; duty called, and royalty answered. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing. The gown was made of heavy blue velvet and lavender silk, and, incidentally, happened to be the only gown in the closet that Erika had made herself.

Erika smiled. "Perfect."