Hey guys! Long time no see, but hopefully this was worth the wait. I'm excited to have you read this and give me feedback! This story is definitely not finished, either.
xx
Hatter
Manon Blackbeak was furious. How in the hell had she allowed herself to be talked into this?
A marriage, that was one thing. A ridiculously ostentatious, "traditional," troublesome wedding? Quite another. Unbidden, the advisor to the King of Adarlan's voice flooded her mind:
"My Queen, we must do what is best for your kingdoms. I understand that you'd both rather something a bit more...private, but unfortunately you have a duty to your people. They deserve a celebration. And what better way than through your happy union? Surely you can see the positive impact it will have on both of your people..."
Staring at herself in the mirror, The High Queen couldn't help her frown. Dread pooled in her stomach; she wasn't afraid of much, but the thought of what was to come mere hours from now...she had trouble drawing breath.
Manon felt a hand on her shoulder. "You're looking a little peaky, dear." Glennis' voice was like a balm to her growing panic, a presence that she'd never expected to have let alone welcome. She turned towards her great-grandmother and tried for a smile—or any sort of warmth—but the best she managed was a grimace.
Her great-grandmother only chuckled knowingly, rubbing her hands on Manon's shoulders in an effort to soothe, "Didn't get much sleep, I take it?" Manon snarled quietly at the knowing smile that spread across Glennis' face.
The High Queen tried to take a deep breath. It was one day. She was claiming the one she could not be without. In front of thousands of people. Some of them friends, most of them not. The panic began to set in again, but as Manon was wont to do, she transposed any emotion that she wasn't entirely comfortable with into fury. She closed her eyes. Took some deep breaths. Tried to convince herself to focus on anything other than what awaited her.
She tried to imagine what Asterin would say. How she'd tell Manon to woman the hell up and snarl right back at her, no fear whatsoever of what Manon would do to her for it. She felt a twinge where her heart should have been, imagining the calming presence of her Thirteen and where the rest of them would be on this day of all days; like a ghostly overlap of events that had already occurred and were yet to unfold. This gave her strength.
She opened her eyes finally, not necessarily meeting the gaze of her great-grandmother as she ground out, "I'm sorry." Manon missed the amusement dancing in Glennis' eyes.
"It's quite alright. Shall we?" Glennis gestured towards the doors, a grand beckoning of sorts, for the day to begin.
Before Manon could reply, the doors burst open of their own accord. "Looks like I arrived just in time. How's the lucky bride-to-be?" The feral grin that Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius directed towards her was lethal, as always.
As she approached—slowly, tentatively, and decidedly not like the Queen of Terrasen at all—Manon's eyebrow rose. She purred at Aelin, taunting her, "Scared to come closer?"
Aelin was still grinning as she said, "Never. I do, however, have to worry about more than just myself now." It was then that Manon noticed what the Queen of Terrasen was wearing: a strapless, floor-length silver gown cinched underneath the bust with a ribbon, with extravagant beading that had been sewn in like stars scattered throughout. But what really caught her attention was the way that the fabric fell over her slightly swollen abdomen.
Now it was Manon's turn to grin. "You're going soft."
"You wish."
Manon chuckled as Aelin grabbed her by the forearm in a respectful greeting. It was comforting to know that some things would never change. Glennis shook her head and rolled her eyes, completely baffled by it all.
The High Queen would never admit it, but she might have relaxed—just a little bit.
...
In another part of the castle, The King of Adarlan leaned over a balcony, engrossed in the world that was his kingdom. He made a study of the smoke billowing from chimneys, of the music the birds were chirping to him and to the whole of Rifthold, and the silence of life due to the lack of people out and about. It was still early though; nothing of note would be happening just yet. He supposed that denizens would be up soon to prepare for the upcoming ceremony and celebration, excited at the prospect of something good happening, where that hadn't been the norm lately.
Dorian Havilliard had been—and still was—incredibly surprised by just how many people had descended upon his realm to witness such an event. Allies from the war and their people made up the bulk of them, and even newcomers that he was yet to be introduced to had shown up. But then again, maybe he shouldn't have been quite so surprised. He was after all marrying the lost High Queen and uniting their two kingdoms.
The sound of familiar footsteps approached, tearing him from his musings.
"Today's the day." The cheeriness in Chaol's tone was genuine, but it wasn't enough to stave off Dorian's nerves. He'd been awaiting this day—moreover this union—for months. So why was he so...restless?
The King's gaze didn't waver as he replied, "So it is."
"Are you alright?"
Dorian turned to face his friend. "Chaol, I can't help but think of the many women who have touched my life on this day of days," he seemed to steel himself, and then gruffly muttered, "Particularly Sorscha."
The Hand of the King's eyebrows rose imperceptibly. "Ahhh. Are we feeling guilty, my King?"
"How am I allowed to be happy, can others be happy, when she was not granted that same chance? How can I live with myself?"
Chaol placed a comforting hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Dorian, listen to me. No one deserved Sorscha, not a one. But she made a sacrifice, for you—for all of us. What do you think she'd do if she could see you now, squandering your wedding day out of guilt? Would that make her happy? Was that who she was?"
"She cannot be forgotten, Chaol. I never want that for her."
Feeling for his friend, Chaol gave the King of Adarlan's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And so she won't be."
